Sandra-Kay Austin

Think that there are no flies in the ointment of life on Vancouver Island?  Well here’s a recent event that might change your mind.

Isn’t this Fun?

They snuck in by air, arriving silently above me like a fleet of World War I zeppelins.   Aware that they were searching for a target, I urged my hand-weeding tool to work faster. Maybe the breeze will come up again and carry them away. After the air stayed still for the next thirty seconds, I watched them head directly for me.  Great. I eyed the dots beginning to gather around my head and tossed a large clump of grass into the partly full bucket of weeds that were wilting as fast as my afternoon goals.  Quickly jabbing the base of a broad-leafed weed, I drew in a deep breath of resignation. Yuck! I snorted, pulled out a tissue, and blew my nose until it felt as if my brain would be expelled. Now you asked for it! Wielding the white tissue like a sword, I cut through the cloud of tiny bodies.  A slim line of clear air appeared in the wake of my tissue and disappeared just as fast. Well that was pointless. I rose to my feet and the moving air currents drove them back a few inches. Yeah. Go somewhere else. Right after that a crawling sensation near my temple warned that one of the invaders had bravely managed to sneak in under my straw hat brim.  I stopped it in its tracks by crushing it. Triumphantly wiping my wet fingers on my dirty jeans, my gaze took in his buddies who were advancing toward me as if they intended to get even.  I tossed a weary glance over at the specks swirling above the semi-circle of clipped grass behind me. Okay. You guys win for now. I’m going inside.

Spring’s song of trilling birds and gently rustling greenery seeped through the closed windows early the next afternoon, tickling my eardrums and tugging at my heart in spite of the housework I was busy doing.  Finally, the urge to venture out into the beauty on the other side of the kitchen sliders became too hard to resist. My hand settled on the door handle. Then the multitude of sunlit brown spots gliding around grabbed my attention. Wow! More than yesterday. No way I’m up to that battle today. Disappointment surged through me and I turned away.  Guess you’re stuck inside for another day. Maybe they’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Two weeks is long enough for you guys to be here, my mind reminded the fly before I fanned the area near my face to send it on its way.  Just after that I noticed that a few tiny black flies were attempting to hide among the hoards of slightly larger brown ones that were circling nearby.  I threw my neighbour-friend a ‘isn’t this fun?’ look. “I’ll sure be glad when…yuck!  I hate it when they fly in my mouth! I don’t need the extra protein! Like I was saying.  I’ll sure be glad when fly season ends!”
Her blue eyes smiled.  “You’re lucky you have long hair.  They crawl in my ears.”
“Well they still find the part.  But what I hate most is when they try to get into my eyes.”  Realizing that one of the black ones was sitting on her cheek, I gently flicked it off.  ”I think it’s the black ones that bite.  The brown ones mostly just drive you nuts, but I’m not sure.”
Thanks.  I was just into Courtenay and there aren’t any there.”
“Yeah.  They’re just here.  Must be all the bush around us.” My neck started to tickle so I lifted a shoulder and squeezed.  ”I guess we should be glad that they don’t bite very often or pester us for too long though.  And that we really don’t have many mosquitoes or biting bugs once fly season ends.” I watched as she brushed flies away her dog-companion’s brown and white face.
“Well,” she said a bit reluctantly, standing straight again and peering up the paved street. “They descend on us every time we stop so we better get going.”
“I know.  A person doesn’t dare stay still.”  Stepping back onto the gravel driveway, I glanced at my front rock garden.  “Hope they leave soon.  I don’t have to be outside much since I don’t have a dog to walk anymore and I’ve been mostly opting for inside exercise these days. Not gardening much or getting my walk in.” Waving my two friends on their way, I turned and crunched toward the gate.

A week or so after our conversation, my grin widened and I tilted my head back. Sunrays bathed my already flushed face, simultaneously adding to its heat and quenching some thirst deeply hidden within me.  My leg muscles screamed for me to stop, while the sound of my panting breaths combined with nature’s symphony urged me onward.  I picked up the pace, my solitary footsteps slapping the pavement and joyously beating out the message, fly season’s over! A sudden desire to gleefully throw my arms in the air brought on a laugh. Get real Sandy!  It didn’t last that long.  And there are worse things. You just don’t want any flies to bug you at all. I nodded. Right. Too bad I’m not in control of things. They’d stay in the bush and leave people alone.

Yes. It is too bad that we can’t control everything that comes our way in life.  And it’s too bad that the flies of tough times and adversity have a way of descending on everyone sooner or later.  Maybe we should all remember that.  And when we see others struggling through a personal fly season, shoo the critters away if we can.

Ready for a taste of West Coast Spring?  Enjoy!

Spring’s Wonderful Song

“I don’t believe it!” popped out of my mouth.  “What a crazy place to build a nest.” I grabbed my binoculars.  “What in the world?…It’s gone!”  Realizing that the sparrow’s nearly completed nest had likely fallen to the ground, I strode outside to search through the salal at the base of the bare grey fir trunk. The sight of shattered chunks of mud and twigs made me shake my head.  “What was it thinking?  How foolish to build on a flimsy knob of branch in a completely exposed spot.”

Two Juncos zoomed by, one chasing the other, and a smile came to my lips.  Spring. It surrounded me.  Its subtle scent of the wet season’s mould and decaying matter not yet dissipated by the sun, mixing with the faint fragrance of the earliest flowers dotting the resurrected swath of green spikes and ovals in my garden. I licked my dry lips and tasted the tart flavour of wood smoke from my neighbour’s morning fire that stubbornly insisted on hanging in the air.  Brilliantly coloured Purple Finches filled the evergreens above me, the males singing for all they were worth in hopes of attracting a mate or perhaps boasting that they’d already acquired one. A squirrel scampered energetically up one of the nearby trunks, chattering happily in the new warmth that was attempting to chase the coolness from my bare face and hands.  Spring. Nature shedding the past and clothing itself in the promise of wonders to come.

Hesitating with my fingers on the light switch after supper, I glanced around our cozy living room.  Shadows teased the corners of the room but the hardwood floor in the centre still sported a soft golden glow and I dropped my hand. Pushing aside the afghan sprawled across my easy chair, the comforting thought came that soon I wouldn’t need it to fend off the evening’s chill. Shafts of sunlight slashing the air between the mature firs across the street pulled my gaze out the window as I sat down. My eyes followed a beam across the paved road until it kissed the climbing rose that was draped across the chicken wire fence and vanished.  Suddenly, I shot to my feet.  “Why are you coming now?”  You rob the feeders at night. Forget that! I dashed out the nearby door. The fat raccoon waddling across the pavement completely ignored me as I flew down the steps and driveway like a whirlwind. Then, right as it reached the fence, its beady black eyes swung to me.  I stopped, watching it jump up in the air and turn around in one motion. Satisfaction swept over me when it waddled back to the culvert at the end of the driveway as fast as its short legs could carry it and dove inside. Well.  Don’t be so stupid.

Look! There’s a hummingbird!” my husband exclaimed the next evening.
My face snapped toward the window.  Shifting slightly in my easy chair, I honed in on the dazzling green jewel hovering near the right corner. It moved slowly sideway along the glass looking inside at us and I chuckled. “Okay little scout.  I see you’re back. I’ll get your food made and fill the feeders tomorrow.”  Anticipation stirred at the tiny minute acrobat’s unspoken promise of our five resident families return from their southern vacation.

“It sure feels like spring,” I remarked to my husband, stepping out of the car at the grocery store the following morning. The shimmering sunlight seemed foreign to my eyes after the rainy season and I blinked.  Its warming rays began to seep through my black fleecy as Allan clasped my hand and it was almost too warm by the time I was approaching the entrance. The newly displayed flats of small green plants there caught my eye for a second, and then, the heavy automatic glass doors slid open.  Bouquets of Daffodils and Tulips.  Potted Lillies and Hyacinths.  Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs.  Hot Cross Buns.   My heart sung!  Signs of Spring.  Signs that point to Jesus!  Sweet-spicy buns with crosses, reminding that He died so that we might live in intimate relationship with God.  Bulbs once dead and now in flower, reminding that He rose from the grave and desires that we experience the wonders of an eternity spent with Him. Bunnies, chicks, and eggs, reminding of the new life we can have in Him every day. I smiled, listening to nature’s spring song echo loudly through the store. Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs, repeated the racoon’s warning against apathy and waddling thoughtlessly into the future. Bulbs repeated the sparrow’s warning that all that could be won’t come about if we trust in the wrong thing. Crosses repeated the hummingbird’s tribute to provision.  Spring’s wonderful song, vibrant with Jesus’  promise:
*”…I am the Resurrection and the Life, Whoever believes in (adheres to, trusts in, and relies on) Me , although he may die, yet he shall live.”

* John 11:25 Amplified Bible