The sting

Hey, did you know that yellow jackets can fly almost as fast as a grown man sprinting around a swing set? I do. Now.
It all started last week when I was having a fence installed in my backyard. The existing one did not resemble wood so much as it did thick cardboard. General rule: If a 10-pound dog scratches at a fence board and it comes apart like shredded wheat, it may be time to get some new fencing.
I considered doing the fence myself, but then it occurred to me that I did not want the top to look like an EKG line, so I should hire professionals.
As they were preparing to rip down the current fence, I glanced out the window and saw them standing about 15 feet from the fence. One was on a cell phone. This didn’t seem like the best way to put up a fence, so I went outside to see what was going on. Turns out, they had found a yellow jacket nest right near one of the fence posts. Angry yellow jackets. Angry yellow jackets who were quite content with the fence where it was. Both of the guys had already been stung. Not a lot of joy in the backyard.
I went and retrieved some wasp spray from the garage. It’s one of those ones that shoots a stream of chemicals about a quarter mile, so you can stand safely away and attack. “Fellas, your problem is about to be solved.” I located where the nest was and proceeded to empty the can. Take that, you winged devils!
Pitching the can aside, I began to stride inside, a little cowboy swagger in me, knowing I had just ruled this duel.
I headed on to work, confident that my picture may very possibly go up at the fence company’s HQ, under a banner that read “Our Hero.”
A little while later, I swung by the house to check on the status. Both men were getting in the truck. They told me they were going to the store to get some stuff to kill the yellow jackets. I reminded them that I had bravely launched a chemical attack on them. That, it turns out, only made the yellow jackets angry. Or, angrier, as it were.
Fast forward to lunch. I stopped by to check again. They had tripled my attack efforts, and made them triply mad. I peered over at the fence and could see a small cloud of yellow jackets. I told one of the guys that it was clear the nest was in a leaf pile, and if I could just dig some of that out, we’d be fine. He looked at me in much the same way as my wife when I say to her, “You know what would be awesome? A pinball machine in the kitchen.”
I decided it was time to armor up and take the fight to the ground. I went inside and put on a heavy winter coat. In the garage, I found a pair of work gloves and safety goggles. I donned the coat’s hood and pulled the draw string tight, leaving no skin exposed. When I walked out, pitchfork in hand, I glanced at the fence guy. I was expecting a slow clap for my bravery. I even considered walking in slow motion, like I was heading to the space shuttle or something. “They stung through blue jeans,” he said. I think the implication was that I was somehow not in the ideal protective gear.
Never mind. This was clearly foolproof. I went around the fence and approached the nest. There was still an angry posse hovering above the ground. I figured a quick thrust and pitch would open up the nest’s mouth, thereby clearing the path for an easy and final assault.
I drove the pitchfork into the ground and went to heave a huge chunk of leaves and dirt. I have no idea where the leaves and dirt went, as a giant plume of yellow jackets came billowing from the ground, an incredibly loud buzzing soundtrack accompanying it. Instinct took over, and before I knew what was going on, I was sprinting the other direction.
“THEY’RE ON YOUR COAT!!!” I heard him shout.
So there I was, sprinting across my backyard, trying to knock yellow jackets off my back with a pitchfork. (Haven’t we all been there?) Eventually, I dropped the pitchfork and shed my coat and goggles, still shooing away some that are still in pursuit.
Eventually, I made it clear of them, and the fence guys pretty much decided I had ended that day’s work. I ended up going to a professional, who wisely assessed the situation wearing a beekeeper’s outfit. When he went to treat it, he hit the nest a little, and the yellow jackets – who are in serious need of some psychological treatment – began to swarm again, leaving plenty of stingers in his outfit. He had to wait for about an hour for them to settle down before he could complete the mission. When he finally dug the nest out, he found it was four layers deep, and contained, by my estimate, every yellow jacket on the planet.
When the fence guys returned the next day, they were pleased to see that the nest was gone, and they could complete the job without risk of death by a billion stings. While I did have to call in some backup, I’d like to think my picture will still go on the wall.