I may have a tendency toward being stubborn at times.  Pain, which would tell most well adjusted people to back off, can drive me to a state of obsession.  Especially if it is what should not be, by my reckoning.  I remember, at the first cook out Steph and I hosted together, the dogs uncovered a yellow jacket nest in the back yard.  Our entirely reasonable guests retreated inside.  I, in shorts and a t-shirt (barefoot, probably), approached the yellow jacket nest, ignoring them flying around me, until I found exactly where the entrance was and could put a bucket over it.

I only got stung about 5 or 6 times.

Fast forward to recently.  When we were shoving stuff into the pack house (which I sometimes will refer to the barn as well), I noticed a sort of buzzing on occasion.  I figured out the general area where the sounds was, but did not have time to do anything about it.  This was during the colder months, when bees were less active.  I thought it might be some carpenter bee activity, though that did not quite fit…I could find none of the little 3/8” holes carpenter bees make.

In the warmer months, the buzzing has gotten louder, and I have determined that I have a nest of bumble bees in my barn.  I have never stumbled across a nest of bumble bees before.  I knew, academically, that bumble bees have the ability sting, but have never run across one willing to do so in the wild.  I now know is because they seem only to be interested in stinging when protecting the nest.

I first became aware that this was indeed a bumble bee nest when I was working in the barn, and I got stung on the arm.  It hurts worse than a honey bee sting, and worse than a yellow jacket sting.  But, still nothing too bad.  Then, when I glanced up, the bee came back for a second attack and stung me on my left eye, on the bottom eye lid.  A compatriot swooped in and got me on the other arm, and one of them, or another, popped me on the back of the neck.  It was at this point that I started making the mad bee dash away from the barn, swiping my hands all around my head and my shoulders to try and brush any bees off.  You have surely seen this on TV.

Bumble bees don’t die when they sting you, so they can do more damage.

Back home, describing this attack to Steph, she mentioned that one of their habits is to attack the head and eyes of whatever they are trying to drive off.  She said this as my eye was swelling up.  It never quite closed up all the way, but was mighty uncomfortable.  I should probably be grateful to now understand the bees psychology.

Now, instead of making me cautious, my response is “How do I get these bees out of my barn?  There’s way too much work to be done, and I need to get in there to clean things up and get to tools.”  So, every day, I bang on the wall a little bit, and step back watching the bees fly out.

A few days go by, and all the swelling goes down, both in my eyes and on my arms.  I’m mowing near the tobacco barn, and a rock kicks out from the mower and hits the tobacco barn.  (This is a second building on the property.)  I think nothing of this until I start getting stung on my back.  As I dart away from the running tractor (bee dance again), I realize I have discovered that bumble bees are also nesting in my other barn.  Grrr!

This makes me a little crazy.  I find myself at some point, and believe me, I cannot reconstruct the sequence, back in my first barn, dumping water down into the wall where the bumble bee nest is theoretically located.  The bees start coming up, and I have a sprayer filled with water.  As they appear over the top of the board, I spray them with the water and they fall over.  At some point, I have a hat in one hand, the sprayer in the other, and I’m swatting bees with the hat while trying to hit others with the sprayer.

I walk away from that exchange with having been stung several times on the arm, and on the top eyelid of my right eye.  The bees are still there.  But I am plotting my next move, I have not given up.  After a few days, my right eyelid returned to normal, and I’m still banging the wall every time I go over to the barn.

Sometimes, I’m more stubborn than smart.