Hornets Nest

It was Saturday morning and I needed to mow the lawns before the summer heat flared. After the grass catcher was taken off I wheeled the mower through the gate into the backyard. As I lifted the lid of the garbage bin to dump the grass out of the catcher hundreds of hornets shot from the inside of the bin and swirled around me like a buzzing yellow tornado. I whirled back through the gate with arms flailing, swatting and slapping at the enraged attackers.

The mail man slammed on his brakes as I ran into the street. Poking his head out the window he asked, “Hey! Are you ok?”

“They’re after me!” I screamed, “Hornets are after me!”

The mail man continued to stare, now with an inquisitive look on his face.

Wild eyed, I stopped and scanned the air.

“There were hundreds after me!”

“Sir, I don’t see anything. I uh..uh better get going on my route.”

I didn’t see any either. My incredible hornet martial arts defense must have taken care of them.

I crept back through the gate, crouching low to make myself a smaller target from the marauding stingers. I’d left the lawnmower next to the bin with the hornet hutch.

I needed to sprint, clutch the handle of the mower and shove it toward the back lawn. Because the path to the back was pot holed and pivoted, great care was usually taken in navigating the mower to the lawn. I would now need to make it fly.

A few hornets landed on the fence, watching me, their wings humming like electric wires.

I froze. The only movement was my eyes shifting from the hornets and back to the mower. Counting to three I leaped to the mower. The wheels pitched and rattled over the pivots as I tried to keep it straight.

The hornets launched from their perch and lunged toward me, bodies curled, stingers exposed.

With adrenaline pulsing I pushed the lawn mower to the trees. The hornets continued their pursuit. My arms slashed the air and wildly smacked my shirt to keep them off.

Even though I’ve been losing weight I keep my larger jeans for working outside. The problem with losing weight too quickly is that the once tight jeans now hung loosely on exposed hip bones, and I wasn’t wearing a belt to cinch the baggy jeans tight.

Leaping and running across the lawn, the loose jeans began to slip. I tried to grab them but it was too late. The pants dropped to my knees, throwing me to the ground like a bull hobbled by an Argentinean bolo. Somersaulting and rolling through the grass I came to a stop beneath the maple tree. I lay motionless, pants now down to my ankles.

Again I searched for signs of the assailants. None on the tree, none in the air, none on the fence, and most importantly, none on me.

I stumbled like a drunk as I tried to pull up my pants and walk toward the house.

Jan poked her head out the back door. “What are you doing?”

“Hornets, hundreds were after me!”

She scanned me up and down as I held my partially pulled up pants, shirt twisted around my body, and fear in my eyes.

She shook her head, rolled her eyes and plainly stated, “Just don’t let the neighbors see you.” Then she shut the door.

“OK!” I shouted back. “Maybe there were only two or three hornets, but they were fierce!”

I decided to leave the mower where it was. The lawn could wait.