In the top alcove at the edge of my living room window, there was a wasp nest.
That's right, was.
For most of the spring and summer, I smiled as I beheld the cone that emerged from the wasp's labor. It was about the size of a grapefruit, and to be honest, I don't get too wound about bee's nests. We usually tend to get along.
However...
Yesterday morning I was out of bed at five AM. It's my favorite time of day in the summer. It's cool out, the animals and insects are all starting to wake up, and the morning light and dew bathe everything in a subtle glow that dissipates as everything stirs for the day.
We had a huge thunderstorm a couple of days ago, followed by a deluge of rain, so my deck was a bit messy with leftover detritus from said storm. Since I was feeling all perky and industrious, I decided to shake off everything and sweep the deck.
In the corner, under the wasp's nest, I keep a large bean bag for the kitties to lay on. They like to lounge there when the hubs and I perch on the porch to drink our morning coffee or eat a bite.
It was when I picked up the bean bag to sweep that the fun began.
BAM! Something stung me in the top of my left hand through my sweatshirt. As a thrum of angered buzzing hit my awareness, I took off in a silent run. I probably resembled Evard Munch's painting.
After setting a world record for the thirty yard dash, I became aware that there was an angry buzzing near my left temple. I have very fine, silky, thick hair, and one of the wasps was stuck in it, but also trying to kill me.
Thus, I spent the next several seconds headbanging like I was at a Rage Against the Machine Concert circa 95'. It was kinda fun.
Thankfully, I didn't get stung again. That said, my disposition had evolved.
"How dare you!" I hissed at the wasps in my best Greta Thunberg
tone.
Here I had left them alone for the past couple of months, I had interceded on their behalf and saved them from certain doom at the hands of the youths who dwell in my realm, yet they had deigned to sting moi?
So I returned the favor and wiped them out. I smote them and their line.
As I glared laser eyes on the nest while I blasted it with the jet setting on my spray nozzle before stomping their larva out of existence, I pondered my wrath a bit.
Yes, it's great to coexist with other species, and I tend to do so nicely. Many a day you will find me covered in everything from grasshoppers to honey bees.
But as the old adage goes, F around and find out, and well, those wasps, they found out.
And it was bathed in that triumphant mood that I stood on my deck and oversaw my once again Zen backyard kingdom, my hand covered in comfrey and my form puffed up with righteous dominance. Life is good on top.
And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's yet to be stung iPhone.
