The Season of Bugs

Before coming to Brazil, we had read a lot about its two seasons, the rainy season and the dry season. What someone had left out of the literature was the buggy season.

Now, understand. It’s Brazil. Amazon jungle. Sprawling cerrado. Pantanal. The bugs, in and of themselves, were no surprise. In fact, they were much anticipated, and, since our arrival, we have managed, assimilating into our daily lives all the different sizes, colors, species, shapes and manners of bugs.

The dry season just ended. Over one hundred days without a single drop of rain or a single cloud. It went from winter to summer in less than a week. After two rains the grass went from dry, crackling and yellow—if there was grass at all—to a plush carpet of viridian. By the end of the week, the grass will be waist high.

According to Paulo, Pete’s beloved gardener, the first rain or two that ends the dry season is called the Chuva da Manga, the Mango Rain. The timing and ferocity of which will determine the size of the coming mango bounty. This year, the Chuva da Manga came late. Usually, as I was told, it comes by the last week or two of September. This year, it didn’t come until the beginning of October. But when it came, it came with a vengeance. And what is, as I understand, generally one or two isolated rains, this year, ushered in weeks of torrential, but deliciously welcome, downpours.

It also ushered in the bugs.

Two nights ago, while throwing my running clothes into the washing machine, I accidently left on the light that illuminates the bay window in front of the service area. Swarms of flying beetles started hurtling themselves at the frosted glass to get to the light. The night before, as I was taking out the trash, I heard the rhythmic pinkling of what I originally thought to be rain, for it was that persistent. It was the sound of bugs banging their carapaced heads against the glass globe of the security lamps in front of our house. Thousands of them. Fortunately, the flying ants—termites, maybe?—only lasted a few days.

Then, there is the sound. During the day, the sound of the beetles rubbing their wings together fabricates an omnipresent whine. There is one type of beetle that literally sounds like it is screaming at the top of its lungs.

Soon, we will return to the States for the first time in a year. It will be winter, and we will leave the bugs behind. Though I don’t mind the bugs, I know Elise hopes the buggy season is over by the time we come home.