The concerto grew into a cacophony above my head.
From this tree to the next, six feet apart, they visited back and forth reveling in the pink blossoms.
The children played underneath unaffected by the panic that afflicted their mother. They skipped rocks and raced bicycles and chased June bugs as the buzzing of the bees circled their heads.
I’ve never been a bug lover.
As a city dweller, my experience was comprised primarily of ants, roaches, and mosquitoes. Ack. I am the cartoonish figure that goes running for help.
As my time in the country grows, I discover new things with each visit.
These days were particularly sweet as we celebrated Father’s Day and found some much-needed rest from the frenzy that had become our life back home.
During this long weekend, I found the beauty of bugs.
I watched as my daughter’s voice filled with wonder and excitement over finding a fuzzy green caterpillar, “THIS LONG, MOMMY!!! COME SEE!”
I saw my sons trap any number of bugs – roly polys, lightning bugs, June bugs, and a few others I couldn’t name. They found seashells and would cover the bugs up only to lift it and let them travel a little longer. Those persistent bugs. They just kept plodding to their destination regardless of the fact that five seconds later another seashell came clapping over their head. The ladybugs climbed up their arms and were greeted with squeals of delight. I watched those hard-working bees, which had been such a source of panic that I would be stung (despite my husband’s remonstrations that they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them), work all day flying between those blossoms living out their calling until night fell and they disappeared and an entirely new set of bugs arrived.
I saw the handiwork of God in the small wings and long ones. In the polka dots and stripes. In the steadfastness and creativity.
I will never clap my hands with delight when a roach comes scurrying across our Houston living room, but I can sit on the porch and watch the bugs work with more wonder and less worry. And I’m grateful for the quiet when all you can hear is the bzzzzz broken only by the laughter of a child.