Creepy crawlers march on summer
Lori Borgman | Monday, May 25, 2009
We haven’t given insects near the credit they
deserve.
Every spring, after two days of steady rain, 200
ants show up like clockwork and march across the kitchen counter
in formation. How do they do it? How do they amass a large group
on such short notice? E-mail? Cell phones?
How is it you can be on the patio waiting for
the steaks to come off the grill and there is not a single insect
in sight, but once the meat is served, a plague-proportion swarm
of gnats materializes. They buzz the corn, hover over the meat,
circle your head and try to work their way up your nose.
How do they all know the exact time and place
to converge? GPS? Text messaging?
I marvel at these insects that appear out of nowhere
in large groups and wonder if maybe the key is traveling light.
The husband and I take turns guessing how many
trips we’ll have to make back into the house before we can actually
back out of the drive. On a good day we have it down two. On a bad
day it can be as many as five trips back in with both cars doors
open at the same time, someone going in through the garage and the
other one going in through the front door.
Another point for insects is that they are reliable.
You can never count on the weather for a picnic, but you can always
count on the flies. They’re like those second cousins at a family
reunion -- they never RSVP or bring a side dish, but they always
show.
My philosophy about insects has developed over
the years and it has come to this: They are a lot smarter than we
think, so we should get them before they get us.
It may sound cruel, but it’s a bug-on-the-windshield
world out there. Until the insects get an insects rights group with
billboards and testimonials with a celebrity-of-the-week nuzzling
a horse fly, purring about how adorable it is and how it helped
her through a bad time with the paparazzi and that public drunkenness
incident, I say it’s open season.
I haven’t always been this bold and pro-active.
There was a time when I may have been like you – a sniveling, bug-fearing
ninny, hyperventilating at the sight of a silverfish, scrambling
for a chair when I saw a spider, and screaming at an earwig. But
not now.
This year when the ants again invaded the kitchen,
I resolved to become like the people I had long admired – the ones
who ball up their fists, pound insects, catch flies mid-air and
flatten ants with an open palm. I was finished running and screaming,
I would confront them head on. Or hand on.
Last week I flattened two spiders with my hand.
It was a personal triumph that no one believes because I was home
alone.
Yesterday, something skittered across the floor
and I smashed it with my bare foot. It was a victorious moment to
share but everyone was outside in the backyard.
I find it odd that the critters only appear when
no one else is around to witness my newfound bravery.
Perhaps the insects are trying to tell me something:
Bug off.
