Something’s not quite right with this picture.
Seconds ago I flipped a wonderfully packed snowball to Chevy,
and watched Moses hobble over trying to bite it out of the air. The smell of
drying leaves and melting snow fills the air, sunlight streaming in through the
bare birch tree canopy.
And then there’s a stinging.
A small pinch at first, quickly dismissed as a leg hair that
carelessly wandered in between the fibers of my denim pant leg. A step later
the stinging was still there, without looking I tugged at the fabric to free
the stray hair. But the stinging persisted. I look down and what do I see?
What’s that clinging to my pant, its legs grasping at the cords of fabric,
backlit by snow?
The Alaskan state bird.
The mosquito.
But not just any mosquito. A big prehistoric looking mother.
I tug the pant leg again and it grips tighter, burying its proboscis
in my skin an inch below the surface. I give the whole leg a shake and she* adjusts casually,
like a professional bull-rider sitting on a couch.
[I can’t really emphasize this enough. These insects are no
trifle. Last summer when the cinci kids and I all came up to visit, we
encountered them in earnest on the Granite Tors trail.
The group of us had driven the 50 miles out Chena Hot Springs road and
were a bit turned around looking for the trail head so we pulled over to ask a
roadside crew for directions. The second we cracked the window a grey mist
poured in through the narrow opening and the car filled with a dreadful buzzing
noise. Immediately we began slapping at them while Matty did his best to get
directions and preserve his dignity in front of the road crew. But he
eventually cracked and the window was rolled up mid-sentence. If only one of us
knew sign language…
Once on the trail we practically sprinted up the hillside to
get out of the boggy mosquito infested terrain. When we finally returned to
Fairbanks and could survey the damage, exposed areas were clearly outlined by a
patchwork of bumpy blistered skin.
But this comes with a silver lining, these creatures are just one more thing that knits Alaskans
together; brothers in arms, united against the unrelenting opposition.]
Back now to my stretch of trail, the thirsty bastard pulling
her fill from my leg. At this point I’m staring incredulously, the nerve of this tiny creature. I want to
think of ways to make an example of it, make a statement to the other would-be
drinkers, but I don’t follow through. I’m not a monster, and wont react as one
would. Without further thought,
already having invested too much time in this miserable pile of molecules, I
smash is out of existence, scattering it to the wind. And leave behind an unfortunate smear,
an all-you-can-eat sign for the hungry droves to come.
* yes ‘she’. Female Mosquitoes are the blood drinkers, while
the males prefer nectar and sugar they also do useful, non-violent things like
pollinate rare orchids (http://www.dnr.state.mn.us/volunteer/julaug09/pollinators.html)
Its a well known fact that mosquito bites in mass cause delirium and hallucinations, this is the only thing that could possibly explain this woman's smile; mosquito bite to the brain.
