Wary Wasps

Living in the woods—while inadvertently creating a tasty and inviting habitat for many critters—has brought us myriad fascinating encounters with many of them. We have forged an island of tender flora within the forest that attracts a wide variety of local fauna. Where once grew tough shrubs and woody plants, we have introduced succulent vegetables, flowers, and herbs, which have become beacons that beckon many insects and various critters (deer, opossums, rabbits, raccoons, and bugs) to come sample our wares.

One of the most pervasive and diverse creatures we attract are insects. While the forest offers a bee or wasp only scattered and meager rations, we offer a concentrated smorgasbord of delights—especially when all the spring flowers are providing their nectar treats. Additionally, a typical wasp or bee also possesses an ability to inflict a powerful sting. The largest mammal will allow itself to be intimidated by a bee, whose stinger is a potent weapon that will cause even a moose to retreat.

We humans, who possess the cognitive ability to comprehend the threat and impact of a wasp (especially if we've previously experienced its throbbing sting), can become extremely wary, if not fearful, of the sound or sight of a wasp. Too many times my spouse and I have been absorbed in some outdoor activity, to the point that we do not notice that we are intruding on a bee's or wasp's territory, and suffer the painful consequences of its prick. Once stung, twice shy, as they say.

Springtime brings many wasps and bees to our clearing—seeking nectar and places to build their nests. Outdoors, as we attend to our duties, we often find one of these insects hovering nearby at this time of year. At first, you might catch sight of one of them on the perimeter of your vision, or hear its ominous buzz. Your gut reaction is to duck and run, or swat them away, which is an invitation to be stung. By doing so, you may foolishly transform an otherwise peaceful insect into an attack fighter.

Over the years I have learned—the hard way—to freeze when I see or hear a wasp or bee. It has better things to do than to attack me. I have found that if I take on the appearance of a tree trunk, I almost become invisible to them; certainly no threat. The critter goes about its business—ignoring my presence.

What's special is that when I do become an observing statue, rather than a menacing and arm-waving giant, I can serenely watch the insect go about its business and learn something about its occupation. A few days ago I was going about my business when I heard the auspicious drone of a large paper wasp. These guys are almost two inches (5 cm) long and pack one nasty sting if provoked. I froze. Where it had warily circled me a moment before, as an imitation tree trunk I now disappeared from its attention.

Then I could become absorbed in its activity. It was evening, with dusk approaching. The wasp was probably engaged in its last foray of the day. Looking for a mate? A new nesting site? It wasn't giving up its secrets to me. In a minute or two it moved on, leaving me fascinated but stingless. Neither of us was a threat to the other. We could cohabitate without conflict. The big wasp went on about its business, and so did I. It's unlikely that it was nearly as interested in me as I was in it.