I check the weather in Ireland and feel envious for about 30 seconds

Forget beads of sweat. You may feel a few trickle down your back at 9.30am if, like me, you work outdoors in Pittsburgh during the summer, but by 10.30am your skin is as moist as a frog's all over. Your T-shirt has become a second amphibious membrane, and you wish you could breathe through it, because you can't breathe through your mouth.

You just happen to live in one of the worst 25 cities in the US for air quality, and you grew up with pollen from a totally different forest from the one you have your face in: an orderly row of American sycamore. You part the foliage so you can water the trees without getting their leaves all wet and attractive to mould. The summer air is as thick as treacle, and you inch along the line of trees in slow motion.

Not every day is like this, but it is as reliable an experience of my summer in Pittsburgh as sitting with neighbours on the porch in the evening, swimming outdoors, eating grilled corn or lying on the sofa in front of the fan.

After four years of living in this east-coast-meets-midwest US city, home to Heinz and birthplace of Andy Warhol, I cannot say I am completely acclimatised to the seasonal extremes.

I didn’t know humidity until I moved here, except for when I visited my uncle and his family in Boston when I was 14 and spent most of the time in the only air-conditioned room in the house. But I’m an outdoors person, and that is what has saved me.

Surviving the summer in Pittsburgh is all about being in it as much as I can, immersing myself in its steam bath and enjoying every sliver of breeze that comes my way. This demands a protective uniform of hat, sunglasses, sunscreen, citronella and clothing that I don’t mind getting soaked, be it from sweat or a downpour.

I’ve been bitten so many times by mosquitoes that I don’t react quite as badly as I did when I moved here, but I always have the bite cream on hand. My face has become a constellation of freckles, and my calves have turned from Celtic blue to milky tea.

I still insist on drinking steaming cups of strong tea – none of this iced-tea nonsense – and eating porridge in the morning, because I will not be deprived of my daily essentials. I do get up a little earlier so I can enjoy the garden with my husband, Paul.

When we get home from work we water the peppers and tomatoes even if we’ve been watering plants all day, and after a siesta we’ll cook outside if it’s still hot. The house is a brick terrace, shaded by red maples at the front and a white pine at the back, so it’s a welcome sanctuary after a day in the sun.

I’ve grown to depend on the window air-con unit in the bedroom even though it drowns out the electrical whirring of the cicadas, a sound I’d much rather hear at night.

As for getting around, Paul and I have two Hondas between us, with an age difference of 21 years, so I’m on driving duty with the newer model when we don’t want our organs cooked.

There’s also the bicycle. Careening down steep slopes is a great way to get air around the gills. Despite the inevitable uphill leg of a Pittsburgh journey that turns me into a slick and gasping wreck, cycling along the city’s river trails is one of my favourite things to do.

Our heat wave is set to continue, and looking at 30-plus figures in the forecast scares me a little. I check the weather in Ireland and feel envious for about 30 seconds.

My work at the Tree Pittsburgh Heritage Nursery allows me the privilege of living in the seasons, and I know watering time will give way to seed-collecting time, which will take me to some of the finest trees in city’s parks, woods and cemeteries.

I remember the article I wrote for Generation Emigration last July, expressing the limbo I felt waiting for my green card.

Inching slowly forwards is definitely progress.