I am a proud native Californian, sometimes a tough statement to stand by in
Yankee territory.
I’m not talking about baseball allegiances but about the Yankees who are
always a bit superior when it comes to the soft core they know lurks in us Left
Coasters.
For the record, even though it was not in my plan to live anywhere east of, say,
Reno, I stayed here of my own volition and fell in love with this particular corner
of New England. That said, I do pine for California, especially when the talk
turns to seasons.
New Englanders, at home or displaced, wax sentimental about their seasons as if
they existed nowhere else. Even California has seasons, of course, though some
of them I will never miss: earthquake season in the fall, fire season all summer
and an excruciatingly extended season of bathing suits.
Despite it’s moderate climatic reputation California serves up satisfying
extremes. In winter ten feet of snow can fall overnight in the Sierra, while daffodils
bloom in the green foothills an hour west. The Sacramento Valley roasts away at
100 degrees all summer while San Francisco huddles under a cool blanket of fog.
Some days I succumb to the spell of New England’s magical seasonality. Just
recently, on a spectacular May afternoon, I felt practically drunk from an exceptional
run of cool, dry spring days. Yet I had a vague sense that something was missing.
Two days later, the day after Mother’s Day, I remembered what it was when
a resounding swat marked opening day of black fly season.
New England in spring has many charms. Black flies, on the other hand, suck.
Wait — I’ll take that back. Technically, black flies don’t suck.
I once heard someone on NPR describe how black flies tear out a hunk of flesh
and then drink from the ensuing pool of blood. Only the females do this, but let’s
not go there.
Black flies are nothing if not reliable. Despite alarming climatic shifts, black
flies peak according to the Hallmark calendar — as any local can recite,
“from Mother’s Day to Father’s Day.” As a Californian,
I try not to ask a lot of questions because Yankee common sense, while charming,
can make you feel stupid. Consequently, much of my local wisdom comes through
trial and error.
The first summer I attempted a vegetable garden, I waited till early June to prepare
the soil. As I was turning compost in the heat of the day, black flies attacked,
buzzing in my ears and swarming on my neck. In bewilderment, I thought, they’re
on me like flies on…
Looking at the compost, it all came together. I also realized why my neighbors
had been scrambling to get their gardens prepped in early May.
Ah, that first Upper Valley summer. I looked at my necklace of red welts and made
a mental note not to commit to any evening-gown events in June. These are not
frequent on my calendar, but it was good to keep in mind. Seeing the futility
of the situation I scratched with abandon, perfected blood-stain removal techniques
in the laundry room and bought my kids mesh wardrobes. In lieu of spackling myself
with layers of cover-up I incorporated a hasty blood smear check into my pre-socializing
routine.
When my sister lived in Massachusetts, she recalled catching sight of her scabby
June-ified legs. “How do they ever field any New England contestants for
the Miss USA pageant?” she mused. Fortunately, the pageant is in March,
when Yankee skin is fresh and moist, like a halibut’s.
My sister, who likes to test theories, especially if they promise enjoyment, was
convinced for a time that drinking beer made one less attractive to black flies.
A recovering alcoholic assured her this wasn’t true, so far as he could
remember.
I guess the best way to protect yourself is to know your enemy. Black flies never
come indoors, don’t fly after dark or in the rain, get dispersed with wind
and can’t penetrate clothing. So, as long as you stay indoors all day, or
go outside only at night in a cold rain with plenty of wind, your sleeves tucked
into gloves, pants tucked into socks and a Ziploc bag over your head, you’re
good.
Also on the upside, because black flies are attracted to carbon dioxide in the
breath, they make excellent jogging pacers. Their top speed is a walk, which induces
you to jog for your life.
If black flies do have a redeeming quality, it is, with true Yankee deferred enjoyment,
the way they make you value other seasons. By the end of June I am only too happy
for the hazy, hot and humid season, which will help heal our skin by fall. As
even we Californians know, fall is the best season of all.
