The stinging didn't bother me, but the primal fear of being attacked by a swarm of little things that are really, really mad at me, motivated my escape. I've frolicked through a field before, if only to say I've done it like in the movies or the beginning of "Little House on the Prairie", but I've only had to sprint in a panic twice: once for bees, and once for panthers. Sorry, but this story is about the bees.
I love bee’s nests. Well, I should be more specific; yellow jackets, hornets and wasps are cool. Regular honey bees die when they sting you because their stinger is attached to their insides. They sting with a barbed stinger that happens to be attached to their abdomen and venom sac. Stupid design. It’s a good thing our penises aren’t wired that way or I’d have died a long time ago—still, some people I know would still be alive. Those people need a woman. What was I talking about? BEES! Yeah, stupid honey bees are only outclassed in uselessness by the Bumble. Bumbles do just that; bumble. They don’t attack, they don’t sting that I know of, and I think I read somewhere that they defy laws of physics in that they are too large for their wing span to provide enough lift for flight. But hey—that’s me too. I get the pollination thing and the value they add when my 5 year old wants “peanut butter and honey” sandwiches. But I’m talking about primal instincts—and rubbing your legs and ass on plants isn’t cool and I know that because I’ve been arrested for doing the same in the garden department at Lowe’s.
Yellow jackets, hornets, and wasps (all of which are of the wasp family but I’m obviously not interested in telling a lot of “truths” or being “factual” in my representation of events so who cares) are the real deal. They will hunt you down if provoked or threatened. They don’t give a shit (see honey badger). If you don’t mess with them, they won’t necessarily mess with you. They also repeatedly sting you- they aren’t wired internally like their retarded honey bee step-cousins. And they swarm. Anything that swarms when it attacks is kick-ass and deserves to be feared. Sharks will swarm on a kill: kick-ass. Geese don’t. If you’re at the park, it’s usually that one stupid goose with an attitude that wants to peck your knee cap and quasi-chase you around. The other geese are just big stupid ducks. You can’t kick ‘em without being ridiculed or tackled by a hairy woman in flannel. Again, I know from experience.
The primal side of this (and I don’t know if I’m even using that word correctly, it just sounded cool and I think means “cave-man-like-instincts”—well, it means that for me) is in the unknown. As they swarm me, everything is completely unpredictable. I don’t know where they’re coming from or how many are actually on me. The nest was on the ground, I think, so I don’t know if I stepped in it and am now running back through it or away from it. They just seem really mad and hell bent on extracting revenge. It’s primal because we (me and the yellow jackets) are both trying to survive in this forest. They are protecting their family. And I happen to be protecting me… and my family. Because I have just walked my wife, our three sons, and one of their friends across a yellow jacket nest.
I was twenty feet ahead of them showing the water cutoff I put in last year. I walked back to where they were standing when I felt the first three stings on my skull. I screamed “Bees!” because I couldn't think of anything more cool to say. The kids bolted away, Gwen turned to run just as I snatched 5-year old Drake under his arm pits and carried him away sort of like Michael Keaton did in Mr. Mom. Rent it.
I noticed a yellow jacket just above my left knee repeatedly stinging the same spot just as another one targeted Drakes left ear. I swatted at that one and hit it but also slapped Drake across the face. He cried. Pussy. We were about 30 feet away from where I think the nest was and they were swarming pretty hard. I don’t have a swarm barometer of any kind; I could just see that the air around my face, my midsection, and between me and Drake in my outstretched arms was an increasing cloud of agitated yellow jackets.
I was taking hits all around my fat. Sorry, should be more specific: they targeted what most people call “love-handles”. I took two on my thumb when I heard Odin scream out from ahead that he got stung on his head. If you’ve ever messed with a yellow jacket nest, you know that there is a certain distance that you have to run where they give up, tail off and get back to yellow jacketing. It’s about 50 feet or so. I must have stopped at foot number 49 to take inventory. Gwen and I checked out Drake…But they weren’t done.
I had 5 in my shorts and that little bastard on my knee kept pinging away at the same spot like it was his job. I might have screamed “BEES!” again, or not, but my repeated slapping of my own person gave Gwen the hint to flee. She left me there with Drake. Primal. Fight or Flight. I got 3 of the 5 out of my shorts and grabbed Drake again only this time I was cradling him like a sack of wheat (I have never, nor have I seen a sack of wheat--- guess I could have said “sack of kid” whatever). I now knew I only got 3 of the 5 out of my shorts because I took two more stings: one on the hip and one on… well, I’ll stick to the theme here—one on my ‘sack’ of wheat. This of course caused me to panic; I tripped over a log and fell with Drake in my arms injuring his butt. Good news was that the fall either killed or at least dislodged that knee-f@#$er.
I picked Drake up again, and continued to flee, free of any more attacks. I had 20 stings, but we counted that dude on my knee for 5. He was diligent and effective… I sincerely hope he lived. That night, trying to sleep sucked, I still have some scars, but I started thinking from the insects’ perspective and what they must have been saying. I actually believe I heard them saying these things since they were so close to my ears—and based on where I was stung, it seems highly likely. Maybe it was subliminal because I don’t speak or understand native yellow jacket. But here is what I think they said- in no particular order:
"Hey, go for the fatty part around the midsection, seems sensitive to that."
"Why do I always get the butt on these attacks?"
"Anyone else tasting a tremendous amount of cheese and hamburger?"
"Get the big fat one, we'll take out their leader first!"
"What the fuck? I just finished that nest!"
"I keep stinging the same spot and he doesn't seem to care...Dumbass."
"I'd sting his face but from the looks of this guy, he might eat me."
"Roger that... There's 5 of them, I repeat: 5. Let's take down the big, slow, fat one, it'll reduce morale."
"He keeps screaming like a honey bee-- it's hurting my yellow jacket ears, someone take out the mouth."
I love Rehab. “Rehab” is property we own with two other families on Lake Cushman
Did I mention the panther story? I can’t tell you about that, but I can share a picture of my run in with one a few years ago:
