Pedley's Ponderings

My house is constantly being invaded. From carpenter ants in the spring to the ever-present daddy long legs in the corners of our ceilings, I'm always on the look out.

This summer was no different. The dreaded carpenter ants crawled in sometime around late summer followed by their grease ant counterparts in June and July. If you're unfamiliar with latter, Google them – they are diabolical.

Despite all the "friendly" faces, I found myself battling a new, yet familiar, foe last month. Paper wasps decided our soffits were prime nesting territory and I was forced to declare war.

I hate wasps and always have. That disdain was drilled into me two decades ago by my older sister, who taught me to fear the winged devils with a primal instinct from the time I could walk. All I've ever known is that I should freak out and run whenever I see one.

That flight response has given way to fight in recent years. When I see a wasp now, I try to gain a safe distance while reaching for the nearest blunt object to throw at it. I want it dead at all costs, but this summer, I had to reach for the spray can.

Two huge nests appeared on our east and west soffits. I gave them no bother, as they were nearly 20 feet above my head on the second story. My attitude changed in August when the wasps started making a constant presence on our back patio. With a kiddie pool close and hose seemingly always running thanks to our 3-year-old, water was abundant. That was just what they needed to build their nests, which measured at least 8 inches wide on both sides of the house.

I slammed the ladder against the gutters late last month and got to work. Armed with a foaming pesticide capable of reaching 20 feet away, I blasted the west nest as my winged opponents dropped and writhed in defeat. They rolled into the gutters stinging the air while their gross larvae fell from the honeycombed nest. It was an uncomfortable sight, but oddly satisfying. It's worth repeating that I absolutely hate wasps.

I estimated the body count at around 40. Pleased but not finished, I headed to the other side.

The east nest was better protected and inaccessible without getting close. Being on a ladder, I wasn't eager to test my luck – I'm only so brave. I stealthily snuck up the bars to fire the kill shot, however, my can released only one mighty blast before fizzing like a shaken beer bottle. This worked to only anger the bugs. Some casualties rolled into the gutters, but even more took flight to find the destroyer of their world. Only one was successful at locating the aggressor, but he didn't land for a shot. I can move pretty fast down a ladder when there's a stinger at the top of it.

The battle was lost, but the war raged on. I refilled my arsenal later that week to finish the job. The east side nest was still abuzz with activity, albeit less so than before. I quickly took care of the survivors in three foamy, poisonous blasts.

I located a long metal pole to remove the wasps' infrastructure after I was comfortable that victory had been secured. I dissembled one of the nests to discover all stages of life, from egg to larva to pupa to adult. I found the little city neat for a brief moment before remembering what I was looking at.

My disdain for wasps remains strong even though I still haven't gotten stung by one in my entire life. I hope that streak continues, but one has to wonder if my newfound bravery will get the best of me some day – cockiness usually leads to recklessness.

In the meantime, I think I'll stock up on more foam.

Nick Pedley is the news editor of The Hartley Sentinel-The Everly/Royal News.