Updated: May 7
Yes, I’m on break from blogging. But there is a new pipe, and I don't know how many people subscribed to the blog in order to be notified when that happens. My solution is to post, but keep it short.
While yellowjackets are tiny demonic manifestations, bees and I have generally gotten along. No bee has ever stung me without provocation, unlike yellowjackets. That includes the bee that flew into my mouth while I was cycling and stung the inside of my lip. That was an unwelcome encounter for both of us and it hurt like hell but I don’t blame her for firing her weapon. I mean, what would YOU do? I learned the connection between messing with bees and getting stung when I was a toddler and my parents left me at the farm with my Howell grandparents for a few days. The grandparents observed with interest as I chased bees busy with flowers in the backyard, changing to mirth as I caught one, with predictable results. When my grandmother recounted the incident, which she forever considered hilarious, my mother was not amused. “You should have stopped him,” my mother scolded. “He might have been allergic!” My grandmother shrugged. “Well, he’s not.”