Please don’t be afraid to visit me in the future after you read this.
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Growing up in Wisconsin, I don’t remember ever having any ant problems in our home. They stayed outside and worked their little hineys off out there, proving many a Biblical proverb true.
In California, ants were always a problem and they were never kind enough to give you any warning. You didn’t get to see the infamous “scout” whose very appearance told you the entire hill was considering invading your house. Nope, California ants are stealth, they suddenly appear out-of-nowhere, usually the day after you’ve done a major grocery shopping run. Those little buggers see you carry in five or more bags from Albertson’s and they’re all over it.
In a matter of just minutes their savvy ant leader rounds up the troops and you’ll have a two inch thick line of them marching across your wall, straight into your pantry and any box of cereal, crackers, or cookies they find in there is always history. Although California is known far and wide for its fruits and nuts, their uber military-esque ants really should get an honorable mention.
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Since moving back to Wisconsin, I’ve gotten a little lackadaisical about ants being a threat. Every once in a while I’ll see the scout that was sent in, in order to report back with a viable invasion strategy. When I see him, I kill him. End of story. The scout doesn’t report back, the rest of the ants switch to plan B. So far plan B seems to include the house next door and because I’m pretty confident that my neighbors don’t read my blog, let me just say, “Fine by me!”
Now this Spring so far, this Spring has been different. Wisconsin ants must have been through a bit of military training of their own. Their strategy has changed, they now send out twenty to thirty scouts, enough that I have a hard time killing all of them. Just when I think I’ve got them all, a few more come crawling across the counter.
The other day, a friend of my son’s stopped by just as I was walking in the back door with the telltale grocery bags. Teenagers and ants must have that sixth sense in common. He’s a good kid but his mother can be a bit judgmental and gossipy. I usually walk on eggshells around him not knowing how much of his visit he’ll be relaying to her. Stupid I know and something I’ll eventually have to work through. Until then I’ll just keep acting like Mrs. Cleaver around him.
Well, I was just about to make subs for dinner so I asked if he’d like to join us. He politely and happily agreed. I went to the kitchen and laid everything out on the counter. Fresh bread, ham, turkey, mayo (No miracle whip on my sandwiches, yeck!) lettuce, cheese, sliced roasted red peppers, cutting board and a serrated knife. As I started cutting the bread, I noticed a scout traipsing along on the counter. I smooshed it and just kept working. I slathered mayonnaise on the bread, saw another scout and then another. I killed them both and kept working. This kept happening and by the time I was finished building the perfect sub sandwich (Which might be called hoagie, grinder, hero, poor boy, torpedo, wedge, or zep depending on where you live.) I had to call my younger son into the kitchen to do the ant killing while I did the sandwich cutting. They obviously saw me bring in the Pick’n Save bags and they weren’t planning on giving up easy. I finally got the sandwiches out to the kids and sat down to enjoy mine.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I picked my sandwich up from the plate. I had managed to keep my perfect homemaker image safely intact one more time. Just then, I heard something drop onto my plate. I looked down to see an ant marching over a few crumbs, and I’m almost positive he was wearing a camouflage helmet.
