On Sunday night, a little after nine, the wind swung around to the north and the whole house sounded different. The palm fronds next door stopped rattling and started to hiss. When I took the trash out, the air on my arms felt dry for the first time since April. Monday morning the National Weather Service had Kendall at 66 degrees with a dew point of 57. On Sunday afternoon the dew point had been 74.
That 17-point drop is the real start of camping season in our house. The calendar said fall back in September. September said 91 degrees, thanks for asking.
What we watch for
I'm not a meteorologist, so this is only what our family looks at. Dana checks the dew point first, because of her 70 rule: no tent camping in Florida when the forecast dew point is over 70. Once a front shows up in the forecast, we watch three things:
- Dew points in the 50s, not the 60s. A front that only gets us to 68 is a nice afternoon and a sticky night.
- Wind from the north or northwest. That's the dry air arriving. When it swings back around to the east or southeast, the humidity comes back with it.
- How long it lasts. The first front of the year often fades in two days, and the dew point creeps back toward 70 by the weekend. We don't fully trust a front until a second one comes through behind it.
This one looks like it might hang on for a while, with lows in the 60s forecast through Thursday. I'm still not booking anything on the strength of it. One front is a promise. Two is a season.
October, the fake fall
October in Miami is still summer in every way that matters to a tent. Highs near 90, dew points in the mid-70s, storms most afternoons and hurricane season running until the end of November. King tides push water into a few streets near the bay. Our Labor Day trip got cancelled by a tropical system, and three weeks ago the Pilot's AC died on the Turnpike, which in October in Miami is its own kind of weather emergency.
The first good front feels like the whole city exhales. On Monday I drank my café con leche on the back patio without sweating through my shirt, for the first time since spring. Pickles took up his winter post on the windowsill, nose to the screen. Nico came to breakfast in a hoodie at 68 degrees and asked if it was going to snow.
What we book once it turns
Prime season is short for us. From tryouts in late January to the end of the season in the spring, I'm at the ballpark most evenings, and our camping shrinks to the February holiday weekends and spring break. So November, December and January are when we try to fit in the most nights. Here's what's on the calendar or in the works:
- Veterans Day weekend: three nights at Myakka River State Park in a rented pop-up, booked and paid.
- Thanksgiving week: turkey at Ron and Linda's in Ocala, then two nights in the tent at Juniper Springs in the Ocala National Forest, booked on Recreation.gov.
- Winter break: after Nochebuena, which we never miss, about a week up the Georgia coast. Dana has a dozen tabs open and a spreadsheet I'm not allowed to edit.
- MLK weekend: an Everglades weekend. Those sites are $25 a night, and we book them a few weeks ahead, once we can see how the season is shaping up.
There's one more date on Dana's list. As we understand it, Florida state parks open sites 11 months ahead at 8 a.m., so a site for next year's Thanksgiving week goes on sale right before Christmas. She already has the alarm set.
Last night the tent came out of the storage room for a backyard pitch, just to air it out after its mildew summer. It smelled like clean nylon and nothing else. Maya slept in it in a sweatshirt and pointed out, very pleased, that it was the first time she'd needed one in a tent since the Smokies.
