Recognized Social Butterfly

Beware of Trespassing on the Bees

Beware of Trespassing on the Bees.

A couple of years ago, I inadvertently tread on a nest of ground bees as I was cutting down some limbs in my jungle-like front yard. Dozens of bees stung me before I could reach my house. I had no time to swat them. A few of them adhered to me as even after I closed the door. It took a while, but I was able to whack those pesky bees to the floor and fatally stomp on them. My wife, fearing I might have a toxic reaction to the stings, gave me a shot of adrenaline. Soon I was fine; to avoid further contact with any bees who still didn’t appreciate my intrusion on their territory, I stayed in our house for the rest of the day.


I have been scrupulously working to tidy up my beach property (inside and outside) so that it might sell faster. Today, I realized that sometimes it’s better to let a few eyesores remain.

In the back of my lot, on the no-man’s land between my house and my absentee neighbor’s, I tried to retrieve some massive dead limbs that I had flung there a couple of years ago. But to my horror, I encountered a host of ground bees in the process.


Just as their namesakes had done in the past, these bees swopped over me, repeatedly stung me, and accompanied me as I rushed into my house. Just as before, I swatted them dead after they had burrowed into my armpits or fastened upon my ankles. I had no trouble breathing; but just to be safe, I took two Benadryl and two Tylenol as advised by the Urgent Care doctor whom I contacted by phone. I washed the pills down with a beer that was not prescribed by the doctor. The swelling subsided, and the pain rapidly diminished.

A few minutes later, I cautiously went outside to see if the bees had retreated: no such luck. Scores of them were swarming around the leaf blower that I had left down the hill near their nest. I guess they figured that I might return to the scene of the crime. One sentinel was zipping about the long extension cord, the rake, and the clippers close to the garage door. I wisely scooted back indoors. I’m going to wait until tomorrow to see if any bees are still milling about the leaf blower and the other yard-work tools.


Today, things were not hunky-dory outside. Hurricane Dorian is slowly approaching; I don’t know if I can take any more pummeling this week. But after my wife and I board up, the storm and the bees should be kept at bay.


There might well be lots of limbs felled by the hurricane. I will pick them as long as they are on my extensive driveway or on my decks. But if they are in the bushes, I might ask our handyman to dispose of them: I don’t relish again getting bushwhacked by the bees.

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