If I’d been a better journalist I would have not resorted to using the stock photo image of ants you see here. Rather, I would have photographed the actual scene I found beneath my old metal flour bin when I lifted it to wipe the counter after yet another ant invasion.
What I saw beneath the canister defied comprehension: a huge, undulating ant swarm. These are the ants I’ve always known as simply piss ants, named for the odor excreted when squished.
Let me pause here to say that I’ve never been good about judging crowd numbers – whether a demonstration, concert, Freedom Festival or, yes, an insect infestation. But conservatively, I’d estimate about two billion ants, give or take a million.
Ants were just one part of the wonder. Pale opaque things about the size of grains of rice – eggs or larvae – thousands of them were there, too. Finally, in the center of it all – a man-thumb-sized hunk of something, completely slathered in ants. Still don’t know what that was. Food? An ant condo? I have no idea.
The whole thing freaked me out.
That’s why I never snapped that picture, which I feel rotten about now, because I like to share these big life moments with you. Besides, I’d like to look at it again, just to confirm what I saw.
No, I was too busy screaming – too caught up the realization that when I hoisted the bin into the air I’d suddenly exposed the ants, which suddenly stampeded for cover.
All. Over. My. Kitchen.
That’s why I didn’t take the time to find my CoolPix digital camera, turn it on, push the “Scene” button, select the “close-up” feature and then unclick flash – natural light is so much nicer – for just the right image. I was too caught up in flapping my hands, jumping in place and yelling help me help me help me to Bruce who stood, mouth agape at the Discovery Channel-worthy sight upon our Corian countertop.
Not that the ants were a total surprise. For the last month we’d started each day – even before our first cup of coffee – with an ant slaughter. We’d use hot, wet cloths to wipe away the ants. We don’t like chemical sprays, so we strategically placed Ant-Be-Gone bait canisters along the window sill, outside the front door, beneath toe kicks, and, yes, behind the very flour canister that I’d move to wipe ants each morning.
Moved, but never lifted.
So maybe I’m not the best house-keeper.
You probably cannot see the extremely tiny opening at the right edge of my canister in the photo, above. But trust me, it’s there, a minuscule white archway under which those first ants marched and sought shelter. And invited others, and formed an ant city, and enjoyed ant sex, and produced ant infants. And they created a freaking ant universe practically right under my nose in my very kitchen.
Doni: Oh my gosh, Bruce, where do you think those ants are coming from?
Bruce: I saw a trail coming from the pond that led to the house.
Doni: Let’s put Ant-Be-Gone by the pond.
Bruce: OK.
Now I’m wishing I’d paid more attention to a conversation I had with a woman I met at the McConnell Foundation a while back where Kelly and I were the featured speakers at a Jack Benny Club luncheon. The woman was the grown daughter of one of the JB members, and she happened to be an entomologist. Ants were her specialty. Fascinating.
Kelly and I had so many ant questions and this woman had ant answers. We learned that some ants are attracted to grease, others to protein – meat, fish, etc. – and others to sugar.
I don’t know what our Igo ants were after, but my guess it was a cool spot to escape the 108+ temperatures.
I do know I will buy a new flour canister, one with a tight gasket.
And maybe I should think about a housekeeper.
Ants photos courtesy of Jusben from MorgueFile.com.
