Cold Weather Flies

The way I see it, there are two distinct fly seasons.  The long, drawn out, hot and often muggy summer fly season where there are zillions of flies that seem to spawn from nowhere and the short but disgusting cold-weather fly season.

Let it  be known that my favorite fly season – if I had to choose between gross and grosser – is the summer fly season.  The sheer fact that there are at least 7 million flies on any given sauna-like afternoon that fill up fly tape within 2 minutes, land on the goats causing them to stomp and nearly step into the milk pail during milking, and irritate the living daylights out of any human being still pales in comparison to the cold-weather fly season.

It is my least favorite of the two fly seasons.  And, it has been happening on a daily basis in by kitchen for the past two weeks.

Let me paint a few pictures for you…in case you’ve never experienced a cold weather fly:

You’re standing at the kitchen sink, gazing out the window as you wash a few dishes.  You are marveling at the deep blue color of the sky and watching the cloud shaped like a lizard change into a guitar then into a wedding cake when a large, lethargic black blob enters your peripheral vision and slams into your cheek.  It maintains contact with your flesh for longer than you care to think about, and the fact that it even collided with your unmoving face is absurd.  Don’t flies have upwards of 1000 eyes?  It should have seen you as an obstruction from at least the dining room table.  From the point of contact, it ricochets off and begins a slow descent to the ground, its wings not able to recover quickly enough to get it to safety.  If you are quick, you can get the dish soap off your hands, grab a dish towel and swat it with ease.  But, if you delay, or if it regains consciousness mid-flight, it zig-zags and lands on the glass spice jars and poses for a picture.  It is temporarily saved because you can’t kill it without risking your Italian seasoning being peppered with shards of glass.


The worst though, is when you are walking toward the door, in a hurry to get to a meeting.  Your inertia is forward moving and at the time you happen to take your usual breath in through your nose, a cold weather fly comes in from left field.  It is so slow and weak that it can’t fight the pull of the vacuum it suddenly feels drawing it directly toward your right nostril.  A millisecond before you inhale the poop eating insect deep into your nasal cavity, your brain processes the reality of the situation and its impending disaster.  You stop your breath and wave frantically at the base of your nose.  That one got away, but at least you didn’t have to go to the ear nose and throat doctor to have it removed from the depths of your sinuses.

And finally, the one that happened today.  I went to the bathroom sink to wash my hands and lo and behold, encountered a gigantic fly sitting by the drain.  Really.  It was sitting there, still, so still that I could see that its eyes were a rust colored red and its nose greenish.  I had not ever realized that flies have noses.  That fly didn’t even flinch when I came at it with a wad of toilet paper.  No movement whatsoever.  It had already crossed over to the other side.  To fly heaven.  Or, wherever flies go upon death.  And it was still standing up.  It hadn’t even taken the time to fully die and roll over the way you find dead flies on the window sill.

I hope you can now thoroughly understand why I strongly prefer summer fly season.  It is always important to look at the glass half full, right?

Until next time,

–  The Goat Cheese Lady

P.S.  This is the unedited version of the post that ran in the IndyBlog on Saturday, October 11, 2014.  You can read it here.



About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Then I was an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life. Now, after moving to the country, I have embarked on life as a rural farmgirl, complete with my husband, the Animal Whisperer, man of exceptional knowledge and patience, two boys who are louder than my sister and I ever were, a herd of milking goats, and a flock of egg-laying chickens. Coyotes, mice, country dogs and prairie dogs are frequent visitors. Just 45 minutes north is Colorado Springs, the setting for our first six years in the goat world. Our family. Our city friends. Our introduction to cheesemaking. But we...and our growing farm and soon-to-be creamery...have set up shop down off of Highway 115 in Penrose, Colorado.
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One Response to Cold Weather Flies

  1. Patty Cameron says:

    Your writing is still excellent and fun!

    Sent from my iPhone Patty Cameron


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