How do you know when spring has really arrived? Forget the official date on the calendar—it’s about as reliable as Wiarton Willy’s forecasts. No, the true signs of spring come from the world itself. And in Limehouse, that grand awakening of a new season happened on Sunday, May 4th. The following story is from my book, We May Not Be Crazy, But Sometimes I Wonder.

The Annoying Visitors

In the peaceful countryside, where the seasons follow a familiar rhythm, there’s an unpleasant, annual disruption that accompanies the arrival of springtime tourists. Expecting their impending visit, I prepare as best I can for the usual challenges of meeting, greeting, and managing these bothersome intruders. Urban folk know nothing about these callers. They enjoy the onset of warm May weather as they busily clean up the yard, prepare flower beds, and make barbecue plans. But for the rural population, outside work and pleasures are next to impossible, as this month brings a hostile annoyance: the relentless assault of black flies. These tiny winged tormentors descend upon us like a plague, forming a malevolent halo around our heads and following us wherever we go. You can almost hear them sharpening their knives and forks as they descend upon us for a feast of fresh meat.

I’ve tried countless remedies, touted as sure-fire solutions, to repel these insufferable insects. Head net contraptions only seem to invite them to sneak beneath the mesh, leaving itchy hive-like bites at the nape of your neck. Citronella canisters, smudge pots, Bounce dryer sheets, Deep Woods spray, and even homemade concoctions—none have proven effective against these tiny demons. The only course of action is to resign oneself to their brief but relentless presence. They live their lives with an audacious indifference to our suffering and, thankfully, vanish as mysteriously as they appear. These miniature devils are definitely a nuisance, but one particular year, things took an unexpected turn, spiralling beyond my control and resulting in disastrous consequences. In retrospect, I can now see a certain degree of humour in the situation, but at the time, it was no laughing matter. There are just some experiences where time must pass, before we laugh. This was just such an occasion.

It all began with a leaky hot tub, barely a year old. Because it was still under warranty, I figured I would just contact the company to fix the problem, so I called. No response. I called again. Nothing. I was persistent and finally, after several weeks, a service truck pulled up in our driveway. Three technicians, or so they claimed, stumbled out of the vehicle. As these young guys sauntered around the house looking for the tub, I overheard them discussing their drinking escapades the night before. My confidence in the trio fixing this problem plummeted to a level zero. Furthermore, when I realized they had left all tools and equipment in the truck, I knew things would not go well. I was on high alert. Not only were these guys, tool-less, they were also clueless. But they were here, and so were the black flies.

With these little black demons swarming around them like a malevolent cloud, Nit, Wit, and Idiot, the names I christened them with, removed the tub’s lid and carelessly tossed it down the hill, its final resting place landing close to the pine trees. My dear Chuck, being the accommodating soul that he is, set up smudge pots in an attempt to drive away the relentless flying terrorists. Since the incompetent trio did not have the parts necessary to fix the leak, they decided two of them would leave to get the required supplies. This left one behind guarding the hot tub.

As they were leaving, one of the morons knocked over a smudge pot, sending it rolling downhill, until it collided with the discarded lid, setting it ablaze. Now, I am not sure if they were unaware of this catastrophe taking place or if they just didn’t care, but they did not stop to evaluate the situation. They just went on their merry way. Chuck happened to see the fire and ran over, trying to stamp the flames out with his feet. Nit was frozen like a statue, staring in disbelief at what was unravelling before his eyes.

“Get the damn garden hose,” yelled Chuck, “before the tree catches fire and spreads to the house.”

Still no movement or help from Nit. By sheer luck and quick thinking, Chuck was able to control and put out the fire. When we inquired about replacing the damaged tub cover, the company had the audacity to quote us a staggering $500.00 for a new one. Suffice it to say, that was one bill we had no intention of paying.

Upon reflection, I’m beginning to think maybe we should show some respect for the black fly population. Despite being unwelcome nuisances, these tiny creatures exhibit a level of predictability and efficiency that contrasts sharply with the erratic behaviour of certain individuals within the human species. Black flies provide a straightforward and tangible model to mimic. They adhere to a reliable schedule. They appear promptly, fulfill their mysterious duties, and depart without overstaying their welcome. There’s a certain clarity in their actions—we know where we stand with them.

The events that occurred that day tested not just our patience, but our very mettle. Could we truly survive the rigours of rural life, or would it prove too much for us?

In a moment of despair, I thought, “I can take no more,” but I was wrong.

Our ordeal, it seemed, was not yet over.

 

 

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