The people of Williamstown complain that the infestation is the worst case in 100 years, that the pests are greedily eating all the leaves off the Oak, Birch and Maple trees.  Im warned against publicly mentioning my affection for the caterpillars.  Im one of the few strange people who play with the black, velvety crawlers, and as far as I can tell, the trees still possess a full canopy of shady green leaves.

With the exception of the black flies,  I enjoy the wildlife here, with fireflies twinkling below the night sky and a variety of exhausted, palm-sized, moths that I find in the morning, including a green Lunar moth with ferns for antennae.  Hundreds of caterpillars drop down from the trees and crawl up from the grass.  During classtime I torment my pets (frisky frogs and newts excluded) unless Im near Nhora who screams at the sight.

Sadly just three weeks later, the caterpillars are hard to find because theyve metamorphosed into cottonball cocoons along the sides of the buildings.  Im looking forward to watching them hatch into moths until Im allotted the task of removing them - all.  There are thousands inhabiting the surfaces of the buildings that need painting.  Under some window sills I find about fifty cocoons, nestled so tightly together that I pull off a chain of cottonballs that could nicely decorate a party.  Most cocoons, however, burst into a cloud of yellow dust upon touch.  Ew, thats nasty squeals Nhora.

The caterpillar-annihilation team seemed an unlikely group, with a caterpillar lover, an insect-hater and an injured leg.  The insect-hater managed to sneak away to instead cook lunch.  I soon turned into a caterpillar-hater when I found the black mass of dehydrated corpses adhered to a little-used step.  These caterpillars never managed to transform themselves, but glued themselves tightly and stank of rotten fish.  Dead caterpillars are not so cute and cuddly as their energetic former-selves.  Armed with sticks, we slowly pry off the cocoons and caterpillars.  

I sulkily think about how monotonous and dull and interminable the job seems until I notice that some of the other jobs seem far worse, such as emptying the filing cabinets of archaic documents, fixing the car and cleaning the compost buckets.  But somebodys gotta do it.  Maintenance work is often dirty, but it does successfully keep the grounds in decent shape.  The upkeep transforms the place, like a makeover concealing the buildings true age.  With such high traffic and such harsh winters, Im surprised there isnt more wear-and-tear on the rather plain cabins.   Now I know why.

Finally help arrives, and we can chat-while-we-work, occasionally practicing Portuguese.  Time flies by and were soon sunbathing on the lawn, watching the cat run up trees.  After only five minutes resting, the work-day leader passes us on his way to mend the roof.   He waves hello and I crack a joke about his laziness.  He doesnt comment on this, but its time to get up.  When people live in such close proximity, there is always an unspoken pressure to work harder to avoid being labeled as a lay-about.  People often hide away to relax, because the public atmosphere fosters work. The pressure is self-imposed, despite the understanding that we all work at different tasks and times.  It is difficult to rest in public unless one is hidden among an idle crowd, which suddenly justifies the luxury.  The moments of relaxation are rare, but thoroughly enjoyable when available.