Black Flies, little black flies....

We are enjoying fabulous weather these days in Northeastern Ontario. The sun shines. The snow melts. The ice is breaking up on the lakes. The rivers are running high. It's a great time of year. It's also approaching the peak season for Simulium Venustum, The Black Fly! Now before you run screaming for shelter, you have to admit, they're not THAT bad. They're a something of a nuisance. So get used to them. If you're going to spend any amount of time in the bush, say longer than an hour, be sure to bring some insect repellent to keep the little buggers away. Wearing long sleeves helps too. Some years ago, I hosted a group of southerners who didn't know there was a song dedicated to the black fly. It was written and sung by famous Canadian folkie Wade Hemsworth, almost 60 years ago. It's a great little tune and I sing it often when I am in the forest.
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'Twas early in the spring when I decide to goFor to work up in the woods of North Ontario. The unemployment office said they'd send me through ~ To the Little Abitibi with the survey crew

Chorus:
And the black flies, the little black flies
Always the black fly no matter where you go,
I'll die with the black fly a Pickin' my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, In North Ontar-i-o

~~ The man Black Tobey was the captain of the crew ~ He said, I'm gonna tell you boys, what we're gonna do ~ They want to build a power dam; we must find a wayFor to make the Little Ab flow around the other way
Chorus
So we survey the east, survey to the west.We couldn't make our minds up how to do it best~Little Ab, Little Ab, what shall I do? I'm all but goin' crazy on the survey crew.
Chorus
'Twas blackfly, blackfly, everywhereA-crawlin' in your whiskers, a-crawlin' in your hair ~ A-swimmin' in the soup and a-swimmin' in the tea ~ The devil take the blackfly and let me be.
Chorus
Black Tobey fell to swearin'; the work went slow~The state of our morale was a-gettin' pretty low~The flies swarmed heavy; it was hard to catch a breath~As you staggered up and down the trail talkin' to yourself
Chorus
The bull cook's name was Blind River Joe ~ If it hadn't been for him we'd 've never pulled through ~ He bound up our bruises and he kidded us for fun ~ And he lathered us with bacon grease and balsam gum
Chorus
At last the job was over, Black Tobey said, we're through ~ With the Little Abitibi and the survey crew! ~ 'Twas a wonderful experience and this I know;I'll never go again to North Ontar-i-o