A Wasp’s Life Spared
It’s a scorcher — not the romantic looking back at NYC in the 70’s, hydrants open, Good Humor Ice Cream cart, sprinklers, sundress and sandals, Italian ice, ‘Do the Right Thing’ kinda day. It’s just hot and dry in Ukiah, California, nearing 100 degrees and I don’t want to be inside.
A housemate on the Ranch filled an old giant plastic tub with cool water captured during the intense rainy season this winter and spring. I submerge naked, to cool down my core. No one is around, just the cackling ravens. Several times I plunge and bathe, an old rug by the side for undressing, dressing and toweling off. I have a mumu-like, airy, African print drape dress I bought at the Marché aux puces de Clignancourt in Paris to put on in-between dunks. It’s heaven. I read my book, drink watermelon agua frescas, wine spritzers and iced tea, and stay until I’m pruned or too freaked out by the bugs.
At one point a pesky wasp circles the tub. My epipen is in the house. These critters often spoil my fun. Once when peeing at 10,000 ft. in the Sierras, I chose a nest to relieve myself on, and got stung on my buttocks multiple times; that was fun.
So this wasp taunts me, I think maybe it’s time to exit the tub. I could easily drown the fucker, but I’m so relaxed, so completely happy in the moment I decide to spare it. Instead, I just watch as it circles then slides down the side — head first — to drink from the now suspiciously nasty water full of hay and bug carcasses, sweat and skin. The wasp is thirsty; as any creature would be in this beastly heat. I feel like I’m in a Twilight/ Zone Animal Kingdom scene, everything is in slo-mo. I don’t react well to insect bites, I should be scared, but instead, the heat, the mellowness of the scene, the desire to give this insect the benefit of the doubt overwhelms me. It drinks and then disappears. Five minutes later it returns to drink again. I let it live, aware of my predatory powers. I watch this wasp’s bathing ritual a few times, ever so careful not to antagonize. I sink deep into the tub and cover my head and hair with cool water. Surfacing, hoping it’s gone
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A garden variety scene, a pesky wasp spoiling my nirvana. Not sure why it felt momentous though. The majesty of the land, the calm I feel when surrounded by trees and birdsong, made a mundane moment meaningful. There was beauty in the wasp’s need to hydrate. Ever aware of the danger that abounds— from ticks to coyotes — later that day, a 4 ft. long rattlesnake was discovered near the barn where the kittens and feral farm cat mama—Maisy— were living, and yet…
My impulse was to obliterate the wasp, but in that moment, something shifted. As I used to say to my kids and others, this pesterer was ‘just doing it’s job.’ So I stay another few minutes, soaking it all in.
