time it is not a mole hole in the seed bed. The hole belongs to a
wasp which at first glance looks to be about the size of an Apache
Helicopter. She currently cruises in what I believe is a defensive
posture above the tilled soil and her burrow interrupts that nice straight
line which I hope might become fall beetroot.
saw the hole I felt ancient antipathy return. My immediate instinct
was to beat my chest and crow in that partisan way. I pictured
myself gathering my own huntress into the fold of the vegetable garden and
pointing at yet more evidence in support of a return to the concept of
permanent solution to the issue of moles. Extraordinary though it
sounds, I felt elated.
Luckily, before leaping back into the
political morass that is the mole barrier, a wasp emerged from the hole and
proceeded to tidy up a little around the entry way to what was her
burrow. When she slowly took to the air, hovered a while and then
merged with the tomato vines I found myself in awe of her. Which I
thought an unusual reaction because when stung by members of her category of
creature I become like a barrage balloon.
In the literature she is called
'Cicada Killer'. I understand the appearance of warrior in her slow
and deliberate movement. I have grudgingly accepted the choice of
cicada as a food source for her young. But in my view 'Cicada
Killer' does not do her justice. The title misuses something in my
imagination and I find my self thinking that were she a bird she would be
called a 'Cicada Catcher'. And, along with others I am sure, I would
be happier to think of her as such.
And yes, I recognize tragic
symptoms of having been roundly wooed by yet one more flying creature.