Papa and the Wasps Nest

It happened late one summer afternoon, well after Hozeen had finished the last of his mint tea (taken in the cabana daily after he finished mowing the yard, a task that he also performed daily).

Papa spied a nest of the pesky varmints under the eves of our house, and decided to remove it immediately rather than assign it to the yardman for the next day.

Armed with a broomstick and unshakable confidence that he would have the better of the bothersome insects, Papa boldly ascended his step ladder and swatted at the nest to bring it down.

His aim was true, and the nest fell, but hundreds of its angry residents immediately swarmed him on the ladder and around the yard as he tried to run away. His khaki’s protected most of his body from their fearsome sting, but by the end of the day, his arms and face bore the swollen reminders of his foray.

His misery was multiplied when he noted the next day that the wasps had lifted the nest back to its original location under the eve.

He did get the better of them though when he returned from the PX with the aerosol can of "Wasp-b-gone." He gave me the nest as a trophy, and the wasps never returned.

©2006 David R. Childress. All Rights Reserved