Outside The Box

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

It’s that time of year again, and along with winter, spring, and summer, my favorite time. It’s not quite fall yet, but it feels like fall on these cool mornings. Finally, we have some relief from the sauna. Sure, it’s better here than most places, but when the temperature and the humidity run neck and neck, there’s no escape outdoors, and inside, the air conditioner spins the electric meter like a whirling dervish.

The other day I spied a huge nest of hornets high in a holly tree. The size of it suggests that the nest has been there for a while. It’s right above one of the most active areas of the compound, where the string trimmer has whined, and the pressure washer spewed, and countless other activities occurred that no yellow jacket nest would tolerate. I’m confident it’s the home of the hornet queen I befriended some months ago before she abandoned her little starter nest by the turnip green patch. Not once have we been threatened with a sting, and though the valley is home to cattle, horses, and chickens, we’ve seen few flies this year thanks to our hornets, bless their little pointed behinds.

Funny how something as significant as a nest full of hornets can go unnoticed for so long. I think we finally saw it because we all begin to look up and away more often this time of year. The sky has been that exceptional blue which challenges the eyes to gauge its depth. The birds, sensing the imminent change of seasons, are more active and visible. No one is busier than the hummingbirds, who are quarreling less now that they are trying to take in as many calories as possible in preparation for their long trip south.

All of our pollinators are busy as well, and our efforts to attract them here really begin to pay dividends in September. Butterflies and bumblebees bounce from bloom to blossom among the sunflowers. They love the Carolina and Milk Thistles. Everyone visits the flowering Jerusalem Artichokes. Honeybees with yellow legs gather food for the winter, along with the three types of bumblebees we’ve seen here, and several tiny wasps I have yet to identify. We have partridge pea, and ironweed, Joe Pye, rudbeckia, asters, and jewel weed among the natives, not to mention the misunderstood but important goldenrod.

Though the blue sky and aerial displays invite us to look up, the wise man walks with his head down, especially now. Those yellow jackets we mentioned don’t look kindly on the change of seasons. They can develop quite an attitude in the fall, as if they sense their impending doom and blame anything that moves for their fate. A nest can appear as if by some dark magic along the same path you’ve walked all year, and without any warning you may suddenly find yourself running faster than you would have thought possible with a rapidly swelling ankle. A slice of onion, by the way, when applied directly to the sting is the best, fastest relief we have found.

Onions won’t help if you fail to see that copperhead in the tall grass. He heard you coming all right, but he’s not going to move. He has no love whatsoever for these cool mornings. They make him irritable and bad-tempered. He assumes your ability to detect his presence is as good as his ability to detect you. “I dare you to step on me or even near me, and I don’t have to be coiled up to strike.”

A good rule for September, or any time of year, is to watch your feet whenever they are moving, with an occasional glance at the overhanging tree branch you’re about to attack with your forehead. Then when you’re standing still you can gaze at the deep blue sky and enjoy the radiant splendor of this beautiful time.

Sometimes a look into the distance can open a window into the past. The days are shorter. The sun is riding lower in the sky and we are reminded of the passage of time. Surrounded by the sense of imminent change, the ripening of the fruit, the curling of the leaf, the flower gone to seed, we think of our own mortality. Each of us has our own way of confronting that fate. Some, like yellow jackets and copperheads, become bitter and aggressive. Others are aloof and stoic like the hornet. Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you, but if you do bother me…

I prefer to hang out with the honeybees. I may not survive the winter, but I’ll leave behind something to nourish the next generation. I enjoy the company of butterflies. Now is the only time we have. I love the hummingbirds. There is a long journey ahead; I intend to be prepared, and I’m too busy to worry about it.