Remember when I said I forgot what Fall was like? I forgot Spring, too. It's like I'm a little kid all over again and Springtime is Christmas. I forgot about the flowers growing over night and I forgot about the return of the bugs.
Yesterday, I was driving out of the city into the country to take down tents from our funerals last week. I drove and admired the new growth, loving the bright new green and new colors. The Wisteria is growing everywhere, taking over the trees. Wisteria is so pretty to me, but I'm not committed to it because you can never get rid of it, although I probably should be since it might be Rachel-proof. You know who else loves Wisteria? Bees.
I got chills thinking about bees. Big, fat, bumbling bees that I used to catch in jars and kill with fly swats. Chills from remembering the first time I was ever stung. I guess I was six or seven, and somewhat proud that I'd been that long without being stung, much like the way I was proud that I made it to 20 without a cavity, but how big of an accomplishment is that, really?
I remember walking back to my Mamow's house from the garden with my mama and aunt. I loved the way birdseed felt and I stuck my finger into the hole in the bottom of a red plastic bird feeder so I could touch the seed. I felt the cool pebbles of seed and a white hot pop to my little index finger. I'd been stung by a mad bee trapped inside the bird feeder!
Oh, how I cried! My Mamow fussed over me and my tears.
I still love the feel of bird seed, but I've always been more careful of where I put my hands and fingers since then. You live, you learn.
Then when I was on Spring Break my freshman year of high school I got stung again by a red wasp, this time no fault of my own. I still have a scar from that. Good thing I'm not allergic.
And now, the Boots has to kill mosquito hawks and spiders in our house nearly everyday. The one thing I like about winter is the absence of bugs.
Bring the heat anyway.