With bees, it isn’t the sting itself
but the unprovoked attack
that lingers.

How unfair to walk unwary, barefoot
on hot concrete, simply
pleasuring your feet,
or stepping down on a beach towel
only to be assaulted by the small plot
of something you meant no harm to.

That first pain is learned the hard way:
at five, you call
all-y, all-y, all come free
singing blind into a hive
hidden in the swing-set’s pole, then fall
what seemed the longest
fall; a cloud of bees flowered from your lips.

And later, put to bed with ice
and ointments melting over
the welts that covered you,
there was no explaining the bees’
behavior, no way to comprehend the reason
in their rage. You may never understand
this: the will behind the stinger,
a certain, fatal anger to survive.
~Erin Belieu “Bee Sting”

George got stung by a bee and said,
“I wouldn’t have got stung if I’d stayed in bed.”

Fred got stung and we heard him roar,
“What am I being punished for?”

Lew got stung and we heard him say,
“I learned somethin’ about bees today.”
~Shel Silverstein “Three Stings”

Ever have one of those days when it doesn’t really matter what you do, what you don’t do, what you say, what you don’t say—you find yourself sitting on top of a hornet’s nest, and at the slightest provocation, you’ll get nailed, but good.

The hardest reality of all is that you may have actually invited and fostered the hornets that are now ready to attack you. You offered them shelter, a safe haven, a place to come home to and what happens in return? You’re stung because you just happened to be there, perched in a precarious position.

What difficult lessons life tosses at us sometimes. And this little drama happened in my own backyard.

As I headed to the barn for chores and walked past our happy little gnome, I gave him my usual smile, wave and morning greeting, but something was different about him and I looked a little closer. 

He suddenly was appearing anatomically correct. What the heck?

And the look on his face had taken on a distinctly worried cast. How had he gotten himself into this predicament of harboring a hornet’s nest in his lap?

My little backyard friend was in a dilemma, pleading with his eyes to be saved from his agony. So I planned out a stealth rescue mission. Without warning, in the dark of night, I decided I could turn a hose on that nest, sweep it to the ground and crush it, hornets and all – a “take no prisoners” approach to my gnome held hornet-hostage. Then, every time I glanced at his gracious cheerful face I could smile too, knowing I had helped rescue him by eliminating the enemy. I could be the hero of the story…

Postscript:

I didn’t execute the “save our gnome”  rescue mission soon enough.  While I was foolish enough to mow the grass near the swing set, the offending hornet nailed me in the neck.  I walked right into it, forgetting there was a hornet hazard over my head.  One ice bag and benedryl later, I dispatched hornet and nest to the great beyond. 

It was my own fault for violating a hornet’s space, but it was the hornet’s fault for violating my friend’s lap. We’re even now. And my gnome is smiling in grateful relief.