When South Moves North

 

When South Moves North

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The other day I found a moth clinging above my screen doorknob. I was in and out the door frequently. The moth hung out all day, swinging with the door. The thing was huge, the size of my palm. It was the most beautiful moth I’ve ever seen and one I’d never seen previously. Ms. Moth was plum colored and when her wings were widespread, she displayed a coral/orange oval on the inside spread.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Leo dropped by to see if I needed anything from town. I showed him the moth. He took a photo and sent it to my grandson, who is very much a bug person. Tyler sent the photo to an identification app or site or whatchacallit.

Ms. Moth is Autermeris Illustris, a type of silkworm resident in Argentina, found as far north as Brazil. My moth is the second moth of this kind to be identified in Jalisco. She fled to the greenery climbing my patio wall. I’ve not seen her since. Maybe she’s doing the moth thing with reproduction, and I’ll eventually host a flock. Maybe the resident roof iguana ate her.

Well, that was a cheerful thought. It’s hard to be cheerful when your friends and the country you love is being char-broiled under a heat dome. The highest temperature I’ve experienced in Montana was 109 F, one day when I was young and stupid. When we had our own heat dome here a couple years ago, we had one day when we hit 109 F and it was brutal.

I cannot even imagine the danger, with the thermometer blasting into the teens, that you are experiencing. Please, please, be careful in all that you do and stay hydrated. If it’s wet, drink it. That’s my advice.

Granted, my advice is worthless. I awoke a few mornings ago from a vivid dream with these words ringing in my head. “Everything you think you know is not so. You don’t know anything.” I take that as a given.

We, at the rancho, are still stormed every afternoon or evening. Ah, rain, lovely rain, in various amounts, always enough to keep me from riding my trusty tricycle. I’m not fond of splashing through puddles and sliding through mud slicks. When I was six, that was fun. Rain is not forever, but, what do I know, see above. I can confidently tell you that I’ve not seen this much rain, this consistently, in the summers, now the eleventh, that I’ve lived in Etzatlan.  

July is the month of the Fly where I live. I doubt it is much different up north. While I’m doing my house chores it seems like I have a fly swatter semi-attached to my hand. Vets in town are frantic, trying to keep the screwworm from becoming epidemic. Along with cows and horses and burros, they also are seeing increasing numbers of infected domestic animals. Once infected, the animals must be put down.

If a cat or dog can be infected, it is hard for me to believe that I could not be attacked also. I hope I’m wrong. See paragraph six.

Today I’m not an umbrella of joy. I sincerely apologize for being a bucket of cold water. Maybe it is something I ate. Yesterday, a fruitful day, I downed six fresh figs and one whole passion fruit along with several slices of mango. The passion fruit is from further south. I think.

Sondra Ashton

Looking out my back door

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