After a months-long dry spell (talking about the weather, of course), and looking dolefully out over a yellow, parched lawn, it was great to finally get some relief in the form of daily showers.
I had practically forgotten what it was like to hear rain clattering on the roof; taking an umbrella everywhere; and having chicken excrement naturally washed away from various pathways, rather than engaging the garden hose daily. The plant life definitely needed the water, but it also brought down the temperatures a bit – incredibly welcome, when I’ve been wondering if we’re actually sitting on an active volcano.
Of course, with the rain comes other side effects, some of which are beneficial, and others, we could do without. For starters, if we decided to open the world’s first mosquito-breeding farm, our backyard would be a gold mine. No matter what we’ve tried to keep these winged menaces at bay, we are harassed by them all year round. But, once the ‘monsoons’ start, things can get ugly. I’ve heard they are attracted by a mixture of sweat, carbon dioxide and dark clothing, which makes me a walking smorgasbord. More than one person has told me I breathe heavily, even at rest. Always nice to hear. I instinctively tried not to breathe at all after that initial observation, out of sheer paranoia, and lasted about a minute.
Subsequently, the first gasp for air after attempting to self-asphyxiate sounded like a accelerating jet engine. Back to loudly churning out CO2 – catnip for the mozzies. I also perspire on a dime, and if you catch me wearing a light-coloured outfit, it’s ‘cos my entire wardrobe is in the laundry.
Every evening, we have to get a baby chick we’re rehabilitating out of a mini-coop in the garden to bring into a box in the house. We also have to catch a new hen we adopted and put her into said coop for the night so she can roost in luxury. Her previous owners really loved her (when you hear a chicken’s favourite food is cilantro, you get an idea of what I’m saying) and so we’re trying to keep her in the way to which she has become accustomed. Unfortunately, the coop is just big enough that if the chick decides not to cooperate, attempting to extricate it can take about five minutes – just enough time for nature’s Luftwaffe to brutally attack in formation. How the neighbours haven’t called the police, based on the screaming and swearing emanating from my hyperventilating gob every dusk, is beyond me. No wonder the chick is thinking, “Yeah… no thanks, mate. I’d rather just stay here.”
Once the chick is in hand, and I’ve got it settled in the safety of the house, I then have to catch the hen, who loves to play coy. She definitely wants to go into the coop, but let’s have a game for a while, where I try to catch her, and she keeps evading my grasp. Some nights, I’m running around like a loon, with a bunch of cilantro flailing about in one hand, and the other hand trying to corral her into a corner, whilst at the same time constantly swiping at mosquitoes. One swipe away from her, and she recognises a chance to run and play the game a little longer. Tum-tee-tum, isn’t this fun? I swear, I am going to have to invest in a beekeeper’s suit.
Another sight familiar to those of us who have lived in the islands for a while, is the land crab. Often underground for the dry season, they emerge once the rains begin. It’s unfortunate that a mix of factors has significantly reduced the numbers of these fascinating creatures. Without meaning to sound like an old-timer, I can say I remember the days when I’d be driving home from East End and the road was blanketed with them – truly.
Anyway, I definitely have some big-clawed residents around my house and, two weeks ago, they started making their presence known. When we first moved to this home – a bungalow – it took some time to get used to the crabs moving around at night. I’d hear some significant tapping on the French doors of my bedroom, and without logically wondering why a burglar would bother knocking first, I’d gingerly approach, wielding something lethal like a hairbrush. Every time, without fail, it was a large land crab, tapping away at the doors as it slowly made its way past them. Now, I’m used to it, but it was unnerving in the beginning.
Beyond the wildlife that we encounter in the rainy season, there are other pros and cons. One absolute belter of a con has been the state of best friend Lynne’s vehicular air-conditioning system. It went on the fritz a couple of months ago, when one could still walk outside and not wilt like flowers in a microwave. Unfortunately, the parts are taking a while to get here, and now we’re in the situation where if it rains, we choose between staying dry and sweating to death in a Kia oven, or bringing shower gel along for the ride. I swear, I drove it a few days ago, and it was pouring, so I put up the windows, lasted two minutes, put them down again, got drenched from rain, put them up, nearly suffocated (you want to hear heavy breathing… ), put them down, lashed by water, put them up, tried the A/C to get some air moving, fires of hell, A/C off, windows down…
What really put the capper on the day, was that I got home just in time to start my evening chicken ritual. I covered my sopping wet body in OFF spray, and headed out to feed the mosquitoes.
Yay, rainy season.
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