I’ve often envied the ventilation system for the range hood that was in my mom’s house growing up. It was large, powerful, and vented directly outside. It was great. Well, it was great except for the year of “the odor.”
And then the smell came. Slight at first. A faint whiff that you would catch in passing. And no one could put their finger on it. Sometimes it was in the kitchen. Sometimes in the dining room. Sometimes in the pantry. It was never in the same place twice. We’d glance at each other in passing. Ask, “Do you smell that too?” Try to pinpoint the origin. All to no avail. Over time, the whiff became a smell, and then the smell became overpowering. Surprisingly, that made it harder to pinpoint, because the whole room reeked. You also didn’t want to inhale too deeply, because it was nearly vomit inducing. The hunt got serious. “It’s coming from the cabinet above the stove!” my brother shouted one Saturday. “That makes no sense. There’s nothing up there but tupperware,” my mom disagreed. The cabinet was a good ten feet from the exterior wall, with a duct feeding from the range hood to the flap venting the air out the house wall. Despite the fact that it made no sense, we clustered around the oven, climbed the stepladder, and inhaled ever so slightly. “Definitely coming from there.” “Yep.” “Oh, it’s so much worse here!” And that’s when we realized: the birds. Birds had figured out they could lift the vent flap and build a nest just inside. It was warm, covered, and completely protected from predators. They came back annually to nest. From inside the kitchen you could hear them flapping around, lifting the vent flap, and settling in the nest. Not horribly bothersome. This year's birds had moved out a few weeks ago. The realization that a bird must have died inside the nest was less than pleasant. But the ordeal that followed was worse than we could have imagined. Ryan headed out to clean the vent from the outside in. Up the ladder he went. Out came the nest. But no birds (or carcasses for that matter). Inside we came. We opened the cabinet doors again. With no choice but to detach the round duct connector that fed up from the range hood before turning to vent outside, he set to work. As soon as he removed the screws and slid the duct to the side… maggots. MAGGOTS. Maggots, maggots, everywhere. They poured out of the duct, spilling out of the cabinet, collecting on the stovetop below. The cleanup was a revolting, stomach churning, horrific experience - one I can relieve in each of my five senses, even today, three decades later. So on days like today, where I find myself coveting a much better range vent than our house currently has, I remind myself that at least no baby birds can fall to their deaths, leaving us with a stench and the abomination that is maggots in your house.
2 Comments
Jillfr
3/12/2023 10:29:50 am
Oh wow that is a terrible story. I am remodeling my new house and thought yours sounded interesting. Not at all what I was expecting, but very useful information.
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Sherri Spelic
3/12/2023 10:51:02 am
Oh my! What a compelling retelling of a pretty unappealing situation. It really got worse. Your relating of the sequence of events is pitch perfect.
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