Blog

I was originally going to tell these stories in a book. Writing them in a blog for very specific students (who will probably never read them) definitely changes the words I want to write. This second story correlates (a little) with murder hornets. As if there wasn’t enough to worry about in the world currently. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the class of Edina High School (EHS) 2020 mascot is the hornet. I can’t imagine when that mascot was chosen that anybody thought there would ever be “murder hornets”, but such is the way of this world. Sometimes things don’t go exactly as planned.

I have never dealt with murder hornets, but I have met wasps, and I should have died, so…

I don’t know how old I was. Seven, eight. Nine, six? Old enough to climb trees alone after dinner on a beautiful summer night in Wisconsin. I think it was early in the summer because I was in a crabapple tree and it was in full bloom. I thought I was alone (I wasn’t) and that I was in the perfect hiding place to watch the world pass. People were outside walking and biking and driving and talking and no one could see me. Perfectly hidden, but so was the nest!

I don’t know why, exactly. I think it is just something young boys must do, but I got bored and I decided to jump up and down on the branch I was sitting on to see how far it could flex. Honestly, it was much more flexible than I thought and so I pushed harder and harder and the branch flexed more and more, and then they came.

I don’t blame them. It was a perfect summer evening and they just wanted to relax like everyone else. And then there was this boy bouncing the branch to which their nest was attached. They just didn’t want their nest bouncing around wildly. I can understand that. They did what they could to protect their home. I can understand that as well. It worked.

After Miss Kitchen, (Yup, that is her real name) the nurse, came to our house because of the piercing screams she heard and saved my life by mixing up some weird concoction of meat tenderizer that sucked the poison out, she explained rather calmly that if we had gone to the hospital it would have been too late. There were too many stings and my body would have gone into shock. I was lucky. If I never properly thanked you, Miss Kitchen, thank you for saving my life. It is appreciated.

But I wasn’t totally lucky. I have an older sister, and she loves to embarrass me. I had stings all over my body. One of my eye lids was swollen shut and I think I had a sting inside my nose. The stings were very visible and my sister wanted to count them. “Please no! Mom? Dad? Tell her to stop! There are so many people in the room.” It was summer. I had been wearing shorts. The wasps had found places on my body that were really, really private. “Please God, no! Don’t let her do this! Not right now. Not when all these people who I barely know are still in the room. Have I not suffered enough today?” Apparently not. There were 78 stings. My sister made sure that each one was counted.

Later that summer, once the crabapple blossoms had fallen and the nest was easily seen, someone destroyed the nest. I felt badly, like it was my fault. I am sorry wasps, for disturbing your summer evening and that your home was destroyed. I hope your life went well and that you were given a second chance, just like myself.