Thursday, August 4, 2011
Aimee got a good chuckle out of my antics last night.
My job in life definitely seems to be to entertain my lovely wife.
But no, I'm not out to rob a bank or hold someone up.
(Although the girls at our actual local bank were just robbed by some low-life tea-leaf.)
My aim with this particular fashion statement is to defend hearth and home against a sea of outrageous and very aggressive paper wasps that have set up home in the barn attic. Every time I go to feed or check on the animals, these buggers sting me when I leave. The door sticks and needs to be slammed a little bit, which rocks the building and makes a loud noise, which rocks their nest and out they sally, stingers primed.
There's only one thing that really works with this problem, and that's good old fashioned, tasty organo-chloride pesticides. Never mind your organic farming BS -- that stuff is anti-intellectual mind-pap anyway. Nature is full of nasty chemicals created by perfectly organic, perfectly natural living beings.
We had a can of something in the shed somewhere, but I wasn't sure how much. Not wanting to start the job and not be able to finish, I went to the hardware store to get a fresh can.
I don't care to be stung either, so I took further precautions, suiting up in some ad-hoc NBC-protective gear -- yet another use for military training! When will the usefulness end, I ask myself?
I waited until dark. I even tried to use a red flashlight on the questionable semi-scientific grounds that I thought I remembered insects couldn't see colors, but my flashlight batteries were out, so that part of the plan was a bust.
In the event, all I needed to do was wait until dark. The wasps were sound asleep.
This morning's first job will be to remove the contaminated debris and any dead bugs. I don't want our chickens eating them. I eat eggs. I may not agree with some of the pseudo-scientific nonsense spouted by organic and anti-GM food advocates, but I don't care to deliberately become the last stop on the bio-accumulation chain.
In other news, every summer there's a day each year when the harvest provides the first completely home-grown meal of the year. This year that day was Sunday. Blackened, crisp-grilled pork chop, shell peas and new potatoes.