Fragments From Floyd

I came home late Monday after class and labs, her last day here, and as I got out of the car, Abby greeted me:

"I got stung on a gnat" she said.

I told her it probably wasn't a gnat. Maybe it was a yellow jacket. Yeah, that was it. She had a red whelp, an OOWIE she called it, on her forehead. I heard the rest of the predictable story inside. And then she wanted to see a picture of what had stung her. We found the ugly bug-mug above and talked about antennae and mouthparts versus stingers and how they are simply protecting themselves and their babies when they sting. Personally, I think pure meanness enters in, but I didn't tell Abby that.

The dog had got into a nest, directed the swarm to his walking companions, and then after stinging little Abby, pursued the trio of wife, daughter and granddaughter all the way across the creek. I don't know why, but this time of year, yellow jackets are highly piffed at something, and not only do they not want you near their holes in the ground, they don't want you in the same county and will follow you to the death, hopefully theirs.

Ann and I walked in the rain, umbrellas in hand, on the northeasternmost fringes of Katrina yesterday afternoon. As we rounded the bend and started back down the pasture toward the house, I heard an ominous buzzing. "There's one after you" Ann said, walking only a few feet away from me with the dog on leash.

Maybe there was only one. But he might have only been the scout and more were coming. So I took off running through the thigh-high grass, knees pumping, clunky rubber boots pressing the grasses down in my wake and my umbrella swirling around my head as if it were a sword. My straw hat blew off and I just kept running. My umbrella flipped inside-out and finally, thought I'd like to say my feet got tangled in the tall grass, in truth it was from sheer exhaustion: I did an ungraceful face plant in the wet grass. I must have dropped off the radar because the kamikaze fighters were gone when I struggled, breathless, to my feet.

And I just realize this morning upon groaning out of bed, I don't fall so well as I used to. So Abby, I have an oowie on my left hip and my right elbow this morning. The bruises should turn some interesting colors over the next couple of days. And somehow, seeing these critters faces microscopically doesn't do anything to make me think one bit more highly of them for their vicious, late-summer attitudes. Mad as hornets, my Aunt Tilly. Mad as yellow jackets in autumn!

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