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The word is out. The vast media conspiracy, of
which I have been a willing tool, failed to stop the leak. Defeated, I see no
point in keeping up pretenses.
Folks, there are mosquitoes in Durham. Lots of
them, none smaller than a beagle. A few old silverbacks have aircraft
registration numbers on their rumps. I hear one ran for school board a while
back.
Who betrayed the secret after all these years?
I am ashamed to admit it was this very newspaper, in the “Tell It To The ER”
feature. For years we have tracked down callers trying to expose us. Most
accepted a simple word to the wise; a few tough cases woke up with an empty
plasma bag in their bed. But we managed to keep it quiet.
I suspect some jealous Chico
plant in the newsroom finally eked out the courage to buck the powerful Durham
lobby, but no one’s admitting anything. We could probably hunt him or her down,
but to what end? The cat’s out of the bag, or as we say in Durham, that
turnip’s got no blood to suck.
When my family first moved here I thought I
knew my way around mosquitoes. I grew up among ponds and pastures, fertile
breeding grounds for nature’s little vampires. But if a pond is home to a
mosquito, an orchard is bliss and a rice field divine.
Some years ago at a swim meet with our kids at
the Durham pool, a cloud of mosquitoes like none had ever seen settled on the
crowd. The sky went as dark as if the moon had passed in front of the sun.
They laughed at “Off;” a few were spotted drinking the stuff and spraying it
around like drunken frat boys. Slap ’em and they’d slap you back. With several
races still to go, officials called the match due to the bloodsuckers (that part
is true, honest).
I bought a bug zapper when we moved here, the
biggest model I could get without a permit. They roasted wieners over it.
(Wiener dogs, actually. I don’t know where they got them.) We set up a
perimeter of citronella candles; the mosquitoes used them to wax their legs.
Gradually we adapted. My wife learned to sew
stylish clothing from Kevlar. We got ankle weights for the children to wear
until they grew to 100 pounds. And of course we are regulars at the weekly
blood drives, donating for the slow and infirm.
Being exposed hasn’t been all bad. Freed from
the burden of deceit, Durham can now celebrate its favorite pest with the first
annual Durham Mosquito Festival, a fundraiser for Durham schools. It will be at
the Durham High gym, Saturday, September 29, from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. Making
lemonade from lemons is what we do here in Durham, especially since
mosquito-based beverages never caught on.
Like most community festivals, this one will
feature games and entertainment, not to mention our favorite mosquito recipes.
OK it’s really chicken, but you can hardly tell the difference.
If you’ve never been to Durham
but want to attend, let me share a few pointers. First, upon entering the
school grounds do not be alarmed by the anti-aircraft artillery. It serves
mainly as a warning and is hardly ever used. If the air raid alarm does go off,
calmly curl beneath the nearest desk and tuck your head safely between your
knees. Whatever you do, make no sudden moves.
Other than that, come on out and
have a good time. We love our rural, uncrowded lives, but we like visitors
too.
Just don’t get any ideas about
moving here. We’d hate to have to start, uh, I mean start denying, those rumors
about rampaging bands of rabid weasels.
© 1997- 2002 Brent Morrison
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