mosquitos

Every night I would cook some rice and some kind of beans, or split peas, or lentils on the gas stove. I had gotten a mantle for the old gas light above the doorway to the kitchen, but I think it was the wrong kind and it didn't shed as much light as I thought it should. Sometimes I would light that, and sometimes I would just use a kerosene lantern or two. If I felt especially gloomy I might light a coleman gasoline lantern which was very bright and cheery and made a hissing noise which I grew to like.
By the time the rice and beans had finished cooking, the mosquitos had invaded the cabin in droves. I had tried to plug as many of the cracks and holes to keep them from coming in, but they seemed to find their way in without much trouble. I would eat with long sleeve shirt on and its collar up even though it was much too hot. That way I'd only have to slap the mosquitos from my face and hands. One evening I wrote a postcard to Carl after dinner and killed about thirty mosquitos while writing it. Fortunately we had purchased some army surplus mosquito nets which we set up on the bunk beds, and that made sleep possible. I could still hear the buzzing outside the net, but they rarely found their way into the protected area.
One night, after I had spent most of the day rechinking the logs in the kitchen and repainting the walls, I was too tired to cook dinner. I made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sat down to eat. I was quite hungry, so they seemed extra delicious. As I finished the sandwiches, I felt a mosquito on my arm and realized I had forgotten to put my long sleeve shirt on. As I slapped the mosquito, I realized that there was something very strange about this mosquito. The strange thing was that this was the only mosquito I had killed all evening. I thought for a moment that maybe the rechinking or the painting had sealed some major holes the mosquitos had been coming in, but that seemed ridiculous since there were holes and cracks everywhere, not just the kitchen. I wondered if it had suddenly gotten too cold for them, but that wasn't the case. When I went outside it was still warm, and mosquitos started attacking almost immediately.
The only different thing I could think of was dinner. Instead of cooking rice and beans for half an hour or more, I had made some sandwiches. I remembered that I had read that mosquitos were attracted primarily to three things, heat, moisture and carbon dioxide. When I was cooking on the gas stove, all three were produced in large amounts, creating a giant mosquito beacon. As the warm, moist, carbon dioxide laden air rose from the stove and wafted out the many cracks and holes, all the mosquitos had to do was follow it back to its source. Perhaps they expected to find some giant beast or a huge crowd of warm blooded animals waiting to donate their blood to the mosquito horde. All they found was some rice and beans and an exposed pair of hands and a face, but they made the best of it.
From then on, I did not cook in the evenings and I only had to slap away a few enterprising mosquitos who had the luck (or misfortune) to find their way in. I would sometimes cook during the day and eat the rice and beans at room temperature during the evening. Sometimes I'd make peanut butter and jelly or peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Occasionally I would eat a can of unheated soup or pork and beans, or whatever else was sitting on the shelf.