Every season, but especially in May and June, visitors see me smack myself as I garden. Bugs bug me! Flies, especially, find me delectable. It’s not unusual to see a few dancing attendance around my nose. That protuberance is often where it shouldn’t be, in a fly’s opinion, like under a bush, where I sometimes discover- and must clean up- bunny-parts discarded by the neighbor’s cat, who often visits my garden in search of a midnight snack. As I work the flies will buzz around me, and occasionally bite.
But more insidious beasties- no-see-ums- have discovered me! These minute, stealthy horrors love to bite around my eyes, and I honestly don’t feel a thing until about ten minutes later, when it becomes hard to see. I’ll rush into the house for OTC cortisone cream, hoping to contain the damage. But, alas, my face has already ballooned, as though I’d inhaled ten meals at warp speed. My eyes become slits. This makes life difficult for perhaps three days. Though my predicament’s not particularly painful, I look absurd.
Once again, reluctant to apply obnoxious gnat-repelling gunk, I’ve created my own problems.
I do own- and wear- a dark, fine mesh veil from the local camping store, which effectively covers me down to mid-chest. When I go outside early, mosquitoes are eager to eat me: this thwarts them pretty well. (Heavy cargo pants prevent biters from indulging below stairs.) The problem? It’s dark under there. I wander about in a net-fog; things are indistinct, colors are muted, and the thin veil often bunches and snags as I crawl under things to weed. This annoyance, though, is still better than being bested by bugs.
Sometimes nervous passersby take a long look, and then mutter to friends, “There must be a lot of bees in that garden.” Fortunately, though, most will casually comment, “Wow- too many bees?” So I explain. We laugh, and trade insect stories.
Thumbing through National Geographic’s catalogue this spring I noticed a nifty lightweight, cream-colored parka, designed for bug-lures like me. Intrigued, I ordered one- and they really work. The draw-stringed sleeves have airy vents right to the waist; the hood sports a mesh face panel that guarantees immunity from munchkins. Best of all, it doesn’t snag bushes. But it does collect dirt. Too late, I’ve discovered dark green ones in other gardening catalogues. Ah, well. The one I own will have to do.
Folks have offered fascinating repellent suggestions. One earnest gentleman swore by flypaper. Oblivious to everything but potential hanging places he enthusiastically volunteered to foot the bill for the first sticky packet of ten. My mind boggled as I imagined loads of fluttering flypaper flapping invitingly amid the flowers, creating insect road-rage…
A thoughtful child suggested I staple narrow flypaper sheets to my hat brim to snare flies before they bit my eyes. He was delighted with himself. I promised to consider it.
I did, for a mille-second, but wandering around dangling sheets of tiny gnat corpses just doesn’t appeal. Besides, hat-brimmed flapping flypaper will always nail noses. It’s a law of nature. (I had a mad impulse to call Paris: hat-ty haute couture designers might be lured by its off-the-wall possibilities. CNN recently allowed us meat-ier mortals a peek at the eye-popping apparel worn by lengthy, skeletal women wobbling unsteadily down Paris fashion show ramps. Decorated with feathers, raccoon shoes and paper skirts they could don haute flypaper headgear and not turn a hair.)
These sorts of creative solutions may fly-in-the-face of reason, but they’ll never fail to capture laughter.
*Oh- today the secret garden is officially open. Not done- it will never be done- but do come and have a look- unless it rains. The dirt has been flying for weeks because I’ve completely redesigned three of the seven gardens. Look for a veiled lady with hair askew and bugs circling, wearing a huge smile. Hooray!