In the ’90s, my grandma’s house was beachside, overlooking the ocean on the Sunshine Coast. Similar to Vancouver, the name Sunshine Coast is deceitful because it rains around 40% of the year. It must be fun they said, living beachside they said, until Fall approaches and the windchill hits. When she was still living there, my grandpa set out to find a new location to live. After some research, he found a farm that was being sold in half. A 10-acre property to which one half contained a house and the other half a barn. He thought nothing of it when buying the plot with the barn. In his eyes, this barn was already home. He convinced my grandma that with a little work this barn could become a home. A few years later, with some spit grit and a whole lot of duct tape, a one-floor barn house was born. Although I couldn’t do half of what he did, the home is not perfect.
Because I was in school, the only time to get away was during school breaks. We would visit in the winter, spring and summer. This acreage became my second home. It gave my brother and me a place to run around free with no worries. We would build forts in the forest, climb trees, play sports, help my grandpa with his questionable projects and always get up to mischief. It would usually go unnoticed but not always.
Unlike other seasons summertime wasn’t littered with rain or snow. The sun would bring out several creatures, some nice and some not so much so. A black bear or dear would be a rare pleasantry, whereas several Hymenoptera insects were all too common. Insects like ants, bees and wasps fall into this order. Most insects are tolerable, but the wasps are not. Wasps at my grandma’s home are all too familiar. It is easy to stay away from wasps as long as they don’t nest near you, but this is impossible at my grandma’s. Yellowjackets build their nests on the forest floor that surrounded the property. Paper wasps have open nests and build them under overhangs at every entrance of the house. I typically tilt my head, peeking up at the overhang before opening the door and making a swift exit dodging anything that flies my way only to run into yellowjacket territory.
I have been stung by a bee, but even after all these years running around, never by a wasp. Family members have been stung, my brother has been stung twice, and thanks to us, my mom has as well.
Our shenanigans would usually go unnoticed because they happened in the forest. The forest was sometimes too repetitive it was necessary to leave to find something new and exciting.
My grandma’s place has a front and backdoor. The front entrance opens up centred to the dining room table. To the left is the living room and to the right is the kitchen. My grandma is responsible for the front entrance. The entrance is not just for shoes and coats but has an antique armoire filled with family photos and fancy guest cutlery. On the other hand, the back entrance is my grandpa’s responsibility. Sprawled across the back floor are old work boots and dusty jackets hang from plastic coat hangers. Instead of an antique cabinet, there’s a cheap wooden shelf. Instead of family photos and refined cutlery, there’s an assortment of tools and pesticide bottles. A young boy would be interested in the back entrance rather than the front. It also has way less traffic if someone would want to take something.
One day we got sick of the forest. My brother and I slipped to the back and grabbed a bottle of lethal bug killer liquid. Wasps at this time were prominent, and we knew just the right nest to conquer. It was a warm afternoon day so the wasps were as awake as ever. They were doing just great. The hose is at waist height at the side of the house. A nest was set up where the nobs of the hose were. My brother and I stood seven feet back, positioned ourselves and started spraying. Wasps started going frantic. They swarmed around the nest trying to sting any intruder. Some fell to the floor, but some flew away to safety. We were unaware of what was happening around the corner. My mom and grandparents were having lunch on the patio. They realized there was a sudden increase in wasps in the area. Not more than a few seconds later, our bodies were still positioned towards the nest spraying, but our heads were turned to the left looking at our mom sprinting towards us. We dropped the bottle. The only thing that saved us from her wrath was the swarm of wasps that we unleashed. Of course, she ran right through them. We heard her shriek behind us. We didn’t mean any harm, so we stopped right away.
Wasps either ruin you barbeque or, worse, hurt you. They are usually viewed as a nuisance rather than beneficial. Most of the time, humans only interact with a small portion of wasps out of the thousands of species. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them. I know the stigma that surrounds wasps needs to change. From someone who doesn’t enjoy the company of wasps, here’s something. They are beneficial to the environment. Some species are predators and control the population of other insects that may be intrusive. Because some wasps drink nectar they carry pollen from one plant to the next. This labels some of them as pollinators. Larva feeds the adults by transferring their protein diet into carbohydrates. The carbohydrates are transferred into sugar droplets that the adults can eat. Wasps bother your dinner parties when they’re forced to find other sources of food when the larva are gone.
When I was 18, I watched a Youtuber named Coyote Peterson getting stung by a hornet. Not to worry, these Hornets “are native to Asia.”
Now, I’ve come to peace knowing that some times, I’ll need to be alongside wasps. I’ll go a step further in saying they’re not a big deal, I haven’t gotten stung in 21 years, and they’re good for the environment; But if those murder hornets, whose queen can reach up to 5cm long, find their way into my grandma’s property, I’m burning the place down and forcing her to move. Those memories made there are not worth getting violated by a murder hornet.