We’re Not Alone Here

learning to live with invertebrate cohabitants

If you’re queasy with any and all written descriptions of insects, you might want to skip this month’s issue!

We get a lot of wasps here in late summer. Along with mosquitos and horseflies, the latter of which have had me cry out in pain upon being bitten, the wasps are unwelcome invertebrate adversaries that give the warm weather a sting. We herd errant visitors out of the living room, wafting our arms towards open doors or windows; we fashion a fake hive out of a brown paper bag and hang it under the porch to deter them from setting up camp. We don’t like them; does anyone? 

But then, one day, we notice one floating up and down the stairs, in and out of the skylight. Its flight path is fixed, a monotonous journey forward, then back; forward, back. It is up to something. We look closer. It’s alighting at a tiny gap in the wooden panelling on the stairwell walls, where it is gathering materials with which it will make the nest. It is using bits of our home to build its own.

Something I love about life here, specifically during the summer months, is the way the house opens up. From June until around September, it feels as though the outside comes in: grains of sand from the lake beach; blades of grass from the garden; the fruits of harvest: mushrooms, berries, rhubarb. Even the clear, fresh air that drifts against curtains and, on occasion, slams doors shut. The warm, safe haven we’ve burrowed into over winter is suddenly transformed into trees, forests, raised beds; bodies of temperate water. We burn the soles of our feet on the porch, walk morning dew through the house. 

And in come the bugs. It starts in spring: moths begin to flutter against the porch door at night. The spider that had spun her web between the panes of the window by the shower vacates. Most noticeable of all are the countless number of flies that appear on the porch; after a long winter hibernating in our attic, they’ve emerged and they’re ready to mingle. They swarm the porch, settling in clusters on the wooden railings. Their buzz gives the feeling of a horror movie set as we try to enjoy some mid-morning sun, holding our hands flat over our coffee cups. Stefan, always first to consider how the local flora and fauna might negatively impact our home, is quick to start investigating potential fly-inflicted damage. His search turns up nothing sinister but informs us of their purpose: soon, they’ll lay their eggs in the grass nearby.

I’ve become strangely fond of the flies, in the way that I am fond and respectful towards all living things (although perhaps excluding the aforementioned mosquitos and horseflies). When strays float down from the attic during cold snaps, it feels awful to usher them outside into minus temperatures and near-certain death. Food for the birds, I tell myself. Their spring swarm hardens me to their presence–it’s difficult not to see them as pests. But how much more entitled to the house are we than they are? Flies don’t care about money or deeds. Even I am reluctant to speak of ownership, preferring to consider myself as guardian, caretaker. The wasps and flies have likely been sheltering in our attic for decades. I’ve not been up there once.

This is not to romanticise insects and the unsettling presence they can hold in our homes. Growing up in London, I experienced my fair share of invertebrate intrusions: golden moths that bite holes through your clothes; a beetle infestation whose source turned out to be a lavender heat pack. I have discovered squirming larvae beneath under-bed storage boxes, picked black-shelled dots off my duvet. Sharing your space with such creatures is never a comfortable cohabitation, rather a drawn-out battle as you learn to tolerate each other.

The flies, once again, have come out on top. They don’t overstay their welcome, returning the porch to a tranquil sanctuary within days. The mosquitos, when their time comes, will triumph: our repellent sprays and control devices will not stop them from rising in numbers due to changing weather conditions. That same heat will only continue to make the north of the country more hospitable to ticks, with which we had our first encounters last summer. The minutiae of the planet will continue to adapt, even as we struggle. This, after all, is their home too.

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