It turns out we have poison vines in our backyard. I’m pretty sure it’s not poison ivy (unless it is) and it might be poison oak (unless it isn’t), but whatever its name official might be we can clearly call it the “gives mom itchy bumps” vine. From hell.
I am not including a photo of me because A) I pretty much never include a photo of me, B) there is nothing attractive at all about Poison Vine Bumps, and C) Dad says I look funny with white stuff on my face—not a look I care to immortalize.
Despite having been recently attacked by the Vine of Death and Destruction, Dad and I did some more work outside today.
Now, you know how I feel about wildlife (it belongs in the wild) and how I feel about legs (up to four is quite a sufficient number and anything with more than for is showing off and icky). But I can appreciate when Mother Nature does something cool. Especially if it doesn’t crawl on me.
So there we were, weeding away (complete with Puppy supervision), far from the area where we encountered the vine of torture wielding poisons. I grabbed a piece of dead tree stump to move it—and it moved (amazing, I know). Which is to say part of it moved, revealing a nest of little black picnic ants.
After an obligatory squawk of surprise, I took a good look. I’d uncovered the nursery. Little neonatal ants (I could tell because of their badges and uniforms) were scurrying to move their little charges to safer territory. No one had to yell, no one had to use a bullhorn, no one worried about budgets, no one formed a committee to discuss the best way to recover from the natural disaster (me). They just worked together to get the job that obviously needed to be done, done.
I’m also pretty sure they didn’t develop a post-emergency power point presentation.
Sometimes I think people can learn a lot from nature. Especially when it stays outside where it belongs.