It was late April 2020. We were going into Week Six of Covid Lockdown. We were holding onto our mental stability for dear life. But at least the sun had come out for a bit after a soggy wet March, which meant all four of us working and schooling inside our 900 square foot home. 

The point is, I was desperate for some novelty, a thrill, a special family experience. Literally, anything to do besides try not to lose our minds. We had a little baby pool in the backyard and I noticed tiny little tadpoles swimming around it one day. "Children! Look! An educational moment!" 

I researched how to raise frogs. I scooped the itty bitty tadpoles into a bucket that had some rocks and greens. Naturally, I boiled the water first to rid it of fluoride and other water treatments. I microwaved spinach every few days to feed our little guys, as the internet zoologists had suggested.  And yet. They didn't seem to grow much. Two weeks went by and I was baffled. Sometimes they seemed bigger, other times I wasn't so sure. 

One day, a few gentlemen came to our front door announcing they were from LA County's Vector Control. They informed me that there had been a dangerous increase in our area's mosquito population. They handed me a flyer that showed the life cycle of mosquitos and also warned about leaving ANY water out, lest the pests lay eggs. 

Huh. Hmmm. It all made so much sense. We had been getting eaten alive by mosquitos. My younger son couldn't resist scratching the bites and they swelled to lumps at times. We were trying every repellent known to man - from rubbing outselves with banana peels to slathering our skin with the most toxic concoctions I could find. But all along, I'd been running a farm that breeded these blood suckers. Now that bites.