Somewhere Over the Bugnado

Bugnado. Yes, it’s a real thing. Did you know about that interesting but horrifying fluke of nature?

I didn’t. Until yesterday.

I was riding my bike on my regular 5-mile Sunday afternoon rural route by a lake (don’t know if the lake part is pertinent or not), daydreaming while pumping those pedals as I always do, when I looked up and about 20 feet ahead of me, in the middle of the narrow asphalt road, a black buzzing funnel cloud was coming together. It was a loose swarm at first but then more tightly formed itself into a mini version of the twister Dorothy encountered in the Wizard of Oz. Only this wasn’t made of clouds and wind. I couldn’t tell what it was.

Being from Tampa, of course I’ve seen water spouts over the gulf, and my fair share of tornadoes in varying stages of formation, but I’ve NEVER seen anything like this organic, mobile, black, droning, nightmarish, Stephen King-concocted monstrosity.

And I was zipping along on my bike fast enough that stopping would have been impossible. There was not enough room on either side of the humming funnel to skirt it, so as I rapidly approached the spinning black thing about four feet off the ground, since I couldn’t go around it, under it, or over it, I made the split second decision to go through it.

Bad choice. Bad.

Right before I entered the evil vortex, the realization hit me that it was comprised of thousands of big fat juicy black flies spinning in concerted twister-rotation like a terrorizing, buzzing cyclone. Then my world went dark. Suddenly the pecan-sized flies were bouncing off my arms, pinging off my cheeks, and embedding themselves in my hair. I was wearing sunglasses (thank heavens) but I closed my eyes anyway, lowered my head to protect my vulnerable nasal passages, and crammed my lips tightly together. I could NOT bear the thought of any of those nasties making their way into my bodily orifices.

But still, the devil’s horde found creative ways to invade my being.

As soon as I exited the tornado from hades, I pulled my bike over to shake black, buzzing critters out of my hair, dig a few out of my ears, remove my sunglasses to free the masses that had slid down behind the glass lens’ and sought rest upon my eyelashes. The revolting coup de grace was having to reach down my shirt front and scoop out the ambitious beasts that had doven (not a word but should be) down my shirt collar and were enjoying the nice warm solace of the inbetween-place in my bra separating my boosies.

For some reason, even though – by the grace of God – none had entered my mouth, I couldn’t stop spitting.

YUCK. Just YUCK. Can I hear an amen, sister??!!??

Besides being thoroughly grossed out, I was totally befuddled. What in the world was that? I knew honey bees communicate with one another to find the promised land and I presume birds do too in order to keep their V-formations as perfect as they do, but flies? Yeesh.

I dubbed it a flynado, not realizing it actually already had a name and was a spectacle experienced all over the world.

When I came home and sputtered the whole story to Spouse, he immediately got on his computer and found dozens of disgusting photos and videos of bugnados comprised of multiple and varied bug species, including locusts, which I’m assuming probably is what happened in ancient Egypt during the “Let-my-people-go!” plagues but Moses didn’t know what to call it (likely due to bad internet reception over the Nile).

So now I’m even more amazed (and flabbergasted) by Papa God’s intricate natural order of things that I thought I knew. Did I stumble into a secret world I wasn’t supposed to witness? Do all God’s flying creatures have little walkie-talkies hidden under their jackets to orchestrate ariel gymnastics and feats of finesse when they think no humans are looking?

Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. He is, after all, an amazing God and why should we think we’re the only creatures of His vast creation that He would grace with the ability to communicate with one another. I just hope wasps don’t decide to get together for a national river dance.

I’d love to hear about your most surprising encounter with the Cathedral of Papa God’s Creation. Be sure to comment below! Hugs!