The weather was beautiful, warm and sunny. I betook myself outside to partake in one of the rites of warm weather that I particularly enjoy — grilling. I fired up the gas grill, congratulating myself because it didn’t cost me my eyebrows as it sometimes does.
While waiting for the chicken parts to reach that succulent shade of black crispness indicating the bird had suffered the required third degree burn that is the trademark of “Brooks Black Meat” as my sons so lovingly referred to my culinary masterpieces, I noticed a wasp on the bench next to me. The poor thing had flown through the dense cloud of smoke rising from the grill and looked stunned.
These small insects and their relatives have provided me with much entertainment and excitement in my lifetime. I’m allergic to their sting and try to avoid close contact more than absolutely necessary. They’re not one of my favorite bugs but they’ve got to make a living too, I suppose. This little guy finally shook off his smoke inhalation and flew off into the sunset. This reminded me of an incident which I was a witness to in my childhood.
We were blessed with some interesting neighbors, who shall remain nameless for reasons which will become apparent shortly. Well, I can use their first names — this tale involves the father, Ed and two of his sons, Gary and Lloyd. Intellectually, the elevator didn’t reach the top floor for any of them, they weren’t the sharpest tools in the toolbox, they were two cans shy of a six pack, they shared an IQ — well, you get the idea.
As I stood in our backyard, I noticed the animated actions of the group from next door and tried to figure out what was going on. It seems that one of them had noticed a huge paper wasp’s nest that had been built high on the eaves of their shed. It was a situation that obviously called for action on their part or so the pointing and yelling led me to believe. Ed was giving orders right and left and his two boys were scurrying around like the Keystone Cops. First Gary appeared, dragging a large galvanized tub that Lloyd proceeded to fill with water. A discussion then ensued that I couldn’t hear but ended with Ed going into the shed and reappearing shortly with a 10 foot section of stovepipe.
As the boys offered suggestions and shouted encouragement, Ed slowly raised the stovepipe and placed it over the wasp nest. He then shook the pipe violently back and forth, breaking the nest loose from the eaves. The nest slid down the pipe and into the water filled tub.
It didn’t sink to the bottom, drowning the nasty little critters as was expected by these intellectual night lights. No, it bobbed to the surface almost immediately and a whole cloud of excited insects taught them the meaning of the phrase, “madder than a wet hornet.” I lay on the ground, gasping for air as the whole clan ran, twisting and twirling, slapping and screaming for the safety of the house.
I learned a lot that day about thinking things through, about wasps and the joy of laughing until you hurt, not to mention all the neat new words I picked up during the scramble for the house. It was a great day!
Thought for the week — Silly is a state of mind, stupid is a way of life.
Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.
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Whittling Away: You can't fix stupid | Columnists | hudsonvalley360.com - Hudson Valley 360
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