Bug Season

“What we lose in our great human exodus from the land is a rooted sense, as deep and intangible as religious faith, of why we need to hold on to the wild and beautiful places that once surrounded us.” – Barbara Kingsolver, Knowing Our Place

I’m writing this from the middle of an evening thunderstorm, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve always loved the rain and thunderstorms, but from up here at the cottage, surrounded by trees and the lake, it’s like another world.

Bug season has come and mostly gone here in Muskoka. That’s to say, the late spring’s blackflies came in a fury, like locusts descending upon the house and the dog and all of us, and for a hot minute, I thought I might seriously be consumed by these tiny mites.

I am one to make things a bit dramatic, and I’m also someone, despite very small physical size, who attracts a lot of mosquitoes, but most of the locals here have also agreed that this year’s abundant rain and cool spring season has meant a very strong blackfly population.

Our property is way out in the bush, with some low marshy areas close to the water, so I’m pretty sure we had our fair share of them hovering around my driveway, biting us on the way from the car to the front door. Certainly by now, though, mid-July, they are mostly gone and replaced by the slightly gentler and less populous mosquito. Who would’ve thought I’d describe a mosquito as gentle.

Super, the dog, was right in the thick of things, although it seemed at the time like he hardly noticed. He would come back in from his saunters and strolls out into the high grass, chomping casually on weeds while sniffing for a place to do his business, and his soft underbelly would be covered in bites. They didn’t seem to bother him too much, maybe because he’s a larger dog, maybe because he’s a dummy.

We dodged two weeks of the worst of it by cowering in Toronto – although I’ll also claim fortuitous timing in a few appointments and meetings in the city.

Despite all the bugs, though, I couldn’t bear to stay inside during these glorious late spring days.

Everything about everything sprouting into green and tiny bursts of colour is divine, part of this yearly breathing, the miracle of a season. It’s fresh and thrilling to see everything exploding with life after being covered in snow for five months.

Caleb is really a kid that needs the outdoors. I’m sure all parents say that, and to an extent every kid does need to be outdoors, but I feel like when I was a kid I was okay with a book in a tree or on a couch. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t appreciate the natural freedom that comes from growing up in a small town pre-Internet, where I could bike to a friend’s house on my own, but Caleb growing up surrounded by concrete – I want him to grow up breathing in the trees.

Much to my relief, Caleb has turned out to also be a kid that likes books, but he’s also very reserved with people, it takes him a long time to warm up. While I’m okay with that as part of his personality, I’m glad that he’ll have a place to be who he is, where his personality doesn’t necessarily have to be “explained.”

I love that he’s pulling wildflower petals off and tromping through the mud, heading off into the trees and discovering his own tiny miracles and secrets, the ones that he can fully hold despite not having the words to describe them.