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Hay’s Daze: To bee or not to bee

To bee (sic) or not to bee (sic). That is the 64 thousand dollar question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the back yard to suffer the stings and bites of outrageous wasps, or to take arms against a swarm of troubles, and by squirting, end them.
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To bee (sic) or not to bee (sic). That is the 64 thousand dollar question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the back yard to suffer the stings and bites of outrageous wasps, or to take arms against a swarm of troubles, and by squirting, end them.

Now I know you all recognize this famous soliloquy spoken by Hamlet and written by William (Bill) Shakespeare whereupon the fevered Prince of Denmark was lamenting about a rather large and scary hornet’s nest he found in his garden. He just couldn’t decide whether to spray or not to spray. And, coincidentally, I know whereof he speaks.

Have you noticed a veritable plethora of stinging insects lately? I have asked around, and I’ve found that I’m not the only one who has been relentlessly buzzed and beleaguered by a bombastic bevy of bees.

Is it the record-breaking heat wave? The flourishing flora and fauna? The predicted Apocalyptic Plague of Vespula Vulgaris? I’m no scientist but I’m thinking all these several million buzzing vespulas (wasps) whipping all around us these days has something to do with global warming. Or perhaps the depleting ozone layer. Or most certainly the Kinder Morgan pipeline.

Be that as it may, truth is, Huston, we got a problem. Or, more to the point, I have a problem.

It’s about those 1.5 kajillion wasps in that old stump that the Better Half has a large pot of colorful flowers sitting on. In the back yard. About one meter (three feet) from the patio table. They air is blistering with buzz. Mini missiles relentlessly dive bombing us from all directions. There are so many aggressive little buggers the other day I caught them trying to carry Chicket the Chubby Cat away. They had the fat cat about three feet (one meter) off the ground before I talked the Better Half into bravely rescuing the F.C. I nearly got stung watching from inside the garden shed.

So, big problem. Now I know that bees are wonderful and important citizens of Mother Nature’s lush garden generally, because I looked it up. Turns out the things in our personal yard are evil wasps. Or hornets. Or yellowjackets. Or all three. In other words: Wings of the Devil.

Apparently one major difference is that bees only sting once, but wasps can sting “multiple times”. BIG difference. I don’t like being stung. Been there, done that, cried myself into a feverish sleep full of nightmares about hornets.

Also apparently, hornets are simply large (ugly) wasps. And yellow jackets are simply (ugly) wasps that nest in the ground (and attack when you walk by). And for people who are allergic, it’s no laughing matter.

But while it’s amazing what you can learn in the ole Hay’s Daze column, His Majesty Hamlet’s question remains - to blast, or not to blast?

I have a large can of Wasp-Be-Gone sitting right there on the shelf, but I am reluctant to obliterate an active, thriving life-form even if they are vicious Beasts from Hades. Especially when the Rotten Kid, the son one, is around. Being in his final year of his Zoology degree he is vehemently opposed to “upsetting the balance” because the aforementioned vespula vulgaris can “do a lot of good”. Sure. And so do sharks.

But finally I had to sit or get off the stump, as it were.

I can sum up the outcome with another famous quote, equal to that of Shakespeare. A song from Monty Python. All together now:

Is this wretched demi-bee Half asleep upon my knee Some freak from a menagerie? No! It’s Eric, the half a bee!