Open Writing

I have always been fascinated by ants and their orderly lives. The earliest encounter I remember was when I was four. It was hot. The backyard was nothing more than scattered determined clumps of grass. Dust storms would pop up from seeming nowhere to the delight of the neighborhood youth. Still, through the parched rock-like surface, little black ants had drilled a home.

The mound produced by their labors had only reached two inches. I squatted near it watching them leave and then return. Taking a dry blade of grass, I lowered it into the hole. Upon bringing it out, I would count the number of defenders attached and drop it just before the top one reached my hand. I would watch as they all returned to their home and then I would begin again.

From a week of summer camp, I brought home a stick. Why had the carpenter ants waited until it was on my dresser to show? I will never know. I guess I don’t have to explain how displeased my mother was. The stick was removed to the back yard. After the ants had found of new home, I examined the stick. The tunnels they had left behind were intriguing.

As a teen, I stepped into an ant hill of brown ants. I knew as soon as my toes sank what had happened. The protectors had already covered the foot. Instead of jerking my foot away, I held perfectly still. They crawled over it and deciding it was nothing more than a log, left. I didn’t get a single bite.

Tiny little specks of ants, commonly called ghost or sugar ants, invaded the kitchen window. They cleverly slipped through the window frame. Placing poison on the inside of the window stopped them for a day. That’s when made their path come out higher up the sill. A ribbon of ants crawled above the poison and continued down to their original path. Placement of poison on the outside of the sill discouraged them. Later, I found that they were attempting to create a home in my wooden bird feeder. The roof like top offered shelter from the rain and fresh food was delivered weekly. I discouraged them from this endeavor.

It has come to my attention that ants have not held still as the evolutionary wheel has turned. With the passing of time, they have gained knowledge.

Bumbling about barefoot again, I stepped into a hill of brown ants. Remembering my earlier encounter, I willed myself to be still. The champions came and mounted my foot. This time one lone ant decided to test the log idea. A single bite caused one muscle to twitch. That slight movement was all they needed. By the time I had brushed them off, I had over fifteen bites.

But probably the most unusual sight was the “wind ants”. Along the top rail of our chain linked fence was a line of creatures. They traveled from one clump of honeysuckle vines across a bare area to the next clump. At first, from a distance, I thought they were spiders. Thoughts of Charlotte’s Web when Charlotte’s children hatch and leave came to mind, but these creatures were walking in ant-like lines. Upon closer inspection, each creature had six legs not eight. Still, their bodies were odd shape, very un-ant like. With a light breeze behind me, I continued to watch. One foolish ant started to make the crossing and was swept away by the wind. Slowly moving a vine to get a better view, I saw the answer. The ants were putting their abdomens on top of their thoraxes. By doing this, they reduced the wind drag and made it safely across the unprotected area.

Ants have always fascinated me. Now, I stand awed.