Letters from North America
by Peary Perry
This
is the most frustrating
time of the year.
The trees are in bloom,
the plants are in bloom.
The grass is doing
whatever it does. We
spend a huge amount of
money taking allergy
shots, buying tissues to
sneeze in and feeling
miserable for months on
end just to have the
cycle repeat itself over
and over each year.
Our noses are red, our
eyes watering and we
feel terrible, but isn’t
our yard lovely? We
don’t feel like going to
the door to talk to the
neighbors who want to
tell us how pretty
everything looks. Just
go away and let us die
in peace. I cannot
control the leaves. As
fast as I blow them into
piles, another gust of
wind shakes more down
and I have to start
over. I perform a manual
survey of our place to
see what made it through
the winter and what gave
up the ghost. The wimpy
plants have to be
replaced with something
that will last through
the hot summer and fall,
only to freeze again and
die.
I’m thinking plastic.
The pool fills up with
leaves. I take them out.
The pool fills up with
leaves. I take them out.
I do this six or eight
times a day. Empty the
basket; empty the
basket… on and on.
Once the leaves have
stopped, then the trees
start doing something
different….before the
leaves come out, the
tree grows some kind of
bud on the ends of the
limbs which immediately
falls into the pool. Now
I’m cleaning out the
little baskets about ten
times a day.
Then comes the worms and
the frogs. This is
beginning to sound like
Egypt at the time Moses
dropped in, isn’t it?
The little worms and
frogs fall into the pool
and as much as you try,
it’s impossible to save
them all. As close as I
can figure, during the
night they must get
drunk on something and
decide to go for a swim.
Thinking that the big
human will come out and
rescue them sooner or
later.
It usually is later. I
find their little
corpses in the
morning…Poor things,
looked like they swam
half the night….but they
have smiles on their
faces, so I guess they
died happy in the big
pond.
I can deal with all of
those things if I just
set my mind to it. What
I cannot deal with are
the fire ants. Last year
I was cleaning out a
flowerbed when I stepped
into a pile of these
nasty creatures. By the
time I got them off of
me, I was bitten in ten
or fifteen places. Not
only do they hurt, but
they leave scars. This
is definitely a species
I don’t try to revive.
No mercy for them in any
way.
I’ve tried everything,
most of the stuff you
buy at the store. I’ve
sprayed water on them.
Nothing
works. They just
up and move …sight
unseen to a spot about
five feet away in the
middle of the night.
Probably at the same
time the frogs and worms
are getting plastered. I
try to move the ants in
the direction of my
neighbor’s yard, but
that doesn’t work since
my neighbor is trying to
send theirs over to our
place. We cannot reach
détente. At this point
I’m not certain any
longer whose ants belong
to whom.
My latest tactic is to
just kick the fool out
of the mounds in the
morning on my way out to
get the paper. This
seems to highly
aggravate these little
beasts and they spend
most of the day
rebuilding so I can
start over again in
twenty four hours. I
don’t know if this works
or not, but it gives me
a lot of satisfaction. I
do notice that the
mounds get smaller and
smaller. Whether this is
the result of a
diminished population or
ant urban planning, I’m
not sure. But if I can’t
see them, then as far as
I’m concerned they don’t
exist.
I’m going to have to
stay out late one night
and see exactly what
those frogs, worms and
ants do after midnight.
