you don't know glenn caspera tumblelog

last sunday i went over to my dad’s house to watch the cowboys destroy the seahawks.  after the game, i noticed there were some bees buzzing around a dead-but-still-standing tree—right by the hollow in the center.

that tree used to have an owl living in it and used to be really full.  when it died, my dad didn’t have the heart to cut it all the way down, so he trimmed the limbs level and put birdhouses he made on all the stumps.

“those aren’t bees,” he said.

“wasps?” i replied.

“yep.”

i hate wasps.  they have stung me in my face, hands and legs multiple times.  they do not make honey.  they are just assholes.

i asked my dad if he had an insect bomb.  i’m not really sure what that is exactly, but for some reason i thought there was a product that you kind of hit a button, ran away, and it filled the air around it with bug-killing fog.  i figured it would be perfect to drop down in the hollow and fog out our beloved tree.

“no, but we have wasp spray,” he said.

“that won’t work,” i replied.  “i need something that will smoke them out.”

“…we’ve got fireworks…”

bingo.

my dad and i instantly reverted to twelve-year-olds.  he climbed up in the attic in the garage and grabbed the box of forth of july leftovers.  m-80s.  bottle rockets.  mortar shells.  we had enough to make uncle sam proud…and slightly nervous.

when we got back to the tree, i was expecting the swarm to take notice.  i’m allergic to wasp stings, so i wanted to stay away, but after being in the area for a few minutes they were still acting lethargic.  just to be safe, we needed something to drop the fireworks into the hollow with so we could stay back.

my dad’s solution, more brilliant than ever as we came to find out, was a ten-foot piece of pvc pipe.  the process was simple.  my dad extended the pipe next to the hollow, i lit the m-80 at the far end, i pushed it down and he tilted the pipe up at the center.  the firecracker slid down the pipe and into the tree and we ran.

POP.

we giggled.

after a few more drops we needed to up the ante.  we went for the mortar shells.  if you aren’t familiar with fireworks, these are basically round, golf-ball sized packs of gunpowder, wrapped in brown paper, with a long green fuse.  they are more or less the professional fireworks you see.  i have no idea how my dad got his hands on them.

having not been attacked by a single wasp, our confidence grew.  we now decided he would hold the shell next to the hollow, i would light it and he would drop it in.  then we would run.

we lit the first one as planned and ran back.  we waited.

FIZZZZZZZZZZZZ (this was when it would have taken off in the air)

BOOOOOOOM (this was when it would have exploded in air)

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK (this is when it would have sparkled in air)

smoke billowed from the tree and poured out of the hollows.  the wasps slowly meandered through the air as if nothing had happened.  wtf!  we just dropped our heavy hitter and they weren’t even blinking?

we began to light and drop everything we had.  my dad started breaking apart bottle rockets and lighting them sans-stick then dropping them in.  multiple mortar shells.  the whole shebang.

several didn’t go off, but most of them did.  the reaction from the wasps however was consistent: totally indifferent.

“we must not be hitting the hive,” he said.

we looked around the tree and although many were swarming around the hollow, they seemed to be coming in and out of the birdhouse on the top perch.

it was time to take this attack to the air.

using the pvc pipe as a rocket launcher, steadied against an adjacent tree, we took aim for wasp headquarters.

standing about twenty feet away, aiming at a target about fifteen feet high, we needed a perfect shot.  the process we had honed earlier had now been applied to launching bottle rockets.

my dad took aim, i loaded the pipe and then sealed it with a plastic cup.  it launched through the air and ricocheted off the tree.  we squealed with laughter.  the accuracy was pretty close.  this was going to be fun.

he took a few more shots and banked a few off the birdhouse.  he relinquished control and i took aim.  my first shot bounced off the side of the target.

“we are going to get this thing!”

my following shot was an inch below the opening in the birdhouse.  when i was lining up my next shot, i took that into consideration.  i literally moved the pipe up what i thought an inch would be and we launched.

bulls eye!

i had drilled the four-inch diameter hole from a good twenty feet with a bottle rocket.  it stuck like an arrow in the back of the birdhouse—a trophy for me to admire always.

my dad and i burst into laughter.  we high fived.  we hugged.  it was a father-son moment.

the wasps were not so amused.  they slowly crept out of the birdhouse and fluttered along.  not the mad panic reaction we were looking for, but we took it.  nothing was going to sour the shot of the century.