Field Note #5

A Bug's Life

July 14, 2026 | 8:30 am

A friend and I met for coffee this morning, and I found myself telling her something I've been feeling for the past couple of weeks. Life has slowed down. Not in a bad way, just...slower.

Mint/green sun tea brewing at the back door.

Facials have been quieter since vacation. I've been spending more time at home, writing, making teas, cleaning, updating the rental, pulling weeds, and wondering why I suddenly don't feel the urge to constantly chase the next thing. She told me we're in Mercury retrograde. That explains a lot!

I'll admit, I like to follow astrology but I also like that I did not know we were in it, and I was following my guy feelings. Mercury retrograde comes around about three times a year and lasts roughly three weeks. Many people who enjoy astrology see it as a season of reflection rather than action, a time to revisit old ideas, review plans, notice your emotions, and slow down before rushing into something new. This summer's retrograde runs from June 29 through July 23 and is associated with Cancer, a sign connects with home, family, memories, and emotional life.

Instead of pushing harder, I've been writing more. I've been spending time at home. I've been paying attention to little things I normally rush past, the June bugs at the front door, the spider webs across the porch, the quiet mornings with coffee before Greg leaves for the river.

Maybe every season doesn't have to be about producing more.

Maybe some seasons are meant for observing.

Planning.

Listening.

Feeling what's trying to surface before deciding where to go next.

For someone who always has another idea waiting in the wings, that's probably the hardest lesson of all.

Today I'll clean the Airbnb and check on our rental house. Our handyman has been repairing a few items for us and once he's finished, I'll head over with a paintbrush to paint some cabinets. There's always something that needs attention when you own old houses.

A mockup of our rental house bathroom refresh.

I've also been cleaning our own house, and that's when I realized summer has officially arrived. Not because of the calendar. Because the bugs have moved in.

Living in an old church means every season brings new visitors. Right now it's cobwebs stretched across every window, spiders finding cozy corners, and bugs that somehow always manage to make their way inside. We leave the doors open a lot, so I suppose we're to blame.

Years ago I would've panicked over every spider I found. Now they're more like roommates.

Church front doors open during a summer rain. Cools down the house.

We actually had one living behind the toilet for nearly a year. She kept to herself, caught bugs, and never bothered anyone. We considered her part of the household.

Then my parents came to visit. A few days later I noticed she was gone. Turns out my dad had unknowingly evicted our pet spider while using our bathroom. He knows better now.

The Airbnb is a different story. I stay on top of that one because guests probably don't appreciate surprise roommates quite as much as we do. I use Sunday products, which are a more natural approach to pest control, and they do a great job. I probably should use them around our own house more often, but honestly... I think we've accepted that nature occasionally wins.

Our cute Airbnb, the Sokno Ranger Station.

The one bug I still haven't learned to live with is a wasp.

Bees? I'm perfectly fine with.

Wasps? Absolutely not.

They never seem to know where they're going. They fly directly toward my face, bounce off windows, and inevitably end up trapped in our bathroom. We have this beautiful, long window near the ceiling that fills the room with morning light. Apparently the wasps mistake it for freedom.

More than once I've walked into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and realized I'm suddenly sharing the room with two confused wasps. At that point, it's their bathroom. I'll wait.

Then there are the June bugs. They're funny because they really do live up to their name. They arrive sometime around the end of May, hang around through June, and then disappear almost as quickly as they came. I don't know much about them, but every evening they bounce off the walls, throw themselves against the doors, and generally seem to have no plan whatsoever. By morning, a few are usually lying on the rugs by the open doors. We enjoy watching the birds swoop right through the open doors, grab breakfast, and fly back outside. They don't do it quite as often now that our cat patrols the area, but every once in a while I'll catch one darting in and out before I've even had my coffee. It's just another one of those little things that comes with living here.

Of course, the bugs aren't our only seasonal residents.

Beneath the church is a small crawlspace, and over the years it's housed quite a collection of tenants.

For a while we had a resident groundhog. The groundhog lived under the church for a couple of years before we eventually found it dead along the road. As destructive as groundhogs can be, we'd grown a little attached to the old guy.

Whenever one leaves, something else seems to move in. One year I decided to trap what I assumed was another groundhog. Instead, I caught a possum, with babies. We had just gotten home from fishing when I asked August to check the trap. He casually walked back and said, "Yeah... there's a possum and babies." I honestly thought he was joking. When I walked over and saw a hissing mama possum with all of her little babies riding on her back, I quickly decided this was a job for Greg. He calmly released her while I watched from what I considered a very safe distance.

Truthfully, I don't mind possums. They eat ticks and plenty of other bugs, so they're welcome to stay. The least welcome visitor we've ever had was the skunk. One winter night Greg woke up to the unmistakable smell. The skunk had sprayed underneath the church. For two weeks the entire house smelled like skunk. Every room. Every blanket. Every piece of furniture. Normally he'd throw open the doors, but it was the middle of winter, so he just had to live with it until the smell finally faded.

Then there were the rats. That was probably the low point. Friends were visiting one Memorial Day weekend when someone pointed outside and asked, "Did you know you have field mice?" I looked out the open door and immediately said, "Those aren't field mice." They were rats.

Apparently the bird feeders, compost pile, and stacked wood had created the perfect little neighborhood. We set traps, removed the food sources, and before long they packed up and disappeared. Whether they actually sensed danger or simply found a better place to live, I'll never know.

These days our cat occasionally disappears beneath the church to investigate whatever might be living down there. Maybe she's keeping watch. Maybe she's just curious. Hopefully she never meets another skunk.

Living in an old church has taught me that every season brings its own cast of characters. Some bloom in the garden. Some build webs across the porch overnight. Some get trapped in the bathroom. Others decide the crawlspace is prime real estate.

It's messy. Sometimes frustrating. Occasionally terrifying. But it's also become one of the things I love most about living here.

Every July I knock down the cobwebs before Airbnb guests arrive, rescue another confused June bug from the house, politely ask the wasps to leave, even though they never listen, and wonder who's going to move in downstairs next.

Sokno Ranger Station ready for guests

Just another summer in the old church.

Today's Notes

Weather: Hot, humid, and unmistakably July.

Project of the Day: Airbnb cleaning, rental updates and chasing cobwebs.

Seasonal Residents: Spiders, wasps, June bugs, and one very curious cat.

Downstairs Neighbors: Groundhogs, possums, skunks... and thankfully no more rats.

Learned: Every old house has a story, and sometimes those stories have six legs.

Grateful for: Slow mornings, open windows, and a home that's always full of life.