It is a hot day in July.
The newscasts report record breaking heat in the United States along with widespread power outages. I worry about those people affected, especially those without necessary air conditioning and readily available ways to keep cool.
It is the type of day when my Mom would close all the windows in the house and draw the curtains as well as flip the venetian blinds down in the kitchen. No electric lights or appliances (including the television or radio) were allowed to be turned on due to the possibility of heat generation in that era of vacuum tubes, and where air conditioning was considered to be only a rich man's crutch.
The comings and goings and consequential opening and closing of the door was hailed as an unwelcome intrusion and had to be done with a deftness haste reminiscent of the coldest days in January.
The house , therefore, was a cool, dark, and quiet sanctuary from the seemingly unrelenting barrage of heat in a windless world.
It is the type of day that if Mom had ever known about how good it was, she would have started some Sunshine Iced Tea.
This is also the type of day that Mom would fill the galvanized wash tub with water from the well and let me sit in it while proudly wearing a yellow seersucker bathing suit in the stifling warm porch . (I was the one wearing the seersucker suit--not my Mom. Just wanted to clear that up.)
This is also the type of hot day that might stir up a thunderstorm with the potential of an out and out downpour including damaging hail or even a tornado. I suppose that is why one of those times when I was enjoying my washtub swim my Mom told me to climb out and stand in the stairwell of the basement while the sky darkened at 5 pm.. I remember it darkened so much so that one couldn't see the garden nor the barn where dad was milking the cows.
It is this type of hot day that would make sleeping upstairs in the wood frame press board lined farmhouse almost impossible. Impossible not only for the still and sweltering heat that settled under the poorly insulted roof rafters, but also because of the flying , flitting, flipping, and crawling of an undetermined number( seemingly millions) of diamond backed moths that absolutely loved the press board walls for the laying of eggs.
One would hear the tick tick tick of moths on the window--the inside of the window, as well as around the yellow shaded bulb (designed badly to dissuade insects from congregating around the light) at the top of the stairs. One would hear the moths flip and flop around the folds of the curtain as they struggled for freedom.
There are some who claim that moths don't bite but having one creepy crawl around your hair, ears, and pillow, as well as underneath the covers with its soft, furry, slinky and silky wings would make one start and jump out of bed just as fast as if any scorpion or flesh eating creature had suddenly attacked with jaws ajar and claws bared.
There would be no escape from these fuzzy flying fiends except to cover one's head under the sheets that would be snugly tucked around one's body. In the morning one would see the sickening wet clumps of eggs laid on the walls and edges of door frames. There would be no moth in sight, all having found some obscure corner such as under mattresses, behind hanging pictures and mirrors, on top of light fixtures, inside dresser drawers and folds of clothing, and between pages of books.
While the thousands of people who are currently without power in stifling heat sit and wait, I suspect few will have to sleep in the company of moths. I also suspect quite a few would envy anyone who had an opportunity to bath in cool well water in any type of tub-- galvanized or not.
May their power soon be restored and the sun be merciful for the sake of their elderly and infirm.
The newscasts report record breaking heat in the United States along with widespread power outages. I worry about those people affected, especially those without necessary air conditioning and readily available ways to keep cool.
It is the type of day when my Mom would close all the windows in the house and draw the curtains as well as flip the venetian blinds down in the kitchen. No electric lights or appliances (including the television or radio) were allowed to be turned on due to the possibility of heat generation in that era of vacuum tubes, and where air conditioning was considered to be only a rich man's crutch.
The comings and goings and consequential opening and closing of the door was hailed as an unwelcome intrusion and had to be done with a deftness haste reminiscent of the coldest days in January.
The house , therefore, was a cool, dark, and quiet sanctuary from the seemingly unrelenting barrage of heat in a windless world.
It is the type of day that if Mom had ever known about how good it was, she would have started some Sunshine Iced Tea.
This is also the type of day that Mom would fill the galvanized wash tub with water from the well and let me sit in it while proudly wearing a yellow seersucker bathing suit in the stifling warm porch . (I was the one wearing the seersucker suit--not my Mom. Just wanted to clear that up.)
This is also the type of hot day that might stir up a thunderstorm with the potential of an out and out downpour including damaging hail or even a tornado. I suppose that is why one of those times when I was enjoying my washtub swim my Mom told me to climb out and stand in the stairwell of the basement while the sky darkened at 5 pm.. I remember it darkened so much so that one couldn't see the garden nor the barn where dad was milking the cows.
It is this type of hot day that would make sleeping upstairs in the wood frame press board lined farmhouse almost impossible. Impossible not only for the still and sweltering heat that settled under the poorly insulted roof rafters, but also because of the flying , flitting, flipping, and crawling of an undetermined number( seemingly millions) of diamond backed moths that absolutely loved the press board walls for the laying of eggs.
One would hear the tick tick tick of moths on the window--the inside of the window, as well as around the yellow shaded bulb (designed badly to dissuade insects from congregating around the light) at the top of the stairs. One would hear the moths flip and flop around the folds of the curtain as they struggled for freedom.
There are some who claim that moths don't bite but having one creepy crawl around your hair, ears, and pillow, as well as underneath the covers with its soft, furry, slinky and silky wings would make one start and jump out of bed just as fast as if any scorpion or flesh eating creature had suddenly attacked with jaws ajar and claws bared.
There would be no escape from these fuzzy flying fiends except to cover one's head under the sheets that would be snugly tucked around one's body. In the morning one would see the sickening wet clumps of eggs laid on the walls and edges of door frames. There would be no moth in sight, all having found some obscure corner such as under mattresses, behind hanging pictures and mirrors, on top of light fixtures, inside dresser drawers and folds of clothing, and between pages of books.
While the thousands of people who are currently without power in stifling heat sit and wait, I suspect few will have to sleep in the company of moths. I also suspect quite a few would envy anyone who had an opportunity to bath in cool well water in any type of tub-- galvanized or not.
The Miller Moth
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