If memory serves me correctly it was one of those sweet, sunny, blue-sky days that serves to accentuate the trees and shrubs sporting their last explosive hurrah. Steve was home from work so it must have been a weekend. While he attended to the kiddos I took some uninterrupted outside time.
Situated on 10 forested acres, our surroundings felt like a perpetual camping trip with all the amenities. If I listened closely I could hear an occasional car on the highway down the hill and sometimes at night animal sounds might echo off the trees and wake us but mostly it was deafeningly quiet and I felt like there was no world out there, beyond our brier-clad borders. Just me, my family back at the house and nature.
|Photo courtesy of Linnie W. Please click to visit her site.|
But presently, I only needed one member of that obscure pile. One damp, muddy brick would suffice. Fueled with equal parts defiance and stupidity, I was sure that it would do the trick. With it grasped within my palm, I traipsed through the leaning, knee-high grasses over to a clearing where upon closer inspection, one could witness the indisputable opening to a thriving yellow jacket tunnel. But those little monsters had met their match!
I began my verbal eviction notice. "You might hold some kind of obscure purpose on this planet," I told them in no uncertain terms, "but you were mistaken if you think that you can make my garden your permanent residence!"
And so, as self-appointed Ruler of my dominion, coupled with all the bravado I could falsify, I stepped closer to the opening, gingerly stretched out my arm and held the brick over the opening about 4 feet up. Eyes focused on my target, I began to squat and loosen my grip on the brick.
Fire! My middle finger...burning, directly underneath the very spot where a fearless Nest Protector just perched its brazen self. I shook my hand to get it off which caused the release of the brick. Where it landed, I wasn't sure because I was running like hell.
As I got closer to the house, I stopped, turned around and once I was satisfied that the dang bees weren't chasing me, (like that black cloud would always do on those cartoons we watched as kids, remember?) I heaved a sigh of relief.
My finger healed. And eventually it got cold and the yellow jackets either died or moved on or did whatever yellow jackets do, and that was the end of it. Lesson learned.