A SUMMER OF FRUIT FLIES
OR HOW I GAVE IN TO THE SMALL STUFF
All winter I had a lovely bowl of fruit on my counter.
Mid-summer, I picked up a pineapple to discover a cloud of fruit flies.
I threw all the fruit out.
Now fruit flies are really quite harmless and not a major problem. Yet they seem to be a huge obstacle to overcome. These little flies magically appear near any fruit or vegetables that are on the kitchen counter. They lay up to 500 eggs at a time, and while they live only eight to ten days, they nevertheless proliferate with great rapidity. According to the internet there are hundreds of clever ways to get rid of them, but according to our experiences, none of them really work.
We have tried everything. We washed the fruit outside before bringing it into the house. It didn’t work. We set out glasses filled with apple cider and covered with clear wrap with tiny holes in it. This works—but not enough. We bought the cute little fruit fly traps at Bartlett Farm. They don’t really work either. In fact, despite lots of time spent on the internet, we really have not found a solution except for putting all the fruit and the tomatoes directly into the refrigerator.
Life is full of metaphorical fruit flies—small things that cause no real harm but that multiply so rapidly that they seem like big things. This was a summer of fruit flies—some small and some much larger. And I must admit I let the fruit flies—literal and metaphorical—get to me.
It started with computer problems. No matter what I did—no matter how many times I rotated pictures—they always came out sideways. I got so frustrated that I stopped trying—and there went my column for the Nantucket Chronicle.
Then my computer simply died, and I could not afford to get a new one. That cinched it—no more columns. It wasn’t until almost the end of the summer that I found an amazing computer guy on Nantucket who fixed my computer in ten short minutes. Email me if you want his name and contact information!!
My back gave out. I have gone for 73 years with no problems, and suddenly it hurt to stand or walk. Numerous trips to the doctors on Cape Cod, several cortisone shots, and hours and hours of physical therapy yielded no improvement. Finally, I saw my son-in-law’s surgeon in Rhode Island. Another cortisone shot—again without positive results—and I am thinking that surgery is the only answer.
So, it was a summer of fruit flies—and I gave into them. I stopped writing. I let Georgia and my readers down. I was totally self-indulgent. And I am sorry.
Finally, it is fall. The fruit flies are gone. I am writing again. From now on, I plan to have an article every week. No more excuses.