hopping house fleas

After drifting across the slow brown expanse of Mississippi in an old flat bed ferry I finally touched ground in the place I was set to end up, New Roads, Louisiana. My drive was notably expedited because I needed to get to the city hall and have my utilities turned on before the doors were locked on this Friday afternoon. Fortunately my toyota truck did a flawless job of moving me over four thousand miles across the country, and not in the straightest of lines I might add, as I visited a friend in Northern Minnesota canoe country before heading due south. The last 26 hours of my tour on down the Mississippi was not what I would call a pleasurable experience, as I figured that I could rest for a total of four of those hours if I were sure to make it on time.

At the city hall, and after completing much paperwork and laying down an overly sufficient sum of money, the office clerk pointed me in the direction of my new residence. It turns out my place neighbors the public library; is about four blocks from the school where I will be working in one direction and two blocks from the town's main street in the other. As I can see, the location is the best part about where I will be laying my head. Pulling in, to the small brick complex with lush tropical types of landscaping, I was very optimistic of what was to come. Opening the door, the place appeared clean, with a nice new fake wood floor and a fresh coat of white paint. It was spacious with two bedrooms and bathrooms (one for a roommate or guests) and the living room opened up with two narrow french doors to a cute square green back yard, with a sufficiently sturdy and tall fence (in anticipation on Mabel's arrival). I unlocked and smoothly opened one door before stepping out and making closer observations, checking for any garden potential. There was not a lot to see, so I casually walked back in, shutting the door behind. Something did not feel quite comfortable. My leg hair seemed to be tingling and starting to itch. Casually looking down at my flip flops I saw what looked like to be very small ants crawling all over my feet and inching rapidly up my calves. Quickly reopening the door and stepping back out onto the porch, I attempted to efficiently brush them off, and then more franticly brushed, aggressively slapping and flicking my lower legs. They were now hopping as if miniature water droplets on a smoking hot griddle, and seeming more bloodthirsty than any flea I had ever seen. After considerable effort, I imagine to have swatted at least 75 fleas off each leg. As it turned out, they were mostly congregated on the back porch, under the overhang where it was totally dry.

I left as soon as I couldn’t see any more black specks burrowing down in my leg hair. Walking back out the front door I came to realize that in my flea frenzy, I didn’t even realize the weather had changed from clear, sunny and humid, to honestly, the thickest downpour I have ever had to navigate. By the time I made it back to my truck, which was about 30 seconds of running, I felt like a defeated wet dog.

Fortunately the precipitation only stuck around for the less of an hour before clearing back up. And so it was a little cooler for the remainder of the late afternoon. The rest of the day consisted of: purchasing aerosol bug foggers, learning how to use the jack and spare tire on my truck (weighted down truck+large pot holes= easy flat tires), finding a dead frog plastered to the inside of my tire rim, and finding a place to stay tonight that was not infested with any type of pest. I also learned that I am living on the white side of the train tracks, literally.

Tomorrow will include sweeping up flea carcasses (let’s hope for a 100% kill) and barganing for cheap furniture at a local flea market, how ironic.