So far, So good.

This morning at 4 AM I donned a heavy coat, hat, and leather gauntlets do battle with the evil empire’s death star, a.k.a. the wasps’ nest, that had invaded my barn.

Actually, I began with a short sortie last evening just after dark. Around 8:45 PM I girt my loins with battle raiment and grabbed the can of jet spray for wasps and hornets that Mark had found in his shed. With flashlight in hand, I stepped into the door of the barn, located the enemy about 20 feet overhead and let ‘em have it! I soaked the paper nest as best I could before retreating as some wasps were starting to zoom out the door (along with a bat or two). I stepped out into the yard which I had illuminated with the three floodlights mounted above the garage door and realized the wasps were attacking the bright, warm lights. I quickly turned off my flashlight and snuck across the yard and back into the house.

No stings. So far, so good.

I awoke at 3:30 AM just knowing: IT Was Time. Aside from the three lights above the garage door, only the stars illuminated the yard. The first quarter moon had already set. It was 40 degrees and the enemy’s weakness was a tendency to be lethargic in cool/cold temperatures.

I grabbed the 24-foot long poke pruner with the curved saw blade at the business end and headed for the barn. I stopped in the doorway and checked out the hive with my flashlight. It looked a bit soaked and there were no black and yellow striped warriors/workers crawling about. Looked good.

With the pole pruner and flashlight gripped tightly, I reached up to the rafter, laid the blade along the wood, and PULLED. Close to 95% of the hive crashed to the ground. I grabbed the jet spray and let loose with the remainder of the liquid ammo soaking as much of the nest as possible. Wasps were crawling all over the damaged paper nest but few had flown past me. I took a 5-gallon plastic bucket—with a lid—and a snow shovel. Dropped the bucket over the nest, slide the shovel under the hive, turned the whole thing over and clamped the cover on the bucket. Dozens of wasps could be seen writhing on the ground as the chemical agent in the jet spray did its thing.

As I withdrew to the yard, I could hear a few wasps banging on the floodlights. Once again, they had assumed the bright and shiny lights were the enemy. I putt my tools in the garage and flicked the switch to turn off the lights. They had done their job: serving as decoys while I made my attack.

My watched said it was 4:30 AM as I walked across the yard relishing the idea of a nice hot cup of coffee.

Not one sting. THAT is a good days work and the day had just begun. When the sun climbs above the hill, I’ll have to do a complete assessment of my mission.