I have been waging war with the flies for over a month now.
I’m happy to say I have been victorious, but it’s been a long and costly
campaign.
Initially, it was only a few flies hovering on the stone
porch taking shelter from the sun. They were tiny; in fact, at first I thought
they were large gnats. They rarely landed long enough to get a good look.
Apparently, these first flies were the scout flies, because
within the week there were swarms of flies on my porch.
To be honest, these flies weren’t harming anyone. They
didn’t land, they made no sound, they simply gathered for some kind of fly
conference. But I don’t like flies on principle. I associate them with stink
and filth and dead things.
Because they were so mild mannered, I simply asked the flies
to leave by waving a large 2x2 foot colorful foam floor pad at them, creating a
wind that carried them off the porch. It was great to have a use for these interlocking
foam pads stacked on our porch. They’d recently been unearthed from our
basement floor after ten years of ineffectiveness. They were originally
installed to brighten up our tiny, dark basement and make it an inviting place
for children to play (and make their mess). Instead, the colorful floor soon
became lost amid the boxes, clutter, exercise equipment, and other leftovers of
life. Since the new cat has been using the basement as his private litter box,
we’ve been motivated to clean out the space. Lots of junk is being passed along
per freecycle, and I’ve been swept up in nostalgic hours of picture sorting and
journal reading. Needless to say, it’s taking awhile, but – back to the fly
battle.
The flies scooted out of the way of the crazy woman with the
foam pads and returned as soon as she set down her weapons. Great arm exercise,
but not effective in the long term.
It was planting time anyway, so my next move was to put pots
of smelly herbs on the porch and plant creeping thyme in the garden surrounding
it. The flies were not offended by the odorous effort in the slightest way. In
fact, it seemed to attract even more flies to the party. There is the smallest
hint of a children’s book in this experience (A dog party? Up on the roof? Do you like my hat? I do not like your
hat! Okay, Go, Dog, Go, once
committed to memory, is fading with my children’s appreciation for my
story-reading voice.)
Failing in my first few battles, I did what all desperate
women do when they need a different answer than their common sense or their
husband give them – I turned to the internet. Several sites proclaimed the
powers of plastic bags filled with water. I thought it was a joke, until I
stumbled upon it repeatedly. Apparently suspending plastic bags of water on the
porch would repel the flies like magic!
I enlisted my husband’s skeptical help to install hooks on
the porch and hang Ziploc bags half full of water. And I waited. The flies
scattered during the installation, but soon returned to laugh at my silly bags.
At the Farmer’s M arket
the next day, I was explaining my fly troubles to a few friends. I told them
about the silly plastic bags. One man overheard me and said, “But you have to
put pennies in the bags – that’s what makes them work!” He was insistent, and
everyone else listened in all seriousness, so I hurried home and added pennies
to my bags.
And…..nothing. The flies were not affected in the least and
I wondered if this wasn’t just some giant joke set up by a secret society of
people trying to see how many idiots they can con in to hanging plastic bags of
water and pennies on their porches.
Having not learned my lesson, I turned to the internet once
again. This time I read some boards from England , figuring English people
have been doing the garden/fly/porch thing much longer than the rest of us. One
woman swore by fresh mint. Well, if there’s one thing I have in spades, it’s
fresh mint.
I quickly cut down five large bunches and hung them all over
my porch on the hooks where the baggies used to be. The flies were a bit
frantic from my frenzied action (and maybe the curse words I hurled at them),
but soon settled down and accepted the mint like an overly fragrant roommate.
All through this entire adventure, my husband had been
quietly suggesting we buy some fly strips. To me there is nothing more ugly and
disgusting than a fly strip. There had to be a natural way to chase these
flies. Ever helpful, my hubby brought out an electric bug zapper and hung it on
the porch. The basic premise of an electric bug zapper is that bugs are
attracted to their light. They work best at night. M y
flies sleep quietly on the ceiling at night and treated the bug zapper as an
expensive night light. No dice.
As the number of flies grew, it became necessary to force
anyone wanting to enter the house to “run the fly gauntlet” as quickly as
possible and slam the door behind them before they could be followed.
Obviously, it was only a matter of time before someone was followed.
I’m not naming names, but one of my darling offspring
eventually left the kitchen door open and a swirling mass of flies took up
residence above my kitchen island. This was the final straw. I lost it. These
flies don’t ever land, so I couldn’t even swat them.
I marched to the barn and returned with fly spray. Yes, I am
an organic believer. Yes, I publicly lament the use of poisons on plants and
pests alike. But, I blindly toss those beliefs aside when it comes to flies and
horses. I can’t stand to be around the flies and I can’t stand to see my horses
tortured by them. So, I buy an awful toxic concoction that works miracles,
dispelling flies from my horses.
In a sad, desperate move I sprayed the toxic fly spray at
the flies on the porch and then coated the posts and ceiling. They flies fled.
By the next morning the flies were back and my beloved,
exasperated husband was angry at the obvious oil stains from the fly spray on
the porch stones. These were no ordinary flies.
This led to an even more desperate move. I went to Wal-M art. I crept in the garden entrance, where I picked
up some cheap basil plants (another internet suggestion) and an “all natural
fly trap.” I set the basil plants up on the church pew under the biggest fly
swarm and hung the fly trap dead center (directly in front of my front door).
I felt like part of a M onty
Python skit, certain the flies were simply laughing, “I scoff at your little
trap and your silly plants!”
Deadened by the ordeal of this unholy war, I finally went to
Tractor Supply and bought some fly strips. M y
humiliation was complete when I neglected to read the directions on how to
unwind the fly strip and ended up with it affixed to my forearm. I carefully
peeled it off (coating my hands in the nasty “scented” glue that doesn’t wash
off without the industrial hand soap my husband uses that must be seven kinds
of toxic), only to have it stick to itself. Frustrated and littering all kinds
of non-motherly vocabulary, I picked it back apart and tried to tie it to the
bottom of the empty All-natural Fly Trap. In my flailing efforts at keeping the
strip out of my hair, I tore off the small string meant to hang the strip, so I
retrieved a piece of bailing twine from the barn and tied what was left of the
strip to the fly trap. This looks lovely.
 |
| The small feathers are from a little bird that got caught! |
The next day – no flies. Well, that’s not completely true.
There are plenty of flies, but they are stiff and dead and stuck to the
beautiful fly strip that now welcomes all my guests. Like most wars, there is
much lost in winning.
