(except when they really, really annoy you)
I didn’t want them as my neighbors. People had warned me about them; told me to watch my step. Dangerous, nasty, I was told. That’s why I wanted them gone. Out of my life. But they had been here first, here before I came. That being so, I tried very hard to practice the “do unto others” Golden Rule.
Until now, the Golden Rule seemed to work — I’d gotten along well enough with them. But I knew from past experiences with others of their kind that they had weapons in their possession. True, they’d practiced forbearance and had not yet deployed them — but they could — at any moment, unless I took decisive action, protective action.
And so while it saddens me to confess this, confess it I must. I did it. It was I who cast the first stone.
With family soon due to visit, I wanted to extend every comfort and kindness, and keep them from harm. This meant I had to get rid of my neighbors. Nip problems in the bud, so to speak. I worried, whether duly or unduly, that my guests would cross swords with the neighbors and pain and suffering would ensue.
I worried especially about my little four year-old niece. You know how kids are. Tell them not to do something and sure enough they have to do it just to test the truth of what you told them. Sticking their finger onto hot stove burner until learning the lesson of hot and ouch, for example. So warnings would not work. The danger must be removed entirely.
So it was that I had to get rid of my neighbors. It was the only way to deliver complete protection. Flying in the face of the Golden Rule, I consulted with those who knew about methods of annihilation. Poison was highly recommended, but fire and gasoline were also named. Gosh, these suggestions seemed harsh. They didn’t compute with the Golden Rule at all. Maybe I didn’t have to actually kill them, maybe I could just convince them to move. I just wanted them gone. Poison, fire, gasoline—surely there must be a different path?
Then I hit upon it. In a household hints column I’d read about the 101 uses of ordinary vinegar. Following Use #12, I had started using vinegar and water to clean my kitchen counter tops. Now my counters smelled like a Fish n’ Chips joint, but the counters were sparkling clean, and no harsh chemicals sullied my kitchen. So, I decided to test Use #79 — using vinegar to get rid of certain undesirable neighbors.
Re-arming
Running low on armament, I made a trip to my nearby Piggly Wiggly to replenish my supply. I picked up a half gallon of house-brand white vinegar, and toted it home in the basket of my bicycle, smiling as I pedaled, envisioning my neighbors’ dismay when I showered them with this.
“Surely, they will recognize my intent and will pack up and go,” I gloated. “And I won’t have to kill them at all, merely inconvenience them a bit. Moving’s healthy; they can make a fresh start somewhere else.”
The fire ants viewed the matter differently
For a fact, the vinegar shower did cause them to emerge from their home base with a sudden flurry of activity, running hither and yon, caught by surprise by the pungent rainstorm showering down.
“Aha,” I thought, “this is working fine. They are packing, they are going, they will soon be gone. And Caroline, my little niece, will be saved from playing in the ant hill, never knowing their violent predilections. I will be the conquering Auntie, making the world safe for small children. And not an ant will have died, though some will smell a little strong for a while.”
So I thought.
Soon the ant hill was deserted. Sodden and reeking, much deflated, it appeared antless. Victory seemed mine. I was smug.
Until the day they attacked.
I think they had been waiting, plotting, planning and marshalling their forces. They chose the moment of attack well. I came tripping out of my car, carrying sacks of snacks from Piggly Wiggly. Distracted, I was not paying a bit of attention to my sandaled feet and what lurked beneath them. Perfect timing.
Now! They launched their counter-offensive. I didn’t immediately feel the damage of their onslaught. But soon, oh yes, soon, I knew they’d hit their mark.
I’m very sensitive to insect bites. These particular bites seared, burned, itched. I writhed in discomfort. Liberal applications of peroxide, rubbing alcohol, Cortisone cream, ice, and even vinegar did not quell the fire. All through the long night, I tried every cure and nostrum in my medicine cabinet and every natural remedy I found through a Google search of “Fire ant bites, treatment.” Nothing worked for long. The fire stayed lit.
Then I saw the humor in my predicament. And so I laughed. Just a bit, you understand, not an outright guffaw or even a true chortle, more a little whimper of laughter. Did I not now feel much as they had as the acidic vinegar began to patter down on them? Had they not lived in harmony with me these many months, with never a bite inflicted? Had I not fired the first salvo in this skirmish?
The war is not over, I fear. To be sure, my neighbors did move household from their vinegar-drenched home. They moved with vigor; with much hard toil. Moved they have — all of two feet away. Their new home is now closer to my doorway.
They have me completely cowed. Taking a detour, I give them a wide, wide berth.
I sense them waiting
Watching. Getting ready. Muttering small commando orders under their breath. Breathing quietly their breath of fire. Waiting until once again I’m laden with bags from the Piggly Wiggly and am unaware, vulnerable. Then they will muster their soldiers, get me in their sights, and have their way with me.
Oh fire ants, I am sorry. We had co-existed until I threw the first stone. I am sorry. Truly I am.
Mea culpa, fire ants.
Détente?