When the neighbors call
It was a classic comment. My neighbor called to say, “A big nest of bees has moved into the maple tree in my front yard. Can you help?” It was during this past August and the neighbor’s daughter was to be married a few weeks later. The “bees” in question were not bees at all but rather were bald-faced hornets. The neighbor considered them to be fearful agents of danger. To my neighbor, they were nuisance bees. Seemingly, any stinging insect was a bee.
As a neighborly gesture, I agreed to remove them. Actually, as you know from pervious articles, I generally have 8-10 hives of honey bees in my stockade-fenced back yard and I didn’t want these tolerant neighbors thinking that my honey bees, in some way, had anything to do with the hornets in their maple tree. I suited up with a veil and gloves and prepared to make the walk a couple of houses down to the scene. But hold this story for a few paragraphs. The insertion of an earlier hornet event seems appropriate at this point.
When family calls
Of my three daughters, Robyn, the middle one, gave me a somewhat frantic call during July just passed. Large black bees — but not bumble bees — had invaded a climbing vine on her front porch. To her, they were vicious “bees.” My son-in-law, Doug, had already been stung several times. He was in a foul mood. This was clearly an emergency and a job for Super Bee Dad. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what my plan would be for removing this nest. It was in the balustrade around the front porch and near the front door. The nest was entangled in vine branches and twigs, and my daughter was correct. They were big “bees” that buzzed around me with an ominous hum.
Need I say that the bees were bald-faced hornets and not bees at all? It is important that you know that my daughter’s house is in a new subdivision composed of modern houses positioned very near each other. No secrets in this close community. If a guy is standing in the front yard wearing strange clothes with a hood and probing around the vines, something is clearly going on. Kids, adults, and pets all took positions on various front porches or leaning against fence posts to watch the unfolding drama.
I know a lot about honey bees, but I don’t routinely work with hornets — plus now I have an audience. I tried to look authoritative — you know — like I was trying to decide which one of several plans I would employ to save this community from pending danger. (Actually, I was trying to be sure that I would take the fewest number of stings possible and not make a spectacle of myself while doing it.) “After dark,” I decided. “This has to be an after-dark task.” The hornets will all inside the paper nest. I will gently trim branches and twigs; put the entire nest into a plastic garbage bag, and with “a cloud of dust and a hardy ‘Hi-yo Silver,’” I will be off to dispose of the nest. As dusk approached, my family and selected neighbors positioned themselves in the large living room picture window inside my daughter’s house, where they had an unobstructed view of the playing field. I suited up but decided that a smoker would have limited value. I would frontally attack the nest and be gone …
