August in Florida: Where the Devil Goes on Vacation and Forgets to Leave
Well, friends, I’ve been around the block a few times, and I can tell you with the solemn authority of a man who once tried to cool off in a cow pond that August in Florida ain’t a month. It’s a full-blown character witness against the notion that God don’t have a sense of humor.
You wake up in the morning and the airs already got that thick, wet feeling like somebody left the shower running since June. By 9 a.m. your shirt is stuck to you like a bad ex-wife’s alimony demand. By noon you’re seriously considering whether that nice man at the revival tent was right about the End Times, because surely this is what the Bible meant by “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” But, instead of gnashing, you’re just sweating in places you didn’t know you had places.
The old-timers around here and by old-timers, I mean anybody who’s survived more than three Augusts without selling their soul to a real estate developer. They have a saying: “If you can’t take the heat, get out of Florida… but first, check your bank account, because the air-conditioning repairman already owns half of it.”
I saw a fella the other day trying to walk his dog down by the Tsala Apopka Chain of Lakes and that poor hound looked like he was melting into a puddle of pure regret. The man was carrying a spray bottle like it was holy water, misting the both of them every three steps. I hollered over, “Brother, you’re not hydrating that dog, you’re basting him!” He just
looked at me with the dead eyes of a man who knows his barbecue is going to be ready before supper.
And don’t even get me started on the mosquitoes. In August, they don’t just bite you. They file a change of address and move in. I slapped one on my arm the other night that was so big it left a dent. I swear it had a little Florida driver’s license in its wallet. These ain’t bugs a-tall. They’re low-flying vampires with better union benefits than the teachers.
Then there’s the hurricanes. August is when the National Weather Service starts naming storms like they’re introducing characters in a soap opera. “Hurricane Darlene is currently flirting with the Bahamas and looking to make some bad decisions near the Panhandle.” Meanwhile, every Walmart in three counties is sold out of bottled water, bread, and those little battery fans that quit working right when you need them most.
The tourists are a whole other chapter. You can spot ’em easy as they’re the ones wearing socks with sandals, turning the color of a boiled crawfish, and asking directions to “the beach” like there’s only one. Bless their Yankee hearts. They come down here chasing that postcard dream and end up learning that Florida in August is God’s way of teaching humility through heat rash.
But you know what? For all the complaining and Lord knows we Florida natives have turned griping into an Olympic sport. There’s something about an August evening when the sun finally decides to quit showing off. The sky turns that deep orange pink only the Good Lord and a decent sunset can manage. The lightning bugs start their show, the neighbor’s
grill smells like heaven, and for a minute you forget you’re standing in what feels like Satan’s armpit.
You sit on the porch with a cold sweet tea, listen to the cicadas raising Cain, and think: This is why we stay. Not because it’s easy. Because it’s ours. Heat, bugs, tourists, and all. Besides, September’s coming. And around here, that’s just August with better marketing.
Stay cool, y’all. Or at least stay funny. It’s the only air conditioning that don’t cost an arm and a leg.
Leland Shipp — The Voice of Southern Charm & Master of Psychological Thrillers
Leland Shipp is the beloved “Voice of Southern Charm” at The Peddler’s Post, where his monthly articles inspire unity, humor, and community pride across Citrus, Hernando, Pasco, and Sumter counties. His warm, relatable voice and insightful commentary have made him a cherished fixture in local journalism, championing the values that make his region truly special.
An accomplished author of psychological thrillers and horror, Leland’s storytelling prowess is rooted in his deep understanding of human behavior and societal dynamics. With a Bachelor of Science in Criminal Justice and a Minor in Political Science, he skillfully weaves complex plots filled with suspense, mystery, and unexpected twists that keep readers on the edge of their seats. His debut novel, Impulsivity, explores themes of decision-making, responsibility, and the profound impact of reckless love—reflecting his keen eye for the darker aspects of the human psyche.
When he’s not writing gripping tales or engaging with his community, Leland finds solace in the great outdoors—hiking, fishing, and seeking tranquility near lakes, rivers, and the ocean. His stories often delve into psychological manipulation, paranoia, obsession, and self-discovery, echoing his love for the natural world and the mysteries it holds.
Beyond his writing, Leland’s humor and community spirit extend across central Florida, making him a familiar and beloved voice in four counties. Whether through his storytelling, community service, or spreading laughter and insight, Leland Shipp embodies Southern resilience, warmth, and mastery—connecting with audiences through words that entertain, provoke thought, and inspire.
