I was reminded. I was walking around my yard and gardens and paths, radiating love -- for the beauty, for the calming effect the land has on me, for the intrigue and infinite curiosities of nature. I moved a thing that hadn't been moved in years, an old work glove mounted on a stick. It points visitors down a path.
And a hornet stung the back of my hand. A sting feels like getting stapled hard and deep, with some poison thrown in, in case you suffer from a deficient memory.
Then the nest inside the glove swarmed out to attack. Defense is so basic; why are we ashamed when we're called "defensive"?
I hightailed it out of there. One last pissed-off brave dive-buzzed my ear on the way to the garage. The garage is "gools," a sanctuary. Where I stock spray cans of substances that deep conclusively with hornets, wasps, bees and other stinging malcontents.
Retaliation and bug eradication (call it murder if you wish) could wait. Inside the house I ripped off my wedding ring, before the swelling started; the ring went for safeguarding deep inside a pocket.
I am stung a couple of times a year, when I disturb some unnoticed nest, the size of a golf ball, tucked into a shaded cranny. Last time it happened, opening the bulkhead, I thought my rapidly expanding finger would force me to cut off my wedding ring. This time, I ran the tap and plunged my hand under ice cold water. For a long time.
Fortunately, we have ice cold water in our house in Foster, RI. We have a well. The well drills down 500 feet through layers of gabbro, a volcanic material 250 million years old at least. The water that comes up is spring-water cold, so cold even in hot summers (like today) it's painful to keep your hand immersed.
And the cold-water bath worked: my "sting site" is reddish but not very swollen. Today's medical tip: have well water handy and when all else fails take Benadryl. It cures everything. And it's good on salads.
PS: When I finally smothered it in humankind's most toxic retaliations, what fell out of the glove was a hornet's nest the size of a fried egg. Next day, it was gone. Critters love gobbling up the protein encapsulated in wasp larvae.