I saw a wasp outside my window this morning, bumping his knobby head against the glass, and I felt sorry for the little guy. He wasn’t welcome anywhere.
Now, full disclosure, I myself had knocked his house off the eaves on more than one occasion. Actually, I don’t know if it was the same wasp. I’m not good with faces. Still, if it was the same wasp or his long-lost brother from Des Moines, I know I have not been very wasp-welcoming.
On one side, who could blame me, what with the stinging and all that? I’ve only been stung once and I’m sure it was nothing personal, but I prefer to keep my distance just in case.
Over the years, I have been equally adamant about not sharing my quarters with cockroaches. They have a very germy reputation, so when I spot them loitering around the baseboards, I hunt them down and … well, I won’t go into the ensuing details because this is a family publication.
I spend all summer wielding my broadsword broom against spider webs. I have nothing against spiders, really. Sure, some of their more radical members are bent on killing and paralyzing, but the majority of them are peaceful bug hunters with a talent for weaving. All I ask is that they weave their magic someplace where there’s no chance that I will walk through the sticky strands and say, “Eeeew!”
And the ants? Well, our feud continues. They have this idea that my attic is a fabulous place to winter and I strongly disagree.
You know me. I’m all for biodiversity. My motto is, “Live and let live,” but I’d just as soon every critter not do it within my property line. I’ll live in my house and the ants and spiders and wasps and cockroaches will live in theirs, and ideally they will not be attached in condo fashion.
I will concede the yard and the trees, and that’s more room than I give the snakes. For my side-winding brethren, mi casa is not su casa at all. Can’t do it. I know there are snakes that are venomous and those that are not and I’m the one with the prejudice problem, but I’m just not ready to coexist in a peaceful state.
I realize that I’m seeing the circle of life from my own perspective. These poor creatures probably see every swipe of my broom as an assault on their homeland. There are disaster reports on the nightly cockroach news, little pictures of refugee wasps huddled around … but I guess that’s the question. Where can these unwanted creatures go? Are they doomed to spend their lives building and building only to be chased off again?
Maybe the answer is to establish a Home for Wayward Wasps, a place where they can form their ingenious paper villas to their hearts content, raise their little wasp children and grandchildren, and live out their lives in peace. If we all chipped in, maybe did one of those fund-raising drives on the internet, we could purchase a piece of land and set it up with eaves for every wasp in the country. All that would be left would be to get the word out. “You can’t stay here, sweetie, but there is a place for you in this world.”
After the wasps are all settled, I’ll get to work on resettling the spiders and ants and cockroaches. Not the snakes, though. Somebody else will have to spearhead that one. I still need more time.
