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The Shoo Fly Blues
9/24/01
Blaine Parks
Buzz. Slap!
Buzz, buzz. Slap!
Buzz. Slap! Buzz, buzz.
Slap! And, so goes the tune of our Shoo Fly Blues.
Cruising aboard a sailboat is a wonderful experience.
One of the things we love most is our closer connection with
nature. We live with oceans
and other waterways as our front yard, sunrises and sunsets act as the
artwork hanging in our living room. However,
there are times when that connection becomes the bane of our existence.
This summer, our torment comes in the form of flies, thousands and
thousands of flies. We have
small flies, horse flies, green biting flies, and the worst of all is the
persistent buzzing fly.
It all started as we traversed the Dismal Swamp Canal on our way from
North Carolina to Norfolk. Aaron
Sherrill, Janet, and I were continually harassed by hordes of green biting
flies. I danced around like a
tap-dancer fighting off flies at the helm while Aaron and Janet took turns
swinging the fly swatter. It
became a personal issue with Aaron at some point. He, a man of very high intellect, began talking to the flies,
telling them to “Take that. And, tell your friends that they’re not
welcome here!” Unfortunately,
he wasn’t speaking their language.
So, there we were heading through the canal with Aaron talking to
the flies, Janet killing them with a vengeance, and me doing a jig behind
the wheel. What a sight we
must have been.
They left us alone for a few days when we arrived in Norfolk, but we found
ourselves hosting a group of horse flies several miles offshore on our way
north to Block Island. They
must have been exhausted after traveling so far from shore.
We didn’t stop to ask them.
We raced back to our battle stations.
Shortly thereafter, the scoreboard showed, Charbonneau 1, Flies 0.
Buzz. Slap!
And don’t you come back!
We found some relief in the northeast this summer.
Perhaps the flies had the same problems we did navigating in the
fog. Either way, we were
relieved to have the fly swatter returned to its storage place for many
weeks. But all good things
must come to an end. Our
reprieve ended with our return to the Chesapeake Bay.
You would’ve thought we had sent out embossed invitations to the
world’s fly population. They’re
back, and they're back with a vengeance!
Our new attackers are not normal flies.
They're highly intelligent, well organized, bands of ‘Freedom
Biters’. We left our
companionway doors open during the day as a sign that we come in peace.
Once again, we weren't speaking their language.
I thought I saw a group of flies come together to huddle outside
the boat, obviously discussing their plans to take-over ‘Charbonneau’.
And take over they have.
The most shocking characteristic of these new enemies was their unique
understanding of exactly what a fly swatter is.
They fly brazenly in the open, even landing on the computer screen
while I’m typing, up until the moment we reach for the fly swatter.
Where once there were fifty flies just seconds earlier, we are now left
holding the fly swatter with no enemy in sight.
Put down the fly swatter and back they come.
They’ve even gone so far as to use my weaknesses against me.
I twisted my foot this week, resulting in some healthy swelling and
soreness. Knowing that I’d never hit my sore foot, the flies would
gather there, rubbing their grimy front legs together as they looked at me
through their bug eyes. I’d
shoo them off, carefully avoiding any contact with my sore foot. They’d jump up a few inches, let my hand swing by, and then
land again. I’m sure I
heard a faint laughing as they buzzed by.
My morale was shaken. The
flies had won!
So here I sit, fly swatter at my side playing the Shoo Fly Blues.
Buzz. Slap!
Buzz, buzz. Slap!
Buzz. Slap! Buzz, buzz.
Slap! Only now,
there is a new sound in my Blues. The Chesapeake Bay Fly Symphony has added a crescendo of
buzzing in stereo. Actually,
its more like surround sound. They’re
everywhere!
Oh yeah, this
cruising stuff is all luxury!
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