I guess what I learned today was not to do my outdoor watering at dusk. It's not a superstition; it's a real lesson in practical gardening. When I went out at seven o'clock, I did not have insect bites all over my arms, and a huge welt on my forehead. When I came in at eight, I did.
Whatever it was that bit me, I never saw it. Them. It had to be more than one species, because the shapes of the marks they left are so different. And they don't all itch the same.
How I missed so many bugs attacking me I'm sure I don't know. You'd think I would have felt something, but apparently I was too deeply involved in my watering chore. It is an intense activity, requiring tremendous concentration. I mean, you couldn't just stand out there with the hose in your hand, could you? Don't you have to sing to yourself, and talk back to the birds, and blast snails halfway to Healdsburg with the jet spray setting? Yes, you do.
Tomorrow morning the big red mark on my face will be gone, right? Right?