Summer Hunts
June 3rd, 2011 by John Creighton in Snapshots
The Miller Moths are driving me crazy. (We only called them Miller’s when I was a kid but folks in Colorado look at me with a blank stare unless I say “moth,” too.)
The onslaught of moths is my least favorite part of late spring/early summer.
I hesitate each time I open a window this time of year flinching in anticipation of being hit in the face by the dirty beasts. I pretend not to notice the horrid brown spots on the windows not wanting to admit what they are.
I also try to ignore the growing piles of bodies blocking out the light from the ceiling fixtures. You can clean them out but the next day the accumulation is just as great. It’s better not to notice.
The cat gets fed up with the flying nuisances cornering one on the floorboards. I don’t mind the cat eating what it catches (while it looks disgusting). I don’t appreciate the screeching that proceeds the kill… at three o’clock in the morning.
On more than one occasion I will nearly drive my car off the road this time of year as I try to coax a stray Miller out the window. They are impossible to ignore even in oncoming traffic. They must be gone no matter what price must be paid.
I become nostalgic for the summer hunts of my youth. Dusk, or just after dark, was the best time of day for our quest. My brother and I would turn off all the lights in the house. Then, room-by-room, we would turn on a single light. Broom in hand we would herd the flock of Millers to the next room until we rounded up “hundreds.”
Reaching the last room one of us would continue to herd our quarry toward the sole light in the house. The other had the privilege of lying in wait vacuum wand in hand. Touching the “on” button with our foot… thoop, thoop, thoop, thoop, thoop….
Ah the satisfaction.
It doesn’t seem mature to engage in such a hunt in one’s forties. But, when Millers bombard me from all sides as I turn on a light in a dark room I think, “Wouldn’t it be nice.”