I am strongly affected by mosquito bites. I am almost always the first or only person bitten in any given group. The bite swells up, and it looks like someone shoved a nickel under my skin. I feel a harsh, stinging, searing itch that goes on for many hours, and the swelling stays for a day or so.
I HAAAAATE mosquitoes!
Mosquito season here began May 1, six weeks ago. Last calendar year (2018) was the wettest year in recorded history, but the April-April year ending just before May was even wetter. Combined with warmer temperatures, we were prepped for the Mosquito Apocalypse. Invasive Asian Tiger mosquitoes have been thriving here and expanding their range, but the native biters are still a threat.
But this year has been blessedly free of them. Totally free, in fact. Suspiciously free, as it were.
It turns out there’s a reason.
Only one significant mass extinction of insects is known from the fossil record – the great granddaddy of them all, the Permian-Triassic, aka the Great Dying. We are, apparently, in the beginnings of another:
And for the past six weeks, my enemies, my tormentors, the parasites that make my summers miserable, have been nowhere to be seen or felt.
But tonight I was bitten – for the first time this year. As I type, I can feel the burning, insistent throb on my forearm…and I am strangely conflicted. My hate for my traditional enemies is blunted by my worry for the natural world and where we may be headed.
Do I wish her well, my tormentor? Do I secretly want her brood to hatch and thrive and fill the skies with that droning whine that chases me indoors?
I do not know. But a new, nagging itch I cannot reach troubles me.