Zap! The mosquito landed smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. Dropping the garden hose I slapped at it, but, to my disappointment, the ornery critter escaped. My insect terminating skills have developed greatly over the past few months. I should have nailed the little pest. I’ve certainly had enough practice.
The summer has been incredibly bug-filled. The Cook County News-Herald’s July 26 photo of a mosquito hanging onto a lovely purple flower petal tells everything about this year’s north shore summer. Beautiful but buggy. Although we’ve been blessed with some warm sunny days, the hard fact is that throughout June and most of July mosquitoes reigned supreme.
Did I mention the black flies? Oh yes. Not only have mosquitoes hatched in record numbers, but black flies have almost outnumbered them. If black flies are new to your experience, here’s a brief explanation: they’re a small gnat that loves to burrow into human flesh along hairlines and ankles.
These winged pests kept my family away from our picnic table. The flowered plastic tablecloth remains intact, unused. Nobody likes a mosquito garnish on potato salad. It’s no fun to hold a conversation while flailing at the black fly drilling a pencil sized hole in your ankles. No picnics this year.
This nasty mosquito/ black fly combination has held us captive most of the summer. A good example is the July night when Dick and I sat on the deck breathing in the smoke of a smoldering mosquito coil, dripping with insect repellent and armed with several cans at fingertip. We hoped to watch a lovely sunset, but were having difficulty concentrating while surrounded by blood-seeking winged creatures.
“Hear that?” I asked, cupping my ear with one hand and spraying a boatload of Repel on the back of my neck with the other. Hopefully I would murder the mosquito now boring into my upper layer of skin. Repel is DEET-free, but I was considering switching to the more toxic Off. “Listen to the hum. In the woods.”
We listened. A high pitched whine vibrated through the trees as a gazillion mosquitoes gently hummed. The humming suddenly stopped, then started again. It was downright creepy.
I watched the sunset inside from my living room window.
The only positive result of this insect onslaught has been my highly developed bedtime swatting skills. When that moment arrives— the one where I sink onto my soft pillow, sigh a breath of relief and suddenly hear the high pitched ominous hum of a mosquito seeking blood—I’m ready.
I remain still as a statue, right hand in swatting position, waiting as the high pitched whine grows stronger and stronger while the nasty bug circles the room honing in on my flesh. When it finally lands, I allow it to spend a moment probing for the tastiest spot and just when it thinks it’s going to get me, I strike.
I usually emerge the victor.
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