Every year in Florida, as predictably as afternoon thunderstorms and high temperatures arrive in early summer, a biological phenomenon unfolds that turns the air into an airborne lovers’ lane. It’s called Love Bug Season, and it is as romantic as it is disgusting. If you’re new here in Florida, here’s their story:
Photo by Tim Donovan, Florida Fish and Wildlife
Love bugs are small black flies with orange thoraxes and a name that suggests a Hallmark movie about two lonely entomologists who find love in a swamp. Unlike most things in the Sunshine State, love bugs don’t bite, they won’t fly in your face in the middle of the night and they won’t drag you to your doom from your driveway. They’re almost cute in Florida terms. But when love bug season hits they are everywhere—and they are having the time of their lives. So to speak; wink, wink, nudge nudge.
What Are Love Bugs?
Technically known as Plecia nearctica, love bugs are a species of March fly. Native to Central America, they made their debut in the U.S. in the 1940s and slowly migrated into Florida like snowbirds with wings and a serious libido.
To the unintiated, they’re not just flying around being single and looking for love. No. Love bugs come in pairs. Literally. You almost never see one by itself because, frankly, they’re too busy doing it. They’re joined at the abdomen in an insect version of the Kama Sutra that lasts for hours, sometimes days, as they hover, land, and even die still latched together. That’s dedication. Newlyweds are rank amateurs by comparison.
When Does This All Go Down?
Twice a year—usually April/May and August/September—Florida becomes a no-fly zone for anyone who likes breathing clean air or driving without needing a full-body car wash afterward. These two peak copulation events last about four weeks each. It’s like Vegas, but for bugs who only have sex once in their lives and die shortly after. So… exactly like Vegas.
During these periods, thousands of love bugs rise up from the soil, ready to do one thing: mate like there’s no tomorrow. Because for them, there isn’t. They live just long enough to find a partner, do the deed (while flying, mind you, for a very long time), lay some eggs, and then peace out into the great bug beyond. It’s not much of a life, but what a life it is.
After all that mid-air monkey business, the female lays her eggs—hundreds of them—on decaying plant matter or in moist soil. Then she dies. The cycle repeats. Hundreds more tiny bugs will grow up to spend a few short days zooming through the air in search of a one-night stand that lasts all weekend and then it’s Game Over.
And Florida? Floridians just deal with it. Remember that this is the same state where iguanas fall out of trees in winter, sinkholes eat backyards, and where alligators have rung doorbells looking for, well, something.
The Impact: A Bugsplosion Of Goo
Creative Commons
If you’ve never experienced Love Bug Season, imagine someone shooting a Nerf gun full of sticky raisin bits at your windshield every 3 seconds when you’re our driving. Love bugs love car exhaust, in particular, they are drawn to the chemicals in exhaust fumes, which are similar to those produced by decomposing plant matter, a favorite place for the females to lay her eggs.
You drive 500 feet in certain places, and it looks like your car lost a food fight. The gooey mess of bodies and guts are not just gross—it’s acidic and horrible for your car’s paint. If you don’t clean it off relatively quickly, it can etch your paint, and that speeds up a cycle that can end up making your car need to be refinished.
If you’re not the conscientious type, you won’t forget to wash your car. That’s because you can’t even think about using your windshield wipers. That only smears the bug smoothie into a film that looks like someone sneezed bug jam across your entire field of vision. You can’t see through it, either. Go ahead and try it; everybody does, at least once. Some learn when they see what a hopeless mess their windshield has, others learn when they have to stick their head out of the driver’s window so they can see…while love bugs are smacking them in the face.
So, no matter what windshield wiper fluid you’re using, it won’t cut through the mess, and you’ll be looking for a car wash. Fortunately, there’s one every other block here in Florida. Heck, love bugs may be why they’re here every half of a mile.
If you have a motorcycle and you’re riding out into love bug country, say a prayer for yourself. Open your mouth? Congratulations, you just go some extra protein in your diet. Or, you could come to your senses before it’s too late and drive your car. It’s your call.
Florida vs. The Bugs: An Annual Losing Battle
Floridians have tried everything to combat love bug madness. Pressure washers. Special waxes. Full-on tarp solutions, car nets. In the 1970s, people had screens in front of the front of their cars, saying love bugs could clog the airflow through your radiator and cause your car the overheat. The plazas on Florida’s Turnpike had windshield washing stations with lines of 4-5 cars waiting to clean up. This was back in the day when the Turnpike had something like 11 exits and 7 plazas, so stopping every chance you got was a must. Nothing worked then, and nothing works now.
And still the bugs persist, because love, as it turns out, always finds a way.
Love Bug Facts That Will Ruin Your Appetite
- They don’t eat as adults. Once they’re out of the ground, they don’t bother with food—because they’re too busy… you know. No dinners, no small talk. Just immediate, airborne action.
- Their sex sessions can last up to 72 hours. Seventy-two. That’s not just love. That’s an Olympic endurance event.
- They often die still attached. Which means they go out doing what they love. Literally. It’s kind of poetic, but these are bugs, for crying out loud.
- They’re attracted to heat and exhaust. Which is why they zero in on highways and engines. Nothing gets a love bug hotter than a car doing 85 on I-95.
Final Thoughts: Let the Lovers Love (You’re Going To Anyway)
In a weird way, love bugs are a reminder that life is short, messy, and occasionally glued to the front of a Nissan Altima. These bugs have one mission: to find a partner and go out in a blaze of glory. It’s almost admirable. Gross, yes. Deeply inconvenient, absolutely. But admirable in its own strange, six-legged way.
They are also more proof that against Mother Nature, you’re not going to win. Not against love. Especially not the kind that involves millions upon millions of bugs too horny to care about your feelings. You know what it’s like, you were a teenager once too.
So the next time you’re on the highway barreling through a black cloud of copulating flies spattering your windshield while the car is still a little wet from its third drive-through car wash of the week, just remember: they’re not doing it to annoy you. They’re just doing what comes naturally—awkwardly, persistently, and everywhere all at once.
Florida: come for the beaches. Stay for the bugs. And be sure to wear sunscreen.
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