Cow Days is an annual street festival hosted by the historic little town of Greensburg, Kentucky. It also delivered record-breaking heat this year.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
In late September, just days before the Autumn Equinox when the imminent arrival of sweater weather should be celebrated, we found ourselves in the dead center of a vicious heat dome at the Cow Days festival. Battered and deep fried like a greasy meal.
We arrived in Greensburg early on Friday, settled the camper at a nearby county park, and trotted over to the festival. Hundreds of vendors had already set up stalls, overtaking all of the downtown square plus adjacent side streets. It promised to be a lively weekend.
But that day the ambient temperature hovered murderously at 98° with a heat index closer to the broil setting of your kitchen oven. It was brutal.
A merciless hot poker sun pierced the asphalt streets and left us hopping desperately from one slim sliver of shade to another. Except for a few other foolish visitors, the festival was empty. Empty!
Within 30 minutes my skin started to crisp, then my bones went soft as the attending muscles succumbed to the heat. This must be what it feels like inside an air fryer.
The hapless fair vendors looked miserable, anemically fanning themselves inside stifling tents while fighting off complete collapse.
We stumbled around the streets, committed to the important mission of scoping out the stage arrangements where Tim was scheduled to perform the next evening. Confidence of making it through the afternoon without swooning evaporated swiftly. Then there was the discouraging realization of a second day at the fair yet to come.
A quick review of the signs of heat stroke will detail any number of uncomfortable conditions; heart palpitations, slurred speech and delirium, throbbing headache, and so on. It’s a worrisome list of symptoms, and I had all of them.
Tim mildly suggested we leave the fair. I couldn’t have been gladder.
Back at the RV, the remainder of the day was spent in a prone position, nursing an ice-filled water bottle and checking my pulse. The camper, broiling under a cloudless and unforgiving sky, struggled in vain to maintain an indoor temperature below 85° even with the A/C cranked to max and three supplemental fans on the counters.
The next afternoon, Saturday, we were reluctantly obliged to return to the festival. The temperature had dropped only two tiny degrees to a miserable 96, with fleeting wispy clouds that never delivered any shade. Regardless, folks began to tentatively venture out to the street fair.
In American terms, Greensburg is an old town. Established in the early 1800’s as a river port when flatboats plied the trade waters of the Green River. The town now tenderly hovers around 2200 stalwart residents, with Cow Days essentially doubling the population for one weekend.
Apart from being a lovely, albeit steamy, little town, Greensburg’s other claim to fame is that Andrew Jackson, the seventh US president, stayed overnight here on the way back from Washington to his plantation near Nashville. The historical record doesn’t mention if Jackson’s 300 slaves were glad for his return, but I’d guess not. He was reputed to be short tempered and quite violent. For reasons still unclear, Old Hickory’s grim and dissolute face graces our $20 bill.
As dusk crept in without relief, the air close and stifling, Tim’s band took the stage. It was a hot, steamy, sweat-soaked performance of kick-ass blues and rock. A local music critic gave them a glowing review and recorded most of the set for YouTube: Mic Drop Reviews
The audience was appreciative of the show, although considerably subdued by the oppressive heat and humidity. I stayed affixed to my seat, unable to do much more than clap weakly with pruned hands and swipe at a glossy brow.
All in all, Cow Days was a success for the band. Hopefully most of the vendors survived the weekend without an ambulance ride. I almost didn’t.
If the band is invited back next year, I’ll be there. But only if the next Ice Age returns first!
Discover more from The Flying Mantis
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
2 comments
Obviously, Ole Hickory is on the cash today because he won the Battle of New Orleans (which certainly put him in the Presidential Manson (as it didn’t get the white paint job until after the British burned it) back in 1815 where, as the song goes:
“We fired our cannon ’til the barrel melted down
So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round
We filled his head with cannon balls and powdered his behind
And when we touched the powder off the gator lost his mind”
Otherwise, when I lived in Arizona, I was out in the desert with my boyfriend of the moment and got sun stroke. I’d brought a hat, but the breeze kept blowing it off, so I took it off rather than need to keep chasing it. Then I started to see spots before my eyes and David shoved me into the narrow shade of a saguaro and put his 6-year-old son in charge of making sure I stayed put while he went back to his truck to get a gallon of water…which he then poured over my head. Our day of communing with nature ended, I was returned to my apartment where he might have turned the AC setting to a lower one to countermand the cooking of my brain. I immediately fell into bed and the “men folk” left to continue their day together (though did call to check on me later in the evening). The next day I had such a headache though. The brain does not like to be cooked. Obviously summer in the wilds of the Sonoran Desert aren’t kind to human critters.
Hope you recovered quickly and that October does scrape up some autumnal temperatures for your next jaunt. This global warming and the el nino in progress certainly wreck outdoor events!
Wowzer, Beth!