You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

WASPS UNDER THE SWING SET

Maura and I had a young family with two small children. We lived in a suburban house in Portland Oregon. One of the features we liked about this house was the enclosed backyard with a sturdy swing set. It was a place for our children to play outside safe from the busy streets. In the Summer of 1978 I noticed that a colony of ground-nesting yellow jackets had located between the legs of the swing set. Anyone who has had the misfortune of walking close to a nest of these yellow wasps is likely to be stung, repeatedly. The threat to the children was such that we could no longer let the kids play in the backyard.

Our next door neighbor asked why the children were not playing outside. I told her about the yellow jacket nest and explained that I had not yet figured out how to get rid of it. She confidently told me, “The sure fire way to get rid of yellow jackets is to hang an open can of poison bait near their nest. She told me to put a small ball of uncooked hamburger mixed with insecticide. Yellow jackets can not resist hamburger and they will take it back to the nest to feed their queen and larvae. In a week there will be no more hornets.” She said. I told Maura about my intention to rid the yard of wasps.

I bought hamburger and from a garden store, I bought the insecticide my neighbor recommended. I did as she had instructed and wired the can in the top bar of the swing, high out of reach of the children and pets. Over the following week, when in view of the swing set, I would pause to watch in hopes of seeing hungry hornets swarming in and out of the bait can. I never saw one hornet go to the can of rotting meat. After two weeks, I took the can down and flushed the stinking bait.

Days later I described my dilemma to a colleague in the office. He advised me to pour boiling water down the nest entry. “You have to do it at night when all the wasps are in their nest. Cooking the hornets seemed like it would work. I told Maura about the method I was going to use to eradicate the nest. She rolled her eyes as if to say “Sure”.

I prepared a steel vacuum cleaner tube with a small piece of window screen cut to fit tightly inside the tube. The intent of the screen was to thwart any wasp’s attempt to fly up the tube into my face. My plan was to press one end of the tube down against the nest entry hole while pouring the scalding water into a funnel at the other end of the tube. It was a warm night when I put the plan into action. I set a large saucepan of water on the stove to boil. Wearing long pants, and a long-sleeved shirt with thick gloves to protect my hand from the hot tube and boiling water. I carelessly wore flip-flops on my feet. I cautiously approached the nest. I thrust the tube into the entry and began pouring. It was a very large saucepan and the pouring took a full minute. I was focused on watching to see if any wasps had escaped around the tube so did not immediately notice that my feet were becoming very hot. I was standing in a depression next to the hole. The boiling water was not all going in the hole. Much of it flowed into the depression in which I was standing. With burning feet, I dropped the tube and in order to escape a swarm of very hot and bothered wasps, I ran to the safety of the house. There I was greeted with a derisive look from my wife. The following day the yellow jackets were agitated and seemed to be more numerous than ever. The hot water bath was the second bit of advice which didn’t work. I had to come up with another method to exterminate these dangerous wasps.

Plan C: After having made a big deal about how I was going to wipe out our backyard threat, and twice failing, I chose not to inform Maura of my third effort in order to avoid further ridicule should this attempt also fail. During the day I put the gear I would need in the garage. Well after dark, when my absence from the house would not be noticed, I went to the garage to put on my ski mask, long sleeved jacket, and pants with the legs tied, so that wasps could not fly up my pants legs. I was taking no chances. Using the same steel vacuum cleaner tube, the one with wire mesh in it, the funnel, and a quart of gasoline, I headed to the backyard. Once there I realized that I had forgotten the matches.

I went to the glass patio door hoping to quietly enter, find matches near the fireplace, and exit without being noticed. However, Maura had locked the doors in preparation for bed. I knocked. Maura came to the door. She saw me a hooded man in a big coat on a hot August night, in pants with rope around the cuffs holding a steel pipe in one hand and gasoline in the other, and wanting her to open the door. It took a while to calm her down, and then even longer to get her to stop laughing so I could explain and ask her to find me a box of matches.

I humbly proceeded with my plan to pour gasoline down the nest entry hole. When the gas can was empty I dropped the pipe and stepped away. Wasps began to emerge from the nest as I struck a match and tossed it at the nest entry. The result was a blowtorch which set the gasoline-soaked wasps alight. The consequence was a geyser of flame and burning wasps spiraling away from the nest. It was a spectacular fireworks display in celebration of the final and successful eradication of the swing set wasps.