WRITER'S BLOCK
by Tim Wood 

Nature

Ants

            The ants were back this year. At first they were few in number, seen scuttling across the kitchen counter near the louver windows.  Then we’d get up in the morning and find they’d proliferated, never covering the entire counter but coming close to it a few times.

            Desiring to avoid the use of any toxins to discourage the insects, my wife spread peppermint oil around the edges of the counter, as well as inside the one cabinet the ants seemed to prefer, the one where we keep things like honey and other sweeteners.  They’d disappear for a short time but then return, usually in higher numbers.

            So we took to squashing them. I know, karma and all that.  No doubt we lost some points on our cosmic scorecard, but the ones who bought it under our thumbs didn’t come back.

            They’re mostly gone now, but we feel lucky, in a way, because we recently found out that while we suffered with a few dozen tiny common ants, one of our neighbors discovered that carpenter ants had ravaged a section of wall.  It’s the little things that make a difference. 

Mice

            Last summer, when the need to entertain a group of small children arose, I pulled from our shed a large inflatable jumping gizmo we’d been given.  Spread it out and plug in the fan and voila, a mini-castle the kids can romp around inside, similar to the kind seen in traveling carnivals, only much smaller.

            As I unfolded the heavy plastic structure, which we hadn’t used for some time, something fell out of it. Then something scurried away.  Something gray. And furry.  I estimate more than a dozen mice, small creatures with big ears and long tails, eventually emerged.

            When I turned on the fan, I found out what those varmints had been up to.  It only inflated about half way, as much of the air streamed out of the two or three large holes that had been gnawed in what must have been — for the mice — very tasty plastic.

            Fast forward a year, to just a few weeks ago.  On a particularly nice early spring day, I uncovered the gas grill for the season’s first barbeque. 

            Something scuttled away as I lifted the cover.  Inside the grill, just above the burner, was a large white mass, somewhat fuzzy, speckled here and there with bits of leaves and sticks.  I poked it.  Several mice shot out, scampered along the inside edge, and exited through a ventilation hole. 

            The grill reeked in a most unpleasant way.  It was covered in damp dark muck.  There would be no barbequing that evening.

            For a moment, I considered lighting the grill and burning up the nest.  Concluding my karmic quotient was woefully low already, I fished the nest out and tossed into the back where it could, as my son says, “go back to nature.”  I made sure all of the residents vacated before I tested the burners to make sure they still worked.  Even so, the layers of crud prevented the grill’s use.  One of these days soon I’ll get around to really cleaning it out so we can cook on it once more.           

Bamboo

            When we put an addition on our house six years ago, a large tree had to be taken out to provide access for heavy machinery.  The tree helped screen the yard from the road, and we figured the best way to quickly restore adequate screening was to plant bamboo.  Since my wife practices Chinese medicine, the symbolism was also appropriate.

            The landscapers who restored our lawn after the addition was built installed barriers around the two areas where we planned to plant bamboo.  Alas, the barriers failed to do their job.

            Now, every spring, I look forward with trepidation to the emergence of dozens of slender shoots of bamboo everywhere except within the area enclosed by the barriers.  Sure, those areas are now thick with bamboo, providing more than adequate screening, but at what cost?  My time each year chasing shoots dozens of feet from the barrier, which was easily scaled by the crafted grass.  I try to cut them off at the source, but to little avail.  Worst of all, it has begun to come up through the asphalt walkway that separates the two bamboo groves.

            This year I tore out some of the bamboo and roots closest to the edges in an attempt to curtail the spread.  But I suspect the cause is lost.  My only chance may be to corral the mice and convince them that bamboo makes a fine habitat, not to mention a tasty snack, and then create a trail of honey from the kitchen to the grove to redirect our annual ant visitors.  Maybe I can get nature to work for me for a change.

6/5/08