Fucking Yellow Jackets!

Fucking yellow jackets!

I got stung four times today. It could have been two yellow jackets, or it could have been one particularly determined asshole. I have no idea. I was outside cutting spider grass—or whatever that plant is called—in my garden when, without any warning whatsoever, something stabbed me.

At first, I was just confused.

What the hell? Why is this weed so sharp?

Then it happened again, and my brain offered another brilliant explanation:

Do crickets bite?

Because apparently “cricket” made more sense to me than “angry insect repeatedly injecting venom into my body.”

By the third sting, however, even I had gathered enough evidence to understand that the grass was not attacking me and neither were the crickets. Something was stinging me. Repeatedly.

Then I saw Kabbo.

He was standing right beside the back door, completely unaware and fully within range of these freaking yellow jackets.

I don’t know what came over me after that. One moment, I was trying to understand why the garden had suddenly declared war on me. The next, my mind became perfectly clear. There was no confusion, no hesitation, and no standing around wondering what to do.

I sprinted inside, slammed the door and windows shut, shoved Kabbo into another room, and yelled for his father. A few yellow jackets had apparently followed me inside, so I kept searching for them and swatting them until I was sure they were gone.

Only then was I finally able to breathe.

It is strange how the mind works. When I am trying to decide what to cook for dinner, I can stare into the refrigerator for fifteen minutes as if the shelves contain some ancient riddle. Put my child in danger, though, and apparently I become an action hero.

Not a graceful action hero, obviously. More like a screaming, dishevelled one with four sting sites, garden dirt on her clothes, and no idea whether she had just been attacked by one insect or an entire organized crime syndicate.

Once everyone was safe and the adrenaline started wearing off, the whole thing became a little hilarious.

Then I thought about how horrible it would have been if I had been stung even one more time. I imagined my face swelling until I looked unusually plump and perfectly round, and the picture in my head made me cackle out loud a little.

Yes, I know. An allergic reaction is not funny. Anaphylaxis is dangerous and can happen quickly. But my brain has never been particularly respectful about where it finds humor. Sometimes it hands me a terrible mental image before the sensible part of me has even entered the room.

And the sensible part did arrive.

It reminded me that Kabbo could have been stung. My husband could have been stung. Kabbo could have panicked, run farther into the yard, or been unable to explain exactly what was happening to him. That thought wiped the smile right off my face.

I thanked the universe that I was the one who took the hit for all of them. Four times, apparently. I called pest control immediately, and I have not opened a single door or window since. As far as I am concerned, the yellow jackets own the backyard until a professional formally returns it to me.

Of course, once the immediate crisis was over, I did what I always do: I started researching. Because why did these tiny flying demons attack me in the first place? What was their problem? I was cutting grass. I was not trying to overthrow their government.

It turns out that yellow jackets often build nests underground or inside other dark, protected spaces. Dense plants and landscaping can make the entrance difficult to see. If there was a nest under or near that spider grass, the cutting and movement probably felt like a giant predator was trying to tear open their home.

So, from their point of view, they were not launching an unprovoked attack against an innocent woman minding her own business. They were defending their nest. I understand that intellectually. Emotionally, they can still go fuck themselves.

The more offensive discovery was that yellow jackets are not even useless. They hunt other insects, including caterpillars and maggots, and help control pests that can damage gardens and crops. Adults also feed on nectar and can contribute to pollination. Removing them entirely would mean removing one of the predators already doing free pest control in the ecosystem. Penn State Extension

So now I am expected to respect them too. Wonderful.

I can acknowledge their ecological importance while also believing that the particular colony living beside my back door has chosen an unacceptable address. They are welcome to serve the ecosystem somewhere that is not within stinging distance of my child.

This is also why I called pest control instead of pouring boiling water, gasoline, or some homemade disaster into the hole. Apart from being dangerous, disturbing an underground nest without knowing what you are doing is an excellent way to release an enraged swarm directly into your own face.

I also learned that the fake paper nests people hang to scare yellow jackets away are not supported by clear evidence. Apparently, nobody informed the yellow jackets about the popular claim that they refuse to live within two hundred feet of another colony. Real nests have been found reasonably close together. So much for solving the problem with a brown paper bag and positive thinking. Penn State Extension

For now, I washed the sting sites with soap and water and used a cold pack for the pain and swelling. Because my symptoms remained local, ordinary first aid was reasonable. But trouble breathing, swelling of the face, lips or throat, widespread hives, dizziness, fainting, vomiting, or a weak, rapid pulse would mean calling emergency services—not standing in front of a mirror laughing about looking plump. Mayo Clinic

I am also keeping the outdoor trash tightly closed and making sure we do not leave food, sugary drinks, or fallen fruit outside, especially during late summer when yellow jackets become far more interested in whatever humans are eating.

Look at me. Stung four times and still learning how to become a considerate neighbor.

But only from behind a locked door. Pest control can handle the diplomacy.