If you’re out in the woods and you come across a black and yellow waspy-looking critter with severe mental issues, it’s probably a yellow jacket. They live in the ground and when they come out of their hole they’re quick and they’re fast and there’s usually a bunch of them. Flying at eight miles per hour, no person will outrun one. They like to sting just to pass time and their sting packs a mighty punch and can cause anaphylaxis shock, an allergic reaction that causes a person’s airway to swell and limit breathing, a serious medical situation. By my desk hangs a blue ribbon. A blue ribbon won at a city-wide track meet. A testament to the moment when a dash of fifty yards identified me as the fastest sixth grader in town. I didn’t think I was fast; I knew it! Didn’t take long to learn I wasn’t so fast at all. The weekend had finally come. Two of my neighborhood classmates and I were meeting at a secret place in the woods where we were going to build a fort. We were going to sweat and get dirty and cuss and fart because there wasn’t going to be a grown-up around. I was to bring a rake and shovel. My friends would bring the other fort-building stuff. Meeting time was 10 am sharp. When it got time to leave the house and head to the woods, I had me a dern predicament. Dad was up to something in the basement, same place as the rake and shovel. My plan was to sneak the rake and shovel because I knew Dad would definitely say “No!” if I asked to borrow them. He was real funny about loaning out his Sears & Roebuck stuff. A temporary hold pattern was on with nothing to do but go sit on the couch, watch Saturday morning cartoons, and wait. Sure enough, two cartoons later, dad came up the stairs, went out the front door, got in the car, and drove off. With bodacious haste I flew down the basement steps, grabbed the rake and shovel, and exited the back door. Through the yard I ran with the tools, past a giant lilac bush, and down a gentle hill to the railroad tracks. The sun was beating down making my hands sweaty causing the rake and shovel to constantly slip my grip. I stopped to wipe my hands, purchased a good grip on the tools, and continued walking north between the rails. Up away I spied what we called the cut-thru trail heading in an easterly direction, a trail not used much, not much at all. The main trail, the popular trail, was another half-mile. But since I was running late I made the decision to take the cut-thru trail. Just when I was thinking the cut-thru trail was going to get me there on time, I went and stepped on a nest of yellow jackets. Instantly, the guards called for an all-out attack. Soon, way too soon, an angry swarm of yellow jackets were upon me. “Help me! Help me!” I screamed. I threw the rake and shovel to the ground and began waving my arms frantically, doing my best to ward off the stinging maniacs. And home I ran as fast as I could, ducking and weaving like a prize fighter and slapping yellow jackets like crazy. I arrived in my backyard after what seemed like hours. I screamed for mom and dad and in an instant both came running. Mom took one look at me and almost had a heart attack. Dad? He was counting stings. He was up to fifty-nine when mom went and put an end to his tabulating. “Shush, Garland, you’re scaring the boy!” Swishing me up into her arms and holding me tight, mom carried me up two flights of stairs, running the entire way. In a matter of minutes, I was sitting naked in our claw-footed bathtub in water deep enough to fish. Mom and Dad had zero plans to take me to the emergency room at Memorial Hospital, only a block away. It was so damn close I could see flashing lights at the ER entrance from my upstairs bedroom window. What does mom do? Instead of calling our doctor, mom called every neighbor she knew. Wasn’t long before folks of all descriptions were peeking in on me and offering sweet condolences. Most gasped at my riddled body. Sitting there looking up, I watched each of them hand mom a box of baking soda. Mom would open each box and efficiently scatter its contents about the tub. When she finished with a box, I was supposed to wiggle my legs and feet and stir the water. At the end, when the neighbors stopped coming, the final tally was twenty-three empty boxes of baking soda and ninety-one yellow jacket stings. No EpiPen. No antihistamines. Only a lengthy soak in a tub full of water with a bunch of baking soda put in. Yes, mom was a marvel at home remedies. Ol’ Doc Kerns. A kind and caring lady who also put butter on burns.
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