Outside of a lone stare-off with a steroidal raccoon a few weeks ago, I can peacefully walk my 10-miles every day in total harmony with the possums, raccoons, coyotes (yup, I’m far enough west to have a few around), birds, squirrels and various dogs and cats.
The insect kingdom and I have yet to reach such a mutually beneficial treaty.
Now, there are some circumstances that are just unavoidable, such as spider webs in the predawn. I only know they are there after I start flailing and spinning to try to rid myself of the strands before the spider climbs on me.
(When I was hiking on my GNABRT in Glacier National Park, I asked a guide why there were so few spiders in the forest and she said it was the cold. Sure, now someone tells me a benefit of cold weather.)
In the past, there have also been clouds of gnats, thick clouds and multiple ones, so even as I almost evade one, I plow right into another. Pfft. Ptui. Bleah.
Now, it’s moths. It wasn’t so dark I couldn’t see them, but they’re so big (compared to gnats) that they’re actually tougher to avoid.
And where did they all come from? I’ve been walking this path for years and never run into swarms of moths. Sheesh.
I’ve tried to talk to them, to say I don’t want to be swatting or colliding, but the crawling, spinning and flying little buggers (in both senses of the word) just won’t come to a reasonable agreement.
Animals = good. Insects = stubborn. Ah well, at least it’s not palmetto bugs. I might never leave the house!