Our country year

Our yard is surrounded by woods, thick and deep in some places, and overgrown with greenbriar, wild grape and Virginia creeper. I think for the most part it's a sanctuary for all kinds of animals and insects, and certainly the ticks find it habitable at certain times of the year. I had thought we'd find this place to be mosquito-infested in summertime, as our yard in Illinois was from the middle of May until August. We were here several weeks in July 2002 before we realized there wasn't a mosquito to be found. Of course, NJ was in the last days of a six-year drought, so I figured that pretty much summed it up.

But if you were to stroll down to the end of the street, all the way to the pastures, you'd likely donate more than a few red blood cells for the next generation of mosquitoes. The road isn't paved much past our house, and the canopy is enough that it's barely possible to see the roadway from overhead as you travel south. A regular mosquito haven.

And yet, not our yard. Over time we've come to realize that we are blessed with dragonflies (many different varieties all summer) and bats. On sultry days the dragonflies will perch on my toes if I'm floating in the pool. They rest only briefly and then continue their hunt. Some of them actually seem to pace the open yard, up and down, up and down, as if following some grid set up on the lawn. They are blue, red, brown, green, black or white. Sometimes they hover before me as if sizing me up: friend or foe? I count myself a friend.

In the evenings, bats begin their circling routine high overhead. Usually there are two or three - I don't remember seeing more. I know they are about most of the night, too, as two nights ago, I head a light thump on the balcony adjoining our bedroom. I got up and turned on the floodlight in time to see the bat swoop away. I don't know if it was resting or feeding. What I never knew before was that the bats actually hunt very close to the ground, and right over the water of the pool. We were sipping cocktails poolside one evening and noticed they would flit across the water right in front of us, silently and swiftly.

Now, I like bats. I know the statistics on rabies infection in NJ, and it's really low for bats. I'm not afraid of them - at least, I'm not afraid in the same way I'm not afraid of snakes. I am startled by them, by their speed and erratic movements, but when I have identified them, I calm down and observe. But last evening, just about twilight, I went out to check that there were no critters trapped in the pool. A bat flew around me, at about waist height, obviously successful in its hunt, and I wasn't startled at all. Perhaps I was a lure for the few brave mosquitoes that must actually be here. I heard nothing, felt nothing but the gentlest breeze from its wings. It was within arms length. I felt blessed and protected, much the way Sue Hubbell describes in one of the most lovely passages in A Country Year.

I hope it's not too stormy tonight. I want to go out there again and fly with the bats.