Tales From The Cabin
This one stings a bit
As I write this story I am still here at the cabin.
A hard earned glass of wine beside me and a happy hour camp fire crackling, and smoking, in front of me. I don’t quite know where to begin, but I feel this mishap is worthy of sharing. The milestone to come out of all this, is that I am actually writing, and inevitably posting, my second essay/story as per my self promised goal, Friday Aug 2nd.
Yay me, as I am notorious for procrastinating, over thinking, and self sabotaging most of my projects.
Today started as any good day at the cabin does. Woke up without an alarm, a leisurely coffee over looking the lake, It is so beautiful here. Something about the water that is so therapeutic. Listened to the birds, and watched them feed. Read for a bit, picked some dog poo. Because no matter where I am, there is always that.
Caffeine fuelled, and some breakfast in the belly, it’s time to mow the lawn/weeds. The weather today is not really lake worthy, cloudy and cool, by all rights, a perfect day for working around the cabin. I’m looking forward to having this unruly yard tamed, and looking a little less neglected for the rest of my time here.
Thankfully, the mowing thing, is normally my husbands job. But today I’m making it mine. It is my first time using our, previously enjoyed, lawn mower here at the cabin. I’ve been told it’s a breeze to start, heres to hoping. I have a contentious relationship with lawn mowers.
The lawn gods are smiling, on the first try, she starts. This is my lucky day, and I’m officially loving this new lawn mower. Maybe the tides have turned.
Only just half done the front lawn when bam out of nowhere, a sharp and searing pain, burning deep into my flesh, sends shivers through my spine. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s originating from my right butt cheek. Are you shitting me? I’ve been bit in the ass? What in the actual fu? Before I could finish this intelligent thought, I feel more stabbing pain in numerous locations on the back of my legs. Too many for my brain to process at once.
And then, I recognize this pain.
It's a wasp, I’m being stung by wasps, and it hurts like hell. In my moment of hysteria I yell out, a few choice words, not necessary to repeat here now, but I did give Samuel L. Jackson a run for his money, sure the neighbours appreciated that.
It burns, and it hurts so bad it is relentless, and it will not stop. The pain, feels like its coming from everywhere, a pain truly unique to those ill-tempered demons with wings. I’m thrashing about trying to defend myself, blindly swatting at the pain.
Finally catching sight of my attackers, indeed, they are wasps. I look around for their nest. I must have disturbed it while mowing. But they are fast and it’s hard to see where they are coming from. Still feeling new stabs of fiery pain, I start to run flailing arms and legs up to the cabin screaming like a mad women. In the midst of all this madness the shed keys fall out of my pocket onto the steps. One of my work gloves is thrown in some random direction. I can only assume I was using it as a defensive weapon.
Shit! In my frantic terror, I had left the gate to our deck open. Princess Ayva the oldest of our 3 fur turds, also notorious for making a break for it, immediately takes her opening and trots out the gate. She pauses in the prime location, just long enough to get the wrath of those vile minibeasts. I can see she is being stung as she begins to bite at the air and rub her face with her paw. She runs down the rest of the steps towards the road, I lose sight of her, and there is nothing I can do. I watch helplessly out the front door window. There are wasps everywhere.
Taking some reprieve in the safety of the cabin, I take a Benadryl, dab my wounds with some after bite, clenching my teeth with the pain. Feelings of self pity wrapped in rage ensue. Also, stressing about Ayva wandering around bothering neighbours, stealing a hot dog out of some poor unsuspecting childs hand. Trotting down the dirt road oblivious to the danger of vehicles. She is our social (slut) butterfly of the pack.
Grabbing some dog treats, I try and lure Princess back to the lair, calling in the sweetest voice I can possibly muster in this shit storm of a moment. I feel I’m not very convincing.
I sit with my thoughts . I need to calm down. Just breathe, plot my escape, and attempt to find my wandering dog.
Stepping out the front door, I’m shocked to see Ayva coming up the stairs, once again fending off wasps. Her collar has come off and is laying half way down the stairs leading up to our cabin. Our kind neighbour is standing at the bottom of our yard, on the road, swatting and rubbing at her legs. I realize the poor women has been unjustly rewarded for her good samaritan act of returning our wandering social butterfly home. Wasp assaulted, she quickly leaves rubbing at her legs.
Well what a site it is.. Wasps buzzing everywhere. Lawn mower is in the middle of a half mowed front lawn, I use the word lawn loosely. Gas can is sitting out in the yard. Shed is wide open, and a series of randomly discarded items strewn on the ground like a trail of crumbs leading up to the deck.
Dog collar, some keys, and a lone work glove. And there it is, the wasp nest, strategically burrowed into the ground, a hole the size a snake would make. Right beside the stairs, that descend to my freedom.
Perfect.
Back inside the safety of the cabin. Sitting in my big comfy chair wondering, what now? I’m probably trapped here for eternity. Swollen, sore, angry, and defeated. Is it too early for a drink? Dopey on antihistamine, and too ambitious for the rest of my day, I decide against it. For now. Ayva is by all accounts, now safe. Pawing at her swollen face, and we are both crashing hard on Benadryl, and a post adrenaline rush. All abandoned items must wait.
Pep talk All is not lost. Once I came out of my Benadryl induced coma, I did some paint touch ups, got my hands in the dirt out back, and dug in some flowers and herbs from home. I dove deep into some breath work and yoga, tried to meditate away my shitty mood.
Four years in, you think we would know better, no wasp killer in the sheds. Last count was 10 swollen and throbbing stings. There could be more but my tattoo is acting like a camouflage. By the end of the day my calves look like tree trunks and the itching is unbearable.
PWAT.
Post wasp attack trauma. If it’s not a thing it should be. I may need counselling.
I make my decision to leave this mess for husband Brad. He’s back home midweek and has graciously committed to taking this nest out himself when he returns.
Stubbornly independent and notoriously self sufficient, this tweaks my ego.
It’s two days before I have to make my way back to the city. Two days for these yellow and black striped psychos to calm down, and for me to plot my escape. Packing up the vehicle will require multiple trips through the war zone. Not to mention getting three dogs past that hell hole without pissing off my attackers.
It was a well laid plan. To make as few trips to the vehicle as possible, while the dogs are locked in the cabin. Cautiously I will walk the long way around the yard as much distance between the nest and me as possible. The whole time singing random songs in my head to keep my calm.
Along the front of the deck, behind, and then around, a grove of trees in the front yard, that slightly separate the nest from the other side of the yard. Navigating some random trees and a few gopher holes, down the slope to the weed covered once gravel pad, where my get away car is parked. Once the SUV is loaded up I will maneuver the dogs, covertly, one at a time, down to the truck.
You got this.
Or you did have this, until the deck gate opens, Abby bolts through my legs and out the gate, avoiding the stairs all together, jumping and running down the hill, over the wasp nest. Three times for good measure. All the while barking with excitement in a feverish frenzy, because thats how she rolls, anxiety, level 10, always.
Ayva refusing to walk around the trees because she’s a princess and that isn’t the way we go, wiggles out of her collar in protest. Note to self, tighten that f*ckn collar! She darts down the steps, and you got it, over the wasp hole.
Now I’m panicked. This isn’t happening, no way, not again. I’m abandoning the plan Ayva, you are on your own.
Fumbling in haste I lunge to attach the leash to Finneus the Wolfhound, waiting for his whole entire wolfhound body to make it through the opening, I latch the gate behind me as quickly as I can. 175lbs of hound in tow, I make a mad dash to the vehicle, disregarding all stealth moves and covert trails.
I somehow arrive at the truck. No new wasp stings or sprained ankles. I’ve never been this elated to leave the cabin.
*****
Well, I’ve made it home safe and sound.
It’s late afternoon, supper is cooking, glass of wine freshly poured, I’m watering the yard and my thirsty plants, after the few days away. Wait a minute, is that what I think it is?
Some wasps disturbed by the stream of water from my garden hose, start to emerge from a hole tucked under a cedar brush, and begin circling me.
Hose drop.
I’m out
Drinking
On a more pleasant topic, and because I like to share valuable information, here are some affordable wines I’m enjoying lately. If I venture out of my cab sav comfort zone I will be sure to share any new developments.
Long Shot - Cabernet Sauvignon
Unshackled - Cabernet Sauvignon
Lake side
Tequilla shots
White Claw on ridiculous amounts of ice.
Aperol Spritz recipe here
Around the fire
Makers Mark Bourbon on ice
If you have a favourite bevy that brings some sunshine to your summer, I’d love to hear about them- Wine recommendations, keep’m coming.
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