People uninitiated about The
Eastern Shore all make the same common mistake: they don’t think about our
mosquitoes.
They come alone, in caravans,
with kids and pets, and they schlep swim suits, beach toys, chairs, and
sunscreen, but they rarely bring along bug repellent.
It must be understood that we
live on a marsh that borders on a bay and an ocean. It’s the marsh that gives us fits.
Stagnant water creates an ideal
site for mosquitoes to lay their eggs, only to later become tools for
exsanguination. Look it up; I’ll wait
for you.
Faced with possibly developing
all sorts of nasty diseases, tourists should take extra precautions with not
only their sun intake, but also their blood-born health.
And with a combination of our
uninformed youth, and modern times, rediscovering methods of yore, we should
know there are several “natural” methods available to aid in the eradication of
those little pests.
Yarrow, a yellow flowered plant,
is said to be more powerful than DEET in repelling mosquitoes. Armed with that information I bought three
plants and placed them next to our front door.
Two days later, I caught a swarm of mosquitoes carrying off one of them.
Bats, the flying mammals, are
alleged to be able to consume 1,000 mosquitoes per hour, per bat. But in all the decades I have been visiting
and living on The Shore, I have never seen a bat other than in the hands of a
Delmarva Shorebird.
Let us not overlook the humble
green tree frog, though. Only a few
inches long, the diminutive green tree frog is a relative of the giant tree
frog. Go figure!
In any case, warmer spring temps
this year revived Señor Sapo who, when I was exiting to retrieve the morning
newspaper, was neatly tucked inside our storm door. He appeared to still be in a state of semi-hibernation.
To that end, I am trying to keep
him alive so that he may eat copious amounts of mosquitoes au natural. We carefully
open the door to prevent a smushing mishap, and close it the same way. We make guests use the back door so as to
avoid any amphibian catastrophe, too.
In any case, I’ve got my eye on
Señor Sapo, along with his weight. I’m
using this as a barometer to measure Señor Sapo’s eating habits. If things go as I expect them to, he will
soon weigh a modest seven pounds.
Until then, Smokey the Cat is
forced to patiently wait by the door and listen to Señor Sapo croak, lest he
become a toy for Smokey.
By the way, if you’re thinking to
yourself how I know Señor Sapo is not a Señorita Sapo, it is pretty
simple. Male frogs make noise, while
females don’t produce much sound at all.
That’s exactly the opposite of humans.
I’m just saying…
