Fire ants, yellow jackets and other things that want to kill you 

The weather is gradually improving, and the great outdoors continually calls out to me, luring me from my windowless dungeon. I manage to escape the shackles of work sometimes, and what little free time my schedule allows has been spent tending to my yard and gardens. 

You can get a lot of thinking done while sitting on a lawn mower or trimming the hedges in front of the house. Legend has it that there are Zen Buddhist monks in the Far East who get all their exercise through tending their gardens. During their chores, the monks mentally focus on different muscle groups, allegedly getting the same results as spending hours in the gym.  

I don’t think sitting on a piece of loud equipment with a beer between your legs could ever be counted as exercise, though. Probably not what the monks had in mind. 

In all seriousness, I consider myself fortunate to have a piece of land to care for. Spending time outside is good for the mind, body and soul. Whether in a small yard in the city or a sprawling country estate, there is no better way to connect with nature than with a little sweat. 

But being in tune with the earth can be a bit painful. Last year, there was an incident with ground-nesting yellow jackets. These angry little creatures get very excited with the vibrations and fumes that accompany yard care equipment. One minute you’re minding your own business and the next you’re being stabbed to death by flying assassins wielding razor-sharp knives. The mower wasn’t fast enough, so I bailed out and ran for cover. 

While fleeing for safety, I ran through a spiderweb large enough to entrap a chimpanzee. One hand was swatting at my airborne assailants, while the other pulled at the invisible strings clinging to my body. My forearm had picked up a passenger in the form of a garden spider with legs long enough to wrap around my forearm, which I didn’t see until it took a bite of my tender, vulnerable flesh. 

I ran until my legs could move no more and stood, panting like a savage animal on the run. I could feel the toxic venom pulsing through my veins, the sting and bite sites throbbing in pain. I tried to catch my breath and assess my wounds. Before I could see how damaged I was, I felt a burning sensation on my leg. I looked down in dismay to see that I had come to rest in a nest of fire ants. 

I brushed them off to the best of my ability, receiving more stings on my hands. I made it back to the house, the mower abandoned somewhere along my driveway. I’d have to go back and get it later. The following days were a blur, lost in the haze of a steady regimen of antihistamine. 

The more I think about it, I believe I’ll stay inside more this summer.