Mosquito Defense: Funny Fails and Actual Solutions

There’s a saying down here in the South: “If you don’t have mosquitoes, you’re probably not home.” And let me tell you, at Shady Pines, we’re always home and always swatting. These little bloodsucking villains are part of life once the humidity kicks in and the sun starts stretching its days longer. But every summer, like clockwork, I convince myself this is the year I’ll outsmart them. And every summer, I find myself in the middle of a slapstick comedy of errors trying to make that happen.

I’ve tried it all. Store-bought sprays, homemade concoctions, citronella torches that smell more like campfire regrets than bug repellant. I’ve rubbed myself down with dryer sheets (spoiler: they do not work), and I’ve lit so many candles I could qualify as a fire hazard. I’ve even tried chanting “go away” while waving my arms like an overzealous baton twirler. That didn’t work either, but it made Uncle R laugh so hard he choked on his iced tea.

Let’s start with the worst offender: the citronella bucket candle. I picked up a three-pack one summer on clearance and thought I’d found the golden ticket. Set them around the porch, light them, and boom—mosquitoes be gone. What actually happened was I created a mosquito bonfire. I swear those pests showed up with tiny marshmallows ready to toast. Ma said it smelled like someone tried to deep-fry a lemon peel and that it was probably attracting more bugs than repelling them. She might’ve been right.

Then there was the year I tried to go full DIY with an essential oil blend I found online. It involved eucalyptus, lavender, and witch hazel, and promised to be “nature’s answer to chemical sprays.” I mixed up a big ol’ batch, put it in a spray bottle, and doused myself and anyone else within ten feet. I smelled like a garden center threw up. And guess what? The mosquitoes still came. I think they liked it. One even landed on my arm like it was checking in for a spa treatment.

Uncle R, ever the innovator, decided last summer to try wearing garlic around his neck “like a vampire repellant but for bugs.” He claimed it was an old trick from his grandfather’s fishing days. I think his grandfather was just trying to get folks to give him some space. The smell was potent. I couldn’t sit next to him on the porch for three days. The only thing that left us alone was the mailman, who started tossing letters from the gate instead of walking up.

We’ve also gone the electronic route—zappers, bug bulbs, ultrasonic plug-ins. Let me tell you about the time Ma bought one of those UV light zappers that allegedly attracts bugs and fries them on contact. She plugged it in with the fanfare of a state fair ribbon cutting. It hummed ominously and zapped occasionally. We all felt victorious. Then I found out it was mostly attracting moths and only a couple of fruit flies. The mosquitoes, meanwhile, continued their air raids like the elite little vampires they are.

Of course, the funniest fail of all was the summer tarp incident. I read somewhere that shaded, dry areas were less mosquito-prone. So I strung up a tarp over the porch to block moisture and sun. It promptly collected rainwater and turned into the perfect mosquito breeding ground. That was the summer we all invested in fly swatters and started wearing long sleeves in 95-degree weather.

But it hasn’t all been ridiculous. Over the years, I’ve actually found a few things that work—tried and true Southern wisdom that mixes practicality with a little old-fashioned grit.

First real solution: fans. Mosquitoes are weak fliers. If you keep a box fan or standing fan blowing near your sitting area, they can’t navigate through the breeze. We have two old floor fans we drag out every evening, and not only do they keep the bugs away, they help make the Southern heat a bit more tolerable. Uncle R calls it our “front porch wind tunnel.”

Second: remove standing water. Seems simple, but you’d be amazed how fast a mosquito can find an old flowerpot or a dog’s water bowl. I do a sweep every two or three days now. Anything that can hold rainwater—planters, buckets, kiddie toys—I either flip over or drain. That alone cuts down on the breeding spots by a ton.

Third: bug spray that actually works. I know everyone wants to go natural, but I’ve made peace with the fact that if I want to sit outside without looking like a pincushion, I need the good stuff. I keep one bottle in my purse, one by the door, and one in the glove compartment just in case. The trick is to spray ankles, wrists, neck, and the backs of knees—mosquitoes love those spots.

Fourth: cover up. I’ve got some lightweight long-sleeved shirts made just for porch sitting. They’re breathable, airy, and most importantly, give the bugs less real estate to bite. Add a big ol’ sun hat and you’ve got yourself a Southern summer armor.

And lastly, plant allies. Lavender, lemongrass, basil, and marigolds aren’t just pretty—they actually help repel bugs when planted around seating areas. I’ve lined the porch with pots of lavender and rosemary, and while it’s not a forcefield, it helps. Plus, it smells a heck of a lot better than garlic and essential oil soup.

After all the fails and the few triumphs, I’ve learned that fighting mosquitoes is more of a management situation than an all-out war. You can’t beat them completely—not unless you plan on living in a bubble—but you can make life a little more comfortable. And if nothing else, you can laugh along the way.

Like the time Ma ran around the backyard with a fly swatter yelling “Not today, Satan!” or when Uncle R tried to rig a mosquito trap with a soda bottle, some beer, and an extension cord. (Don’t ask. We unplugged it before the smoke started.)

Living at Shady Pines means accepting that nature is going to push back a little—sometimes with bugs, sometimes with heat, and sometimes with surprise possums under the porch. But it also means long porch nights with sweet tea, storytelling under string lights, and the occasional summer breeze that makes you forget all about the mosquitoes for a minute.

And when all else fails, we take it inside. Swat a few, laugh a lot, and count ourselves lucky to be living in a place full of stories, humor, and just enough citronella to keep things interesting.