Falling into place.

If there is one thing I have learned in the 30 years of my lifetime, it is that I am extremely tasty to bugs.

It is an undeniable truth that I have come to terms with, though reluctantly.

If there is an insect that bites, sucks, gnaws or stings within a half mile radius it WILL find me. And they are smart, laying in wait and planning their ambush for the perfect moment, when my hands are full, trying to stake tomatoes or unhook a small mouth bass. Then they strike in full force!

I thought perhaps I had it bad back in the Mohave Desert of Arizona where I grew up. Summers were spent dodging yellow paper wasps, checking the mailbox for black widows BEFORE reaching in for the mail, kicking over wood and bricks that needed moving to dislodge scorpions before picking them up.

Ants were my personal Nemesis, the little tiny piss ants (at least that's what we always called them) that would be all over your sandaled foot in the hundreds long before the first one stung. Getting into the house and infesting the dog's dishes or the crumbs under the toaster. Armed with Simple Green (the oily, non-toxic de-greaser works wonders on tiny ants) and paper towels, it was a seasonal battle with few victories.

Then I moved to Western New York last May. From the blissful ignorance that was a life in a dry climate. The nearest standing water was 100 miles away and with 4 inches of rain fall a YEAR, there were no puddles or creeks to run. And I learned that there are far worse things than ants in the world... Mosquitoes.

I am allergic to mosquito bites, they swell up as large as a quarter and can last 5 weeks or more. I am also what must be known as gourmet in the mosquito world, because they swam at every chance. I wore shorts outside once, last summer, for about 10 minutes. It is not a mistake I am likely to ever repeat. Working in the garden requires special equipment, no more flip flops or tank tops. It is knee high trouser socks, under long pants, T-Shirts covered by a long sleeve silk shirt, a bandanna over my ears and the back of my neck....

I patrol the inside of my house like a sentinel, scanning the white walls for signs of intruders. A resounding and vengeful THWACK marks a successful hunt as the dogs run for cover. Each patrol is followed up with the swipe of a damp sponge, though sometimes I wonder if leaving the aftermath of my attack would serve as a warning to my enemy.

Posted in: Introduction