"Hornets"

by

Lawerence R. Calmer

In the wake of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, D.C., a childhood memory surfaces, rising from a collage of past experiences now heavily mingled with recent horrific images. Coming unbidden as I, like many others, try to make sense of these tragic events.

Here in the midwest we have a particularly nasty species of hymenoptera called variously yellow jackets, ground hornets, or meat bees, which prefer to nest in shallow, underground burrows. Our neighbor's son had the bad fortune to be stung several times at once, after running over just such a burrow, by accident with a lawn mower. He wasn't injured seriously, but certainly could have been, had he lingered.

I, a curious eight year old, the day after this incident, couldn't resist stealing over to the neighbor's yard to observe these fascinating and obviously dangerous creatures -- albeit from a safe distance. Cautiously I began to throw stones at the entrance in an attempt to seal the hazard. My aim was no better than my planning, and I couldn't get even the least bit of arousal out of the yellow jackets. My stones fell nowhere near close enough to the mouth of their hole, for them to perceive of the rocks as a threat. Despite failed attempt after failed attempt, I remained steadfastly distant, though getting closer would have vasty increased my chances of scoring a hit. I still had a lot of respect for the peril they posed.

I had a cousin however, slightly older, seemingly much bolder, or perhaps just not as familiar with the facts. Upon seeing what I was attempting to do, he grabbed a large smooth stone of appropriate size, strolled over, and unceremoniously shoved it in the hole. And there he stood in smug, victorious contemplation. This stance did not last long however, as a hoard of enraged hornets soon set upon him, from which direction I can't clearly recall, seemingly from everywhere at once. He received ten or more severe stings before escaping their indignant retaliation.

When asked by both my parents and his as to why he had engaged in such a foolhardy venture, he replied he didn't know that bees stung, and thought it was only moths that stung. I think the vast majority of children, in the eight to ten year age range, are aware that moths are inoffensive and bees and hornets possibly dangerous. I guess I'll never know if he was really that ignorant, or just trying to produce a more reasonable excuse to his parents for his reckless behavior.

As an American it would be all too easy to identify with the hornets, but the tale doesn't really end with the hornets victorious. The yard was fumigated in short order. All the hornets killed. Not after the first hornet attack to be sure, and not without the understanding that there had been provocation to the hornets, but after enough evidence that peaceful coexistence wasn't possible.

So here I sit, pondering whether we are the hornets or the reckless children.