The Fly that Doesn't

Over the past few weeks, our house has become a sort of magnet for a weird insect that looks for all the world like a mosquito from “The Land of the Giants.” (Anybody out there remember that silly old TV show?)

A constant creeping – and creepy – horde of these buggers has been alighting on our siding and window screens, where they engage in the behavior that millions of years of evolution designed them for: doing nothing. Motionlessly. For hours and hours. On end. Days, in fact. On end.

I don’t know what sort of debauched lives they might have led during their misspent larval youths, but it seems odd to me that once they finally become mobile, with wings that could easily carry them to the four corners of my yard, if not beyond, they exhibit no interest in travel. They just sit. Motionlessly. For (see preceding paragraph).

For a while, their presence put a crimp in our late summer activities. My kids wouldn’t venture outside for fear of being suddenly punctured by the proboscises of legions of Giant Mosquitoes, snapped out of their stupors to devour us on an unseen and unheard signal from some Giant Mosquito squadron leader who’d been patiently waiting for us to achieve maximum complacency.

The thing is, the Giant Mosquitoes don’t bite. Because they’re not Giant Mosquitoes. They’re crane flies, one of the most common of large swarming insects, along with hornets and 2008 presidential candidates.

I learned a lot about crane flies from several articles on the Internet, written by entomologists, who shared facts like these:

> “Crane flies have only one goal during their relatively brief life as adult insects: to mate.” (I seriously doubt this. There’s been no mating activity at my house. And the crane flies aren’t making whoopee either.)

> “Crane flies have a remarkably sophisticated navigation system, utilizing two thin stalks that emerge from just behind the wings. They are called halteres. Female crane flies often drive males crazy by wearing low-slung haltere tops.”

> “After sunset, adult crane flies become active and fly to night-lights. They can enter structures through the slightest of openings. Piles of eight to twelve inches of dead midges may accumulate in unexpected places, such as windowsills and cereal boxes.”

This last factoid had a footnote, which read “Ha! Just joking about the cereal boxes! But I had you going for a second, didn’t I?”

Hmmmmm; who knew entomologists could be so goofy.

Crane flies have been given some colorful nicknames. There are some people who think crane flies eat mosquitoes, and thus call them “skeeter eaters.” Other fanciful monikers include “gallinippers, “gollywhoppers,” and “jimmy spinners.” In France, the unattractive bugs are called “cousins.” (I’m guessing the Frenchman who coined this term had some tense relationships with his extended family.)

Speaking of cousins, I have one who’s an entomologist. Really. I asked him what would eventually happen to the two-deep layer of crane flies perched motionlessly all over the neighborhood. He said most will be unknowingly consumed at breakfast, and the rest will accumulate in eight- to twelve-foot deep piles in the chimneys of lame-brained columnists who call entomologists “goofy.”

# # #

TakefiveT5@yahoo.com