An Unfortunate Wildlife Encounter

Today, I finally got back outside into my blackberries for another episode of the Blackberry Project. It had been a few weeks. I even filmed it! Unfortunately, the sound quality on the video is terrible. It hurt me to listen to it.  Which is sad, because I had a great clearing session. I was able to make some deep cuts on ancient vines that allowed me to remove long sections that had grown up into the trees, maybe twenty feet of vines at a time. Here is a short video (without the annoying sound) where you can see a few of the vines I cut:    One Cut Can Free a Tree

It’s one of my favorite things, freeing a tree from a choking vine with one well-placed snip of my clippers.

It was hot today, but I was happy to be outside, once I got over my initial reluctance (there is always initial reluctance to going out on a 90 degree plus day).  But I had my water. I had my hat. I had my two pairs of gloves. All was right with the world. I was maybe even starting to feel a little blissful, working in a meditative state, even. That has been one of the ongoing gifts of the Blackberry Project for me.

I always finish my clearing sessions feeling better than when I start.

Something about the methodical clipping and pulling of the vines, and then the careful tossing of them into a big pile: it’s relaxing and restorative. Especially when my vine piles grow and grow, and the cleared area get bigger and bigger.

But.

There is nothing that will knock you out of a meditative state faster than a wasp stinging your leg. And then realizing that there are a multitude of the wasp’s brethren descending on you.

I am glad you were not there to see what happened next.

I ran! I ran up the hill, tearing off clothing as I went. First, the two pairs of gloves, because they make my hands like tiny sausages in big oven mitts. This is not helpful when trying to swat attacking wasps. My hat came off next. Then almost my shirt, as I got closer to the front door. I burst in and woke up my poor son who was napping on the sofa.

“Aaaack!  Aaaack!” I screamed.

“Mom! Mom!” he yelled.

“It’s OK! I’m OK, honey.”

And I was.

Hopefully, he will not be permanently scarred by the memory of his mother flying through the door, running to the bathroom, stripping as she went.

I brought at least three wasps into the house with me. I generally try to trap and release most creatures that make their way into our home. This includes spiders, and the occasional lizard. I am sorry to confess that I did not do that this time.

After I recovered a bit, probably a few hours later, I gingerly ventured back out to the scene of the attack and quickly collected my gloves, my hat, my water bottle, from the various places where I had tossed them. My clippers are still out there, though. The wasps were active, flying around close to where I dropped them, not looking very happy with the destruction I unintentionally had wrought. I think I’ll give them a day or two to forget about me. Hopefully, they will forget about me.

Tonight, the pain from the stings has faded, though a few welts remain. But there is also a new, big pile of berry vines, and a tree that can breathe a little easier. Walking back up the road a few minutes ago, I saw where that underground nest was. I don’t really blame the wasps for what happened: they were threatened, and they did what wasps do. It wasn’t personal. It was just nature.

Apparently, wasps die in the winter, and only the queen survives; when she comes out of hibernation in the spring, she builds a new nest somewhere else. Maybe for the next few months, I’ll just take my Blackberry Project to another part of the property. There certainly is no shortage of vines to trim. And now I have a new level of awareness, of caution. I’ll remember to look down more often, will try to see the few random wasps that certainly tried to warn me when I was getting close to their home, instead of merrily clipping and clipping without regard to what was around me. I will do my best to leave the wasps undisturbed, so all of us can live out these precious days together under the summer sky, without stings, doing our clipping and buzzing and soaring in peace.