I love spring, but ugh–the bugs!

I do love spring–my trees come back to life, the oaks gleam with yellow-gold new leaves, and I stand outside and recite “Nothing gold can stay,” the poem by Robert Frost. That tradition began when I was in high school. Every year Mrs. Williams would lead us out to a second story balcony beneath a sprawling live oak, where she’d recite the poem and we’d marvel that Nature’s first green really is gold.

Let me see if I can remember the poem:

Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower, but only so an hour.

So leaf subsides to leaf . . . so Eden sank to grief.

So dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay.

I do love that poem . . . and every year I recite it, I realize more and more how fleeting life is, and how we really do have to seize the moments God has given us.

That is the marvelous part of Spring. But now that I live in a Florida forest, I’ve become well-acquainted with two bugs–one I have no problem with, and the other I tolerated . . . until last night.

The first bug is a tiny green worm that seems to dangle magically in mid air. They appear in early March, and they swing on invisible gossamer threads in mid-air. People walk into them unexpectedly, and often I see my airbnb guests spitting out green worms—they are actually oak leafrollers, and they come from the trees, descending to mate and cocoon and turn into tiny white moths that return to the oaks to wait for another spring. They are so small they could fit on your thumbnail.

The second bug is the Tussock moth caterpillar, which I just identified a few moments ago. They also appear in March, and they cover our trashcans. I don’t know where they come from, but they seem compelled to climb high and cocoon under the eaves of our house and in any available nook or cranny. I’ve seen the cocoons beneath benches, branches, even broad leaves. But here’s the thing–these fuzzy caterpillars sting.

My grandkids know not to touch a fuzzy caterpillar, and for six years I’ve managed to maneuver around them. But yesterday I was working outside when one of the tussocks dropped onto my neck. I pulled it off as quick as a wink, but once I saw what it was, my skin began to tingle. I told myself it was psychosomatic and not to worry. But last night, as I tried to sleep, the entire back of my neck was flaming red and itching and I barely got a wink of shut eye. That rascally caterpillar got me . . . and my skin is still itching as I type.

So my peaceful coexistence with the Tussocks is over. A couple of months ago I painted the ceiling of our front porch, and the tussocks have been trying to cocoon up there, so I keep getting the broom and knocking them down. There are a zillion trees; why do they want to cocoon on my porch and my trashcans? It’s gotten so we can’t even lift the lid without risking life and limb.

I feel sorry for my March airbnb guests. They must think we have alien creatures year round. Fortunately, the caterpillars disappear at the end of March, though their cocoons seem to stay around until someone pulls them off. We have zillions of them under the eaves.

When I was a kid, my family went to Vero Beach. I don’t remember much about the trip, but I do remember that the place had been overrun by crabs. Literally. They were running around on the sidewalks, on the beach, and someone with us even found one under the hood of their car. As a kid, I was convinced those crabs were trying to scare us away. I sure don’t remember swimming!

So yes–Springtime in Florida is wonderful–highs in the 70s, lows in the 60’s, bright and breezy, but if you come to my house, carry an umbrella. If it’s March, it’s raining bugs.

What’s the best thing about Spring where you live? What’s the worst bit?