Blood Sucking Scum

 “Mosquitoes remind us that we are not as high up on the food chain as we think.”

(Tom Wilson)

Our winter in Montana was a wet one.  In the little town I live in we received over 120 inches of snow during the winter months . . . then spring was a little rainier than usual . . . making for a damp spring and early summer as the snow melt combined with the extra rain.  Mother Earth seems to like such combinations as everything popped out green as everything and anything seemed to sprout.  It was a beautiful time in Montana and it is only now that it is beginning to return to its normal brown for the summer.  But, plants are not the only things that appreciate extra moisture . . . so do the insects!

Along with the beautiful green has come a bevy of insects . . . especially mosquitoes . . . blood sucking mosquitoes!  There are three insects that I dislike . . . no, I should be honest . . . that I hate.  Those insects are flies, ticks, and mosquitoes.  Flies are a constant irritation once the weather warms up.  Ticks are a nuisance whenever hiking or walking through tall grass.  Mosquitoes . . . well, mosquitoes are a royal pain in just about every part of the body including the proverbial arse.  Of the three insect I hate, I have move mosquitoes up to the top of the list . . . they are nothing short of being blood sucking scum.

Most of the places I have lived mosquitoes did not become a nuisance until the sun started setting in the evening.  In the evening they came out in force as little vampires seeking the rich blood of us humans.  Not here in Montana.  In Montana, the mosquitoes figure that any time is a good time to suck the blood of humans.  It does not matter what time of the day in Montana, there is always the possibility of getting bit by a mosquito.  In the majority of the places where I lived the communities would spray a couple times a week for mosquitoes.  They would drive through town with a truck that had a fogging machine spewing out mosquito repellant.  For the most part, anything within twenty feet of that truck was effectively sprayed . . . anything beyond, well, good luck.  But, at least they made an effort to kill the blood sucking scum.  Here in Montana it is everyone for him or herself.

Thanks to the wet winter and spring we have a particularly mosquito infested summer.  They seem to be everywhere.  It has been, forgive the pun, a sucky summer as far as mosquitoes go.

These pesky little boogers are persistent in their relentless pursuit of human blood.  It seems that there really is nothing less than using thirty percent Deet that keeps them away . . . trust me, I know.

That is the minimum percentage of mosquito repellent that I will use . . . thirty percent Deet.  Deet is not good for humans.  Most of the mosquito repellent that is available off the shelf usually has no Deet or very little Deet.  Mosquitoes laugh at such repellent . . . they see it as a bonus, like flowers on the table while dining out, adding a little fragrance to their meal.  Yet, at least around our homestead and while hiking, we use nothing less than thirty percent Deet . . . the higher the percentage, the better.  Most Montanans with any common sense know this . . . it is the state cologne for men and perfume for women in Montana.  It is a scent everyone in Montana recognizes . . . plus it is a heck of a lot cheaper than anything you can buy at the fragrance counter in most stores . . . plus it is much more effective.  So far, this summer that has become my scent.  I have noticed that it is not a scent that is very attractive to the opposite sex . . . and that the birth rates in Montana are pretty low in February, March, and April.  We can thank Deet for that . . . but, by God, we are mosquito-free!

Another method we use to keep the mosquitoes at bay is burning citronella oil.  Citronella oil supposedly has a chemical makeup that keeps mosquitoes away.  I am not really sure whether or not this is true as I often have covered every inch of my body with thirty percent Deet . . . but, when I am outside at night, I burn citronella oil in my lanterns.  It seems to work . . . but, again, when one is slathered in thirty percent Deet . . .

Probably the most popular method for mosquito control is the good ol’ fashion swatting method . . . you know, just smacking the hell out of the little farts!  This is a great method if there are only one or two of the little suckers bothering you . . . but, mosquitoes number in the billions if not the trillions.  The swatting methods, though rewarding for its effort, is pretty darn ineffective in solving the problem.

Basically, at least in Montana, mosquitoes are a given . . . you are not going to escape them . . . they are everywhere!  They are a part of the summer mystique and lure of Montana.  At one time it was suggested that the state adopt the mosquito as the state bird . . . but, no, we decided to jump on the bandwagon of the Meadowlark with a thousand other states.  Mosquitoes can be swatted . . . they can be sprayed . . . they can be Citronella to death . . . and, they will still be there.  The blood sucking scum is just a reality Montanans have to live with . . . it literally sucks!

With mosquito bites I am pretty fortunate.  Most mosquito bites I get only bother me for the first thirty minutes or so . . . then they just seem to disappear.  I am pretty fortunate in that regard.  Others, though, are not as fortunate.  When the little vampires bite their bodies become an infestation of bumps.  Little children are susceptible . . . the elderly seem susceptible . . . my wife, who has gotten West Nile Virus from a mosquito bite putting in the hospital for a week, is susceptible.  The little blood sucker mar the bodies of those we love . . . creating little mountain ranges.

One evening, after coming in from being outside, I suggested to the two-year-old granddaughter that we play a game . . . connect the dots on Grandma . . . on Nana.  Needless to say it would have been interesting to see what we came up with . . . it got me a night on the couch.  The wife did not see the adventure and creativity in it.

I am not really sure what the purpose of mosquitoes is.  I imagine that in God’s grand scheme of things, mosquitoes have a purpose.  I imagine in Darwin’s scheme of evolution, mosquitoes have a purpose.  I also know that since the great flood of Noah, people have been cursing the fact that Noah brought two of those little blood suckers onto the ark.  As far as I am concerned . . . mosquitoes have not purpose, no real necessary reason for existence.  Yet, I do have to give God and Darwin some slack . . . after several million years, mosquitoes are still with us.

I guess the old man, Ralph Waldo Emerson, is right . . . if nothing else, mosquitoes remind us that we humans are not as high up the food chain as we thought . . . we are sort of middle of the roaders when it comes to the importance of things . . . after all, we are a food source for a pesky little, blood-sucking insect.  Oh well, it really does not matter.  I am going to continue to work at moving the human race up the food chain . . . I am going to continue to mount a full offense against mosquitoes.  I would like to enjoy at least one evening during the year . . . when the temperature is not below zero . . . with the blood sucking scum!  Or, I will vote for the mosquito to become the next state bird for Montana.

Call Me Paul Bunyon

With the completion of the "evening recreational area"--complete with a fire pit--one of the first things I realized that it needed to be successful was wood.  You have to have wood in order to have a fire in the pit.  Our neighbors to the north of us donated the wood for the first two fires, but that wood quickly burned in the first two fires we had this week.  We had gotten down to the nitty gritty with only a few pieces left which put some urgency into the need for wood.  I really did not want to bother my neighbors for more wood, nor did I want to do as my big city children would do and buy some wood at the local super duper grocery store.  Neither would the wife allow me to torch any of the furniture we have around the house that no one ever sits on.  The solution was just down the road in the local national forest--there is tons and tons of wood there!  Plus it is in my price range--free!  So that is what I did this morning I set off to get myself some wood for the evening recreational area's fire pit.

Now a person needs to understand this--I live in Montana.  In Montana, with a little muscle and effort, no one should ever have to pay for wood to burn in fireplaces, fire pits, or wood stoves.  The national forest is good about letting folks get as much fire wood as they need as long as they use the designated areas.  It is a win-win situation for everyone--the national forest gets rid of trees it doesn't want, and people get some great firewood.  Thus it was that I set out this morning at 6:00AM with a wood saw, camera, my tunes, and a bottle of water.  The early start time was to do a little critter creeping in hopes of catching some of Bullwinkle's relatives hanging out in the woods--thus the camera.  That was kind of a futile effort as the only critters I saw were deer, marmots, and squirrels.  But into the woods I went . . . a man on a mission . . . watch out Paul Bunyon!

One of the prevalent trees that grow in the national forest in our area is the Lodge Pole Pine.  The tree got its name from the fact that these trees grow tall and straight--perfect for the sort of lodging (tee pees)that the American Indians used in our area.  Several years ago a fire swept through the area and torched a lot of the trees.  As they fall they are available for firewood.  As you can see in the picture above it is a regular cornucopia of firewood for the hauling.  I found an area that quite a few previous wood hunters had used and decided to start there.

 
With great excitement and gusto I jumped out of the pick-up, grabbed a fallen tree, and began the fine art of sawing it into a usable size for the fire pit--about 12 to 16 inches in length.  The goal was to fill the bed of the pick-up with ready-to-use firewood.  After 15 minutes and maybe eight to ten pieces sawed I had exhausted myself and basically thrown a grain of sand in the bed of the pick-up towards the goal of filling it up.  Add to that the attack of the killer mosquitoes who had to have sucked at least a pint of blood out of me and this Paul Bunyon-thingy was going nowhere fast.  At this rate I figured I'd be out in the woods, drained of blood, and the pick-up no closer to being filled even after several hours.  Buying wood from the local super-duper market was beginning to look good--I don't know if that was because of the lack of blood or because I was tired of sawing.  There had to be a better way!

In a stupor I stood there staring at all that wood around me and then I looked at the saw in my hand--this was futility at its best.  It was like carving a tooth pick out of a two-by-four!  Then I looked closer at what was around me--I quit focusing on the big picture--there was firewood everywhere for the taking.  All I had to do was bend over and pick it up!  Everywhere that someone had fallen a tree to cut up into smaller firewood were the remains of the wood that was deemed unsuitable by their harvesters.  There will scraps of firewood--from six to ten inches in length--laying everywhere.  All I had to do was to do was a little of that ancient art of gleaning--picking up the leftovers!  Within an hour I had the bed of the pick-up filled!  I figure I cheated the mosquitoes out of a couple of pints using this method.  It sure saved a lot of wear and tear on my body--especially my arms, and I didn't need to stop at the local hospital for a transfusion.

After a quick stop in Red Lodge to purchase tickets to a concert at the Regis Cafe on August 5th and a re-stocking of beverages for the evening recreational area, I was home by 10:30AM.  The firewood was unloaded by the evening recreational area, the truck bed cleaned out, and the itching had stopped from the millions of mosquito bites--it was a good morning!  Of course, it rained in the afternoon and soaked all the wood, I didn't see a moose, and I still have yet to find that mythical creature of Montana . . .

Until the next adventure I keep my eyes peeled for the elusive Beer!  In the meantime, Paul Bunyon's reputation and legend are safe!  Don't call me Paul Bunyon, just call me Mini Paul!