"They're not crawling on me, are they, Tails?"
"I don't see any more. You might wanna shower, though."
"But you said there weren't any more."
"Not that I can see."
Blaaaah!
"You should write a blog entry about this. If this isn't cottage life, I don't know what is."
So, here I am. With Necco Wafers and Kool-aid (strawberry), after changing my clothes... I am getting away from ants.
No matter how far you go, or how hard you run, or how clever you think you are — the ants always find you.
I picked up a pot in the greenhouse, carried it about ten feet, then put it back in the greenhouse... then I noticed a puddle of ants where the pot had been. Puddle. A Puddle of Ants. The spot was so black-brown with the confused and slogging goobery things that, yes, it looked like a puddle. A moving, rippling puddle with a tiny creek of ambling ants leading to and from it...
It's not that I really mind ants. They're small and harmless, and when you squish them, on purpose or accidentally (because they don't know the difference), they smell rather funny—metallic and earthy and soapy. But I like my ants like I like my evil dryads: with an awareness that they're there, but so far off as to be invisible.
Living the cottage life means sharing your precious domain with six- and eight-legged visitors. Unwanted ones. They're like old college mates who stop by — then won't leave. Had the unfortunate detail of smashing a big brown spider in my room the other night. To give you an idea of how things can be here, I keep a fly swatter like Remus Lupin keeps his wand: always at the ready. The kitchen has finally lost most of its insectile infestation after someone of a skillful standing was brought in to remove the ants' bivouac. This blockade hasn't stopped them from acquiring a taste for my room, though they appear there on a small scale — one for every millionth speck of dust. A ratio I can live with. I don't like killing things, even things smaller than me that are threatening the comfort of my abode. I feel it is an abuse of power and a collapse of compassion.
Other than preparing Breezy Day Cottage for spring, there is little going on. Tails is not working on anything. Other than the yard. And his tan, when, you know, we actually have sunlight and it's not 40 degrees outside.
I've decided to do some rewrites for a short young adult (sorta?) book I wrote a few years ago. That's coming along well, or it does when I sit down and write. I'm using the same world/planet that Tails used for one of his "epics" (he doesn't like that word, epic), but a different country in that world. He's enjoying it, and recently gave me a list of semi-vulgar colloquialisms (used in his epic)... like "gaff the gods!" and "bilk it all!" and "Old as Vaniel's Mere!" which means "as old as the hills." I'm surprised we're not going around the yard saying "Gaff the gods!" to one another...
All and all, I've felt incredibly lazy and overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I have to do and the stuff I want to do. The warmer temperatures have been uplifting, though they keep coming on days of wind (otherwise known as "how the cottage got its name"), and we've had more than our fair share of clouds, too. Considering the winter I had, I've not been too unhappy and sulky, even if my lavender seeds haven't sprung up yet, but, lo, the iris* bulbs are sprouting whether or nay they are in the ground. I should run down and get a photo... It would mean seeing the ants again...
All right, I'm back! The ants were pretty well gone, just a handful looking around dolefully to be sure they were supposed to leave, too. (Can you just imagine their talk? "Hank, where's my hat?" - "Beats me. Last time I saw it you was wearin' it." - "You're no help." - "Oh, Manny, lookie, I think you're still wearing it!" - "Gaff the gods, I am!") And, as promised, here's a picture of the iris bulbs already sprouting. The other day I was in there repotting plants, and I turned all of the bulbs over so that they might sprout the way they're supposed to. They'll probably be planted around Beltane.
PS: Commenting from non-registered users now accepted, since neither of us realized that wasn't the default setting...
* Correction: these are gladiolus bulbs, not iris.
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