Rainy weather bites, and so do the bugs
(Originally published August 2023)
Is it just me, or do we have a mosquito problem this year?
I’m no entomologist, but I feel like we’re overrun, possibly because of the 14 feet of rain that’s fallen in Addison County in recent weeks. Now that it’s not raining every hour of every day (a refreshing change), I’ve been getting outside more. And I’m finding this summer’s mosquito population to be over-represented and extra blood-thirsty.
Back on a rare rain free but sweltering day in July, Mark and I took two of our grandchildren swimming at our friends’ place on Lake Dunmore. When we pulled into the wooded yard, the mosquitoes met us at the car and offered to carry us down to the dock. We declined. Instead, we set a record pace for unbuckling the kids, grabbing the towels and inner tubes and sunscreen and floaties and sprinting down to the lake and into the water.
Once the children were sufficiently waterlogged, we planned our retreat through the mosquito gauntlet. Mark explained to the kids that our primary objective was to get ourselves and our armloads of swimming gear back up the hill and into the car as fast as possible, minimizing the time the doors were open. The four of us huddled on the dock, did a chant to get pumped, then lit out like a S.W.A.T. team—or “swat” team, given the circumstances—for the driveway.
I have to commend the kids, who on most days treat getting into the car as a leisurely diversion during which schedules don’t matter and time is merely a construct. On this day, they understood that speed and precision were the keys to getting us, but not the mosquitoes, into the car.
Demonstrating impressive teamwork, we moved swiftly. Seconds later, when everyone was in the car and strapped in, we cheered. Mission accomplished!
“If I stand still for even a second—such as to marvel at the astonishing size and ubiquity of slugs this year—the mosquitoes attack en masse.”
Our celebration, however, ended abruptly when we realized we were not alone in the car: A cloud of mosquitoes hummed around the interior.
But how?
We quickly found the point of failure: Mark’s window. It had been down the entire time we were swimming.
The ride home was filled with mosquito-related sounds: mostly yelps of pain and frantic hand slaps on bare skin, but also a few pointed sighs I deployed to remind Mark that this was all his fault. We took out as many of the enemy as we could that day, but over a dozen mosquitoes got a one-way, all-expenses-paid trip to Middlebury.
At the time, I chalked it up to Salisbury; mosquitoes, like everyone else, enjoy hanging out at the lake. But now Middlebury is seeing a surge.
It figures; for weeks, there’s been standing water in places it’s never been before—mostly in basements, but also in driveways and on lawns and in cornfields and sometimes across roads. The entire county is a breeding ground.
The implications for my morning walk in the woods with the dog have been dire. Insect repellent is but a mild annoyance to this year’s mosquitoes. And if I stand still for even a second—such as to marvel at the astonishing size and ubiquity of slugs this year—the mosquitoes attack en masse. Forget my habit of stopping to listen to birds; my sole focus upon going into the woods these days is to get out in a hurry.
I try to keep moving at all times, but I can’t outmaneuver the mosquitoes if I walk at a normal pace. At a minimum, I have to half-run while bobbing and weaving, waving my arms around as I go.
Last Thursday, despite the physical comedy that is me lurching and flailing down the trail, two mosquitoes managed to bite me—through my T-shirt, mind you—in the unreachable spot in the middle of my back. They’re clever this year.
Dodging mosquitoes is taking up so much of my time in the woods that I’m starting to reminisce about the days when all I had to worry about were disease-carrying ticks. I miss those simpler times.
I’m not saying I don’t appreciate that it’s no longer raining constantly. And I’m not saying we should eradicate the mosquitoes; I’m happy the bats, birds, and fish are getting an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I’m just saying that in Vermont, in the age-old battle between humans and mosquitoes, 2023 hasn’t been our year.
