A number of years ago, about a year and a half into our marriage, my wife decided it was time for us to buy our first home, just six months after moving to a new city in another state. I would’ve preferred renting a bit longer, you know, to learn the city before committing. But rational heads prevailed (hers), and we bought a house.
I’d grown up in a home, but owning one hits differently. When your name’s on the deed, you suddenly care a whole lot more. And because we moved in during the spring, I immediately had to begin work on the outside landscape. I’d done yardwork growing up, but this time it really mattered (yeah, I heard it).
Soon came the big moment: mowing my yard for the first time. I bought a $50 used push mower from the neighbor and got to work. Our lot was heavily wooded, with patchy grass, decomposing mulch and pine needles – the works. After a couple of passes, I realized my car was blocking the area I needed to mow. My wife came outside to witness this historic moment, and I asked her to drive my car around the block so I could finish the patch near the natural area.
This is where the indelible memory begins.
I started in the middle of a slight slope, made one lane through the tall grass, and after only about three steps, I felt the urge to look down. I paused the mower and looked, and that’s when my brain short-circuited. My mower sat on the upper edge of a hole (nest), my feet on the lower edge and, in between, hovering above, covering the front of my shirt was a writhing, pulsating mass of yellow jackets. Not one or two. Not “a few.” Dozens. A living, buzzing bundle of bees the size of a softball, crawling on top of each other, desperate to all sting me at once.
I later learned that yellow jackets emit a scent when they sting that makes the other bees enraged to sting also. At that moment, I didn’t know the science, but I understood the urgency.
By some miracle, my brain fired one useful thought. I sprinted to the side of the house, not to go inside, but to get the garden hose conveniently connected to the spigot. I blasted my head with water, then my chest, trying to wash them away. Even with the strong spray, it was a struggle. Bees were stuck in my clothes, still trying to sting. Persistence (and quick thinking) paid off, and I finally got most of them off.
Just then, my wife pulled in to find me soaking wet, flailing a hose like a madman. Seeing my panicked expression, she approached in a hurry until she saw the bees swarming. While still standing at a distance, I yelled, “Do you see any more on me?” She made a confused, sad and scared face, then slowly pointed to her chin. One was lodged in my beard.
She quickly grabbed a broom, and I told her to knock the bee off. She tapped me lightly, no luck. “Do it again!” I said. This time, she clocked me pretty good, and the bee fell out. Unfortunately, the others swarmed around her next, with some even landing on her clothes. She panicked and ran for the house. I yelled, “Don’t go in, they’ll follow you!” So, quick as a flash, she stripped down to the necessities right there at the back door, left her clothes outside and bolted inside the house. That’s right, it looked like a PG-rated version of “Naked and Afraid.” Fortunately, our backyard was private, so the neighbors didn’t share in this part.
After all this, there I stood; my body and clothing totally soaked with water; and the bees, by now, beginning to scatter and fly away. I was completely exhausted physically and emotionally with multiple stings, which I’d yet to fully begin to feel. I was standing in my driveway, with the garden hose still in my hand, feeling fortunate that I had the vision to think of this great idea in the first place. And, during this moment, there’s my wife standing at the window looking out at me. She’s completely safe, not having been stung at all, just making sure I’m still okay. I began to question whether my garden hose idea was the best idea that came out of that situation.
In the end, I survived the incident, after multiple stings, a trip to the ER and a crash course in yellow jacket awareness. I learned to spot nests, dispose of them properly and that the hospital will often give you Benadryl to ward off the effects of multiple stings (assuming you haven’t gone into anaphylactic shock).
And, most importantly, I learned to ALWAYS have the garden hose ready.
Summer’s here folks, so have fun and bee careful!
Musical Selection: Blake Shelton – Honey Bee (Official Music Video)
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