Today I was going to blog about what I've been writing and maybe even put up my new poem "Alien, My Love Monster," but things changed when last night . . . .
after Catherine and I killed two bees in my bedroom, and were just settling down for a long summer's sleep, this giant thing the size of a small bat came flying into the room. We both jumped out of bed screaming and ran out of the room. It followed for a minute, long enough to flutter across Catherine's back, and then disappeared. We looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere for it, and just as I was gathering sheets for us to go sleep downstairs (this is also the bee room (see earlier post)) I saw it on the curtain. It was HUGE, I mean the size of a premature baby huge. Okay, strike that; it was an exaggeration and distasteful. But it was a long, very lovely beetle of some kind, just minding its own business. Does this mean that we were able to deal with the situation in a mature manner? No, it took us an hour to get up the courage to trap it in an old Trader Joe's coffee can and throw it out the window.
Now I've had five hours of sleep and it's time to go look at the killing fields, as I like to think of the side of my house where the bees are. Last night Carlie brought over a ladder and two cans of bug spray went up there. There were, as I said, two bees in my room after that, but the spray definitely rendered some bees incapable of getting in the hole outside. Score: Pat 1, Bees 0 -- for now.
Along the theme of bugs, I will post my poem about Tent Caterpillars. For those of you who don't know, tent caterpillars are to New York (at least this part of New York) what cicadas are to Jersey, Mormon crickets are to Idaho, locusts are to the Midwest (and to biblical figures). The poem is over a year old (maybe two), from when we were in the second year of a cycle. The caterpillars came back again this year, but died almost spontaneously and without my help. Perhaps there is a god, after all.
Tent Caterpillars — Clinton, New York
They are an unrelenting, indiscriminate army,
these bugs that climb my house, eat my trees
at night with a moist and endless rhythm while I
try to type out poems about middle-aged lust.
They have no souls; of this I am convinced.
They will not turn into beautiful butterflies
or contribute to a cure for cancer. They are
only here to destroy my homeowner’s bliss.
In the car on the way to Utica my daughter screams.
I think of cars pulling out from stop signs, danger,
but it's only a caterpillar on her leg. “Sorry,” she says,
“but they’re just so disgusting.” The car is no longer safe.
They can climb the tires, but not the body. They get in
on shoes that cross the 10 feet of front lawn, stowaways,
and who knows what they’ll do inside a Toyota. They
breed fantastically quickly, after all, and know no shame.
On NPR last year the extension agent promised no return
of tent caterpillars for 15 years. He seemed smart and
certain, but now I know he was a fool. Last year I swept
them away with a broom and chlorox, but not this year.
Armed with a sprayer I BT the house, create a moat of
biological toxins that will eat them alive after digestion.
They will, it’s true, take a little time to die, but I’m patient.
I have a lot of rubber gloves and old clothes to wear.
My friend from Little Falls says on the phone: flamethrower,
and the sweet sound of the word is a melody for revenge.
I see myself dancing around the yard,
aiming, flaming, trees and worms writhing.
I see myself accidentally burning the house down, trying
to explain to my insurance agent that it seemed like a good
idea. I remember that my friend takes medication, and
resolve to find another way out of this mess. Is there an
offering that can be made? I will make it. Is there a winged
god who can be prayed to? I will pray it. Some talisman I can
wear? hot line I can call? shaman I can hire? priest I can bribe?
Stop! I’ll just stay in the house all summer and write bug poems.
Have a bug free day wherever you are. Mikey, where were you when we needed you? How about a post on least favorite bugs everyone?
wouldn't it be nice if mine weren't parked in the snow?
yikes
My Pops, Vinnie Murphy
who'd a thought 97 could be so cute!
the Moms, aka Catherine Murphy
is my mama adorable, or what?
Mark Doty
Portland Santacon
Manda and me on Thanksgiving
trying not to crack up too much. I gotta say I love my family.
It won't look like this
He da man, oh yeah!
too bad his last book sucked
This?
Or This?
You decide
Better Days
My hero
She's cute, but she's nuts!
nice segueway, huh?
My Hero
I am
- Patricia Murphy, a resident of
- the Village of Clinton, New York, United States
- I'm a college writing teacher and graduate of Idaho State University's soon-to-be-defunct Doctor of Arts Program. I write poetry and read it sometimes at local venues. I like nice people, no matter what their age, race, orientation, whatevah. I don't want to embarrass anyone, but I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world.
Yeah, this guy wasn't there
Astroland
Utica Erie Canal Fall
This is what I have to look forward to
Utica Winter
And then this . . .
Gotta Love Summer!
chillin' at D's house, minus the glasses
Jeez!
Can you believe I gave birth to these two?
Clinton, NY
town square
5 comments:
I think this deserves mention:
Obviously, being that it was central NY where my parents live, there have always been bees making homes in our nice 100 yr. old home, however, in 2003 as I was finishing up my first degree in Human Services, the bees thought to be crafty and make a home DEEP within our walls. So deep in fact that they nestled quite nicely into a wall with two entryways, one from the outside, and another straight into an access-point of a set of pocket doors. My father being the handyman that he was, was always really handy with a bottle of foaming caulk, and resolved to solve the problem for my mother while she was enjoying a nice autumn day in the garden. However upon her return she found that my father, being he crafty man that he is, had sealed the bees INSIDE our house. Yes, that is correct! He sealed up the hole from the outside of the house so their only way out was to go through our house! I did not come visit that weekend, and it was probably a good thing. From Sunday through Tuesday, my mother was killing bees left and right, and the house was constantly "buzzing." My mother, in order to prove a point to my father kept every single carcass that she killed in a one gallon ziplock bag. When we finally counted it was over 1000 bees that had come into our home. However about a month later, the biggest shocker came to us in the form of the queen. My mother was calmly doing dishes in her finally conquered home, and all of a sudden she heard a huge THWACK!! It was a queen bee, roughly the size of Texas, slamming into out kitchen window. Yet again, my mother being the conquering beast that she is, she captured that bee for my father to see. She kept it in a rather large economy sized pretzel container, and sat it on the front porch. It was for months a testament of what she had to deal with.
On the same note, during a visit to New Jersey in May, I had an encounter with a beast much the same as the Texas-sized one my mother had to deal with. I was trying to help feed Nick's 1 yr. old cousins, when a massive bee swooped passed my head, so close that I swear I felt the wind off of its wings. Needless to say, I did not get my mothers genes, and I ran screaming with kids in hand into the bathroom, and forced Nick to deal with the problem. Sadly, he was unlucky as well, and had to wait for his aunt to suck the thing up into the vacuum. We never did find the carcass of that one though...
The exterminator is coming at 2:00. I have my checkbook ready.
You should also look at getting something to fill the gap where they were getting in if the exterminator doesn't offer that service.
My dad can fill the gap for you! lol jk
Oy. Vey. I was going to comment on your post, but now I'm stuck on Jessica's post.
Good Lord! Sealed. Them. Inside. The. House.
I'm glad you had the exterminator come. Bees are not to be messed around with! We do it every year, religiously now. The first 3 we didn't, and because our neighbors did, the bees found a safe haven here at the Washburn house.
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