My Own Personal War

I'm on a mission. A mission from God, as Elwood and Jake would say. My mission? To kill every damned carpenter bee this side of the Mississippi.

Well, maybe not that many. Maybe just the little f-ers who are unlucky enough to wander onto my property.

Observe the enemy:

I know! I know! I hate close-up pictures of bugs, too! Freak me out! *Shiver*

So, up until late last summer, we had no exposed wood on the outside of our property. With the re-design of our back yard, which included a new fence, and building a porch/stoop cover this spring, we have exposed/lightly stained wood. And these little bitches ('cause it's the females who bore the holes)? Think they've just found a beautiful buffet.

Observe the ho digging her hole in the underside of the porch:

This was before I attempted to take her out with a large broom. I was unsuccessful yet the neighbors, I think, got a good laugh.

The hole count thus far? Two on the underside of my stoop cover. Three on three separate fence posts. And one in a dowel that holds up my Sky Chair. Yes. The little wench decided to drill her way through my chair support. My white ash, hand-stained Sky Chair dowel. But I'm not bitter.

So far the body count is two. I've managed to crush one with a sand bag (it was a bad day - something had to bear the brunt of my frustration) and the other? Miss-Miss's toy broom. Oh, yeah. That was a funny sight. Me pounding the hell out of some poor, unsuspecting bee, squealing with bloodlust, while Miss-Miss and Bubba watched quietly from their toy house. Within minutes, there she was, my stalwart daughter doing battle against imaginary bees with her broom. How do I feel about my innocent 2-year-old wanting to follow in Mama's footsteps as the next generation of "bee-killer extraordinaire?"

Damned proud.