This tale is about the
black flies.
I've been subjected to them before, but never like I have this time. We are hiking in
Maine, NH, VT, this whole northeast section and it's spring too. These black flies are
everywhere, and they head for your eyes. Why? They bite your hands. They bite you all
over, but mostly they head for your eyes. I have slapped myself so many times. I've
killed hundreds of them, but I've slapped myself thousands of times and I found, crazily,
that it's dangerous.
Imagine, you're hiking on slippery
rocks, maybe on the side of a hill, and these flies are buzzing all around you. One of
them heads for your eye, so you close your eye and you slap. You could slip right off that
rock. I've decided it's not worth it. I don't want to slip. I'll just let them bite me.
And sometimes I get them caught in my eye and I have to stop, sit down and wash my eye
out.
One day, George and I are walking
along with all these flies bothering us, and it starts to rain. So I think, we better
hurry and get shelter. We're not far from one of these shelters that are three-sided
wooden platforms, open on one side, and we start rushing to make it before the big storm
breaks.
Suddenly, I realize that all the
flies are gone. We make it to shelter and I say, "George, the flies did the same
thing we did. They headed for shelter. Where are all the flies in a big rain? Where do all
the mosquitoes
go? Do they have shelters? If we lift up a leaf, will all the flies be underneath, using
it as an umbrella? I'd like to know."
