Junebugs

The Junebugs have arrived. They do a great job of pruning the roses and our Japanese maple…too good a job. By the middle of August the roses and Japanese maple no longer have one leaf to share among their several selves. We have tried ignoring them (the Junebugs, not the roses). We have tried putting out traps for them, you know those bags with some sort of nasty liquid concoction inside designed to trap and hold them. The traps filled up. They fell down. Sometime around Christmastime we picked them up and threw them away. I don’t want to touch anything that’s full of liquid and dead bugs…well, maybe, if it’s a nice, chilled Reisling and it’s only got a couple of gnats in it…but those bags of Junebugs? No way. That’s up to Mark and he’s not home for long enough at a stretch to remember where all of them are. Except at Christmas.

Going outside a few moments ago I was reminded of a play we watched at the Smithfield Little Theater several months ago. We went to see a kid-friend perform in Smoke on the Mountain. It was hilarious. There was one scene where a lovely lady with a BIG Southern accent made a comparison between a Junebug with a string attached to one leg and Christians, who are attached to God, and then between a Junebug without a string on it’s leg and those who don’t have religion. She was so funny holding the pretend string, with a pretend Junebug flying around her head and talking about, “If you hayad God in yowah life, you’d be like this here little bitty Junebug flying in nice little circles instead of flying off all crazy-like…” or similar words. I almost peed myself laughing. Just a few months earlier we had tortured a big fat Junebug in just that way. Martina had the time of her life.

Well, I sure wish that lady was here now to save all the Junebugs and us from them. Maybe a posse of tiny little cowboys could ride up and lasso them for us and tie them all to our fence? The gigantic buzzing bastards are everywhere. Every time one of us goes outside we chance losing an eye to one of them! They hurt when they crash into me and they don’t have great steering. They are far too large for quick turns or any sort of agility. I am going to have to start charging them rent! I swear the air is so thick with them that it’s scary. I’m not an ooey-girl, really, but for now I’ll stay inside, thank you very much.

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About Blue Eagle Dreamer

Shamanic High Priestess and facilitator of empowerment and healing circles for girls and women, including a monthly Red Tent Temple. BA in English, minor in anthropology. Waldorf homeschool mom. Reiki master, cranial sacral therapist, herbalist, menstruvist, feminist, epicurian.
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