or holes led to their tormentors. A little smoke
applied judiciously, moreover, would send dozens piling out the holes
in threesomes so that only a good, well balanced swat could hope to
silence several existing at once. At times, the bees would threaten to
get the upper hand and Bertrand and a friend would get panicky, think
of the Alamo or just about any heroic last stand made possible by sheer
courage.

Once, as a torrent of wasps had flown angrily out a large chink in the
wood, Bertrand had been hit squarely in the forehead causing him to
abandon his post leaving poor Alex a near victim. Fortunately, fear had
given proverbial wings to their feet and they had outdistanced the
swarm out the shed toward the relative safety of the house. In
recalling the story, endless rejoinders were made back and forth as to
what would have happened had a river been the only salvation. Could
they have outfoxed the bees, held their breath long enough and swam the
distance or would the cagey bees, if pressed, have waited patiently
above the surface to wreck revenge? Bertrand did not have answers to
these questions but it made for good speculation, bravado and late
evening entertainment. Killing enraged bees with a swatter or the end
of a broom or plank was keen sport and one culled with knife edge
excitement. He craved excitement almost as much as his regimen demanded
rigidity. And to be fair, he had heard all wasps were quite savage and
retained venom in their sting that could prove lethal to the elderly or
infirm. It was a quick rationalization, then, to believe such creatures
were of the same stock and trade as weasels, starlings or the other
unwanted denizens of his father's farm. Why, more people died of wasp
stings than of snakebite in North America annually. Something had to be
done about that outrage.

Late summer is a time yellow jackets have primed their airborne paper
lodges with enough sustenance needed to carry through from fall to
winter. Some mature nests average the breadth of a good sized milk pail
but Bertrand had heard tell of an occasional oddity exceeding the
circumference of a waste paper container. Just the thought brought the
fire into his eyes. Oh, to find such a one on a search and destroy
mission then lodge a tent pole up its arse! A good bout of artillery
practice might then follow--rocks at 40 paces until the enemy had been
given a sound thrashing. They shall not pass was the watchword of the
night.

Ale