The houseflies in Southeast Alaska are, like their cousins the world over, unpardonably rude, but at least they have the wherewithal to stay airborne. Conversely, the houseflies in rural Virginia are too lazy even for that scrap of decorum: they land on you whenever you hold still for even a moment.

I know that all God’s critters are supposed to have a place in the choir, but shouldn’t there at least be some rules for behavior? Yes, the flies are nature’s cleanup crew, and they happily chow down on stuff I would scrape off my shoe while holding my nose and trying not to throw up.

But why the slow orbit of my kitchen (Alaska), around and around like slow-witted goldfish? Why the dirty little feet on my arm, my face, the edge of my bowl (Virginia). Why not just make a beeline for the disgusting leftovers, preferably outdoors?

And why do their babies have to smell so bad?

Once I understood that fly paper kills the flies immediately, rather than by slow torture, I took to the practice of hanging long ribbons of the stuff in my Alaska kitchen and dining room. Only problem is, we choose to hang it above head height, so no hapless human finds himself ensnared, while the flies stubbornly do their circling at about chest level. I thought about putting the ribbons on a pulley system, so that I could lower them down to maximum-harvest level at night. Maybe I should also include a strategically placed pin-light, to prevent complications for mid-night snackers. Or, conversely, maybe this set up would discourage midnight snacking. Win-win.

But I digress.

Here in Virginia, the flies are deceptively agile. They land wherever, and start vacuously cleaning their nasty little feet, but disappear instantly when threatened with a descending book, newspaper, actual flyswatter, or one of those lethal tennis-racket looking contraptions. I wonder what they think about. The flies, that is, not the tennis rackets.

And yet, for all my fussing, I must acknowledge that flies help clean up. What would our fields and country sides and streets look like without these teams of enthusiastic custodians? I shudder to think. So, while I will continue to vigorously defend my personal space, I will also try to be a bit more tolerant of the species in general. If I could just convince this fool to stay off the rim of my coffee cup.

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For your further edification:

“All God’s Critters got a Place in the Choir” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43bp60pyFNQ