There is this wasp nest in our yard…
I noticed it the day before it was pulverized.
It was just a hole in the dirt. If you got close enough you could see the tiniest peek inside. A whole hive – working together. Preparing for what was coming: autumn.
I made a mental note to talk to my husband about what we should do about the hive, before someone gets stung.
It felt like something we had to act on. A problem to be solved, another thing added to our never-ending to-do list. I told myself: we’ll handle it this week. It was urgent, but not too.
The next day, someone did get stung. My husband on the ankle. We decided to pick up some wasp spray on our date day bike ride and were going to spray the nest the next day.
But before we could make a plan, nature made one for us. Quietly, brutally, without permission. The nest was in ruins the next morning. Not by our hands.
Their beautiful home – destroyed. Pulled apart by a brave raccoon or other animal of the night, from the looks of it.
There were bits and pieces of the wasp hive strewn across the yard. Larvae still occupying many of the cells.
The small opening of the nest was now a large one, and you could easily peer inside at what remained.
And when I looked into that poor messed-up, ravaged hive … something in me shifted.
There was something familiar in the way it was all scattered…the cells torn open, the delicate architecture of their home ruined in the dark. I’ve lived through that kind of nightmare.
Even though just yesterday I had thought of the best way to remove this nest and concluded it was probably to eradicate them…I knew in this moment I couldn’t do it.
There was something familiar about the destruction. Seeing all of their hard work, their livelihood, everything, strewn across the grass reminded me that we are all just trying to make it out here. Weeks possibly months of labor went into creating this beautiful nest. Who am I to take their fate into my own hands?
A hive that was flourishing, bursting with life both old and new, creating a safe and comfortable place for the entire colony – now, just shambles.
And I realized that maybe it was never mine to handle. Maybe I just needed to stand there and see it. To experience the beauty and pain of life and change, in this new and unexpected way.
-the mom with the forehead tattoo
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