We're hosting Daufilme this weekend- not a traditional Daufilme in the sit-down, dinner-and-an-outdoor-movie way, but a tradition nonetheless. This will be year 3 that Josh and the boys make the trek to buy a pig from this farmer in Mississippi who drives a good bargain and starts drinking early. Then they'll kill it, and do those related tasks, bring it back, keep it in a bathtub of ice overnight, and spend the majority of Saturday tending to the fire and rotation cycle to roast it just right. The strategy this year is moving away from the above-ground-cinder-block ovens they've built in the past, and toward a big ol' hole in the ground and a bunch of banana leaves. Everyone is excited. Especially the vegans and Jews.
Oh, but wait! Also, Stefin's been getting back into the garden groove the tiniest bit ever since some nouveau New Orleanians have moved in across the street, who are able-bodied and generous of spirit. So, a couple of weeks ago, Stefin convinced them to help him go to the horse-stables around the block, and transport trash-cans full of horse poop back to the yard, to be part of our compost and generally show our support for the cycle of life.
So they did, and that's cool, although do you know one thing that really LOVES all this break-down-of-manure-business? FLIES.
Oh. My. !@#$%&*
I feel like I am losing my mind. The manure doesn't smell anymore certainly- it actually just looks like mulched dirt. And some folks have ventured that the whole neighborhood is just fly-y right now and it's not necessarily from our backyard, but it is unusually buzzy around here. Those exoskeletal poop-eaters that have maneuvered their bold way into our house are making me crazy. Wherever I sit, I bring the fly swatter with me.
When Aeli sees them he says, "Rye?!" and points. Then, when they fly off: "Oh no! A-way?"
Yesterday he killed one with the swatter. Seriously. Ninja-quick. Then he goes, "Arbage?"
Thank goodness. He's on my side.
I'm doing my best not to transmit my borderline-irrational stress about these clumsy bugs to our baby. So instead of screaming and flapping my arms wildly each time one runs into my face, or two bonk into my shoulder or neck right after another, I try to make the massacre of them into a casual game. You know: stay positive.
And Stefin's folks are coming into town tomorrow too. Just in time to help us celebrate the un-Kosherest of pre-Halloweens, with an entourage of flies.
Well, at least I have this:
