Maine has several seasons. We have the standard summer, fall, winter, and spring, but along with these we add in mud (between winter and spring), black fly (Mother's Day to the Fourth of July), and deer fly season (early to mid summer).
It has been a hot deer fly season this year. As usual, biting insects don't tend to bother Martin, but they zero in on me like I am the only living thing on the planet that they could possibly feed on. While I am an tigin mowing, digging out stumps, fetching tools for Martin, or just waiting for the next job I need to do, I am tormented by deer flies. They love to circle around my head just waiting until my hands are occupied before they land to take a chunk out of me. I don't know how they do it, but as soon as I pick up two handfuls of roots, the deer flies light and start feeding. Instinctively I swat at them with my hands full of sandy roots. By the end of the day, I am bitten, hot, sweaty, and covered with grime from having flung it on myself while trying to defend myself from the pests.
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