Easy Summer Salads for Life without Air-Conditioning

Reader Contribution by Colleen Newquist
Published on July 27, 2010
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When I stopped to pick up a pizza the other night, a fan whirred on the hostess desk of the tepidly air-conditioned restaurant. It was hot outside, the temperature hovering around 90, with humidity that felt nearly as high. In conversation with the 20-something hostess about the malfunctioning cooling system and the weather in general, I casually mentioned that we don’t use air conditioning in our home. She gasped, her eyes wide, “What do you DO?”

The hostess, I realized, had never experienced life without air conditioning. It existed when I was growing up, but in my blue-collar town, it was a luxury my parents didn’t invest in until I was nearly grown and gone. Now, even though we can well afford it, not using air conditioning is a choice. All the long, long winter, we fantasize about steamy nights, sitting on the porch barefoot, cold bottle of beer leaving sweat rings on the table, listening to the symphony of cicadas, crickets, and katydids. This is living, we tell each other. And it is.

Unfortunately, it’s a dying way of life. I believe we are the only household in a neighborhood of 75 homes or so without an air conditioner on. If a thunderstorm knocks the power out, the streets hum with the sounds of backup generators.

On the one hand, I thoroughly enjoy the silence of a sealed up neighborhood. We always feel lucky when we’re sitting outside, because it seems like we’re the only ones. The sounds we hear are of the natural world, except the car alarm that goes off down the street every time an acorn falls on it, and the power washing and leaf blowing of the anal-retentive neighbor across the creek — but those are other stories, long, expletive-filled stories, and thankfully, not regular occurrences. Mostly we hear the owls and coyotes and see bats swoop through the yard, and it’s lovely.

Admittedly, a long string of hot days can get me wishing for a cool, closed-up home. But only momentarily. The minute I think about shutting the windows, I decide that sweating is OK by me. I spend my days in an office with windows that don’t open; when I come home, I want to breathe.

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