Tonight as we sat out on the porch watching the “lightening bugs,” what would come lumbering down Montgomery Street but the “fog machine.” Memories of cheap thrills of my youth came flooding back by the buckets full.
I had the irresistible urge to go run behind the truck and inhale who knows what. That’s what we did as kids back in the 1950s.
After supper we would go out for one last game of hide and seek. It would usually be interrupted by what we called the “fog machine.” It was a city-owned truck that drove through town spraying for Mississippi mosquitoes about the size of blue jays.
In those days it was most likely spewing DDT or something equally as bad. But no one seemed all that concerned back then. No one had ever heard of West Nile Virus and mosquito bites were a part of being a kid. Why we’re still alive, I don’t know.
But tonight, I felt that thrill of hearing the approaching “fog machine” and fought the urge to kick off my shoes and go run with abandon through the mist. At least I could get a Ball jar and punch some holes on top and catch me a few fire flies to put by my bed. Remember that?
But there are so few still blinking in the dusk. I’d better let them procreate and hope they will be back next year.