The Day We Built a Cooling Station
A Dublin heat wave pushes my crew to build a backyard cooling station out of hoses, fans, and a very confident wheelbarrow.
It hit a hundred and seven in Dublin one August afternoon, and the crew was wilting like lettuce in a glove box. The cows were fine, because they had misters and shade and a general air of superiority. The crew were another matter. I decided we needed a cooling station, and I decided we needed it that very hour.
We started with what we had. I took two box fans from the office, a garden hose with a spray nozzle, and a wheelbarrow I filled with ice from the milk house freezer. I set the fans in a row, pointed them at the wheelbarrow, and ran the hose over the top so that a fine mist drifted down. It looked like something built by someone who had read half of a manual.
The first to try it was Wendell, who stepped in front of the fans, closed his eyes, and gave a long sigh. A line formed immediately. Within ten minutes, all eleven hands on the crew were standing in a row in front of the wheelbarrow, eyes closed, faces tilted, enjoying the finest breeze in the county. We looked like a congregation.
It was around then that the cows walked over. They had seen the line and wanted to know what was going on. Delphine pushed her way to the front and put her nose into the mist. A dozen Holsteins stood in a circle with the crew, all of us breathing the same cool air, nobody saying a word. The owner drove by in his truck and slowed down. He stared. He kept driving.
By evening, the station had become a permanent fixture, and the owner paid for a proper version with real misters and a canopy. The National Weather Service puts out heat warnings every summer, and I check them before every shift. I also tell this story on farm.FM whenever somebody complains about the weather.
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