Fly Trap (Take 1)

M aybe I should not admit this in public, but right now I have a ton of flies in my house.  NOW, in the middle of winter, why do I have this annoying cloud of aimlessly flying pests in the middle of my kitchen?  At the height of summer, when the doors rarely close and the curtains we use for screens flap open I can understand.  All of my attempts at annihilation (fly swatter, vacuuming, fly strips from ceiling, organic pesticide made from peppermint oil, bags filled with water hung about) seem to only make them move from one room to another.

box . . .

My internet search has turned up nil.  It is time to use my best and most dangerous tool, my imagination!

front door, side door, back door, roof door, please come in dear fly

As I have posted before I recycle my eggshells in many ways.  One of these is to grind them and feed back to the chickens for calcium.  Today upon smelling my eggshells while grinding and prior to baking, I noticed that some of my dear friends interrupted their decidedly purposeful job of flying around the middle of the kitchen to join me in this endeavor.  Hmmm, I thought, maybe this would be the perfect bait.

old lid full of stink for my dear ones

I decided to make a fly trap out of an old box from recycling.  A quick and un-precise turn of the knife and I have a drawer for inserting the bait and holes for these dear foes to enter. A sticky fly trap haphazardly draped in through the top of the box wil provide the graveyard.

No effort here: drape it in and get a bit sticky

I’m reminded of one of my kids favorite books, The Spider and the Fly illustrated by Tony DiTerlizzi.  It starts with “Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly, “tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.” I could change it to, “Will you walk into my (empty) wine box” said the Mom to the Fly, “tis the prettiest little wine box (and stinkiest) that you ever did spy”. “Within this little wine box – dear fly, never come out again”. Please.


I’m eagerly awaiting the results.




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