Fly like a butterfly sting like a bee

When I was a child growing up on MacINNES St. in the frozen northern town of Anchorage, Alaska, my world seemed like a world unto itself.  It was a clearly defined nation state with borders I needed a passport stamp from my parents to cross.  Wide roads acting as frontiers ringed the nation with seemingly impenetrable traffic.  Around my house there was a vast menagerie of streets that seemed to wind their way through all forms of terrain, perfect for a bicycle.  There were hills, gravel areas, circles that safely went around and returned to where they started.  Best of all, there were trails that skirted houses.  They led to areas that seemed vast and wild.  We gave them names like Burlington Woods and the Swamp near Geneva Woods.  Each had their own characteristics, places filled with secret trails, hiding spots and rafts of old wood.  These were the National Parks of our country, places where kids were kids and parents were a distant shout from a porch calling for dinner.

My son has been fortunate to grow up with a wooded area behind our house.  It was supposed to have been developed into a subdivision but by an act of divine intervention, a large majority of the land was deemed too uneven and too swampy to build on.  Sewer drains were dug in but later abandoned when the cost analysis just did not warrant leveling and back filling the land.  Thank goodness.  The decision left me with a densely forested chunk of land to look out on.  A creek winds its way through the wood creating a boundary that can only be crossed by balancing arms extended on a fallen tree or, the decision to have wet feet for the remainder of the expedition.

For Noah and his troop of friends the region is a wide open expanse of adventure.  Hours are spent avoiding the hot midday sun in the cool shade of the woods canopy.  Air soft gun battles rage between the trees and forts are constructed of wood scavenged from nearby construction sites.  The most recent obsession has been the creation of a fish trap that is no doubt a source of great interest to the minnow population.

Yesterday the woods came to my door.  No it was not in the form of a snake or an errant deer.  Not a hawk or a resting owl.  It was in the form of three boys screaming and howling as they emerged from the forest like moonshiners running from an exploding still.   Clothing was flying everywhere.  Shoes were left in their tracks.  My wife looked down the driveway and saw Noah moving toward her, tears welling in his eyes and a painful grimace painted on his lips.  Hearing the commotion as the basement garage door opened and closed I half expected to see a repeat of the great bicycle incident.  This had occurred years before when a still novice two wheel riding Noah decided to take a hill a little too fast.  Handlebars wobbled and he flew off leaving traces of his knee on the pavement below.

No, this time there was no blood, no torn flesh, simply a panicked face and a voice speaking 95 miles an hour.  "I was stung pop!  Something stung me!"  He cried hopping around.

"Where did it get you?"  I asked.  "What was it?"

"It had a white tail I think."  He grimaced and hopped up and down grabbing at various parts of his body. "It followed us all the way out of the woods and into the neighborhood!"

"Did it feel like fire?" I asked.  He nodded and I looked at the wound. It looked like a giant welt with a black dot in the middle.  "Wasp bite." I pronounced.

Noah's face was filled with concern.  "Will I die?"

"Not today, I would assume if you were allergic you would have already gone into anaphylactic shock."  I had no idea what that meant but it sure as hell sounded impressive. 

I inspected his wounds and found a bite on his leg, arm, forehead, eyebrow and ass.  Seems while Noah got the worst of it however, all three of the boys were nailed on the butt.  It seemed like the most humiliating and simultaneously victorious spot a wasp could exact revenge.


All of this and  I thought I had it bad back home in Alaska.  No snakes, snapping turtles, giant wasp nests or spiders.  All we had to contend with were mosquitoes the size of a small humming bird.  Why is that?  In Alaska everything grows smaller because of the winters except the mosquitoes.  Anyway, Noah is healing today with droopy eyelid and perhaps a new respect for nature.  For my part, it kind of made me miss the freedom I once felt drifting on that raft paddling across a 2 foot deep lake of swamp water.