Wasp Season

by Jennifer Scoullar

  “What about me?” she wailed.

  “I thought you liked spending time with Helen and Chance?” ventured Beth.

  “Lately all Helen does is bitch about Dad”.

  “What does she say?” asked Beth, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  “She says he’s always on at her about money. You know, shopping and maxing-out her credit cards. Helen says Dad’s always asking her where she’s been and what she’s been doing. She’s becoming a real whinger!”

  Beth was surprised. Mark was usually generous, even a little careless with his money. When they were together, it was Beth who pulled in the purse strings if need be. It bothered her that Helen was involving her daughter in their personal affairs. Mark arrived early and walked in the front door straight to the kitchen, without knocking. Beth again felt a surge of irritation. Still, he seemed in a conciliatory mood and she was hopeful that this weekend might put Rick and his father back on track. She made him a coffee and they chatted idly in the kitchen while the kids packed their bags.

  Glancing out of the window, Mark saw the traps.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a European wasp problem.”

  “Why don’t you just get an exterminator?”

  “Well, it’s not all that simple. I can’t find the nest.”

  “Do you want me to find it?” asked Mark.

  “Why do you think you could find it if I couldn’t?” snapped Beth.

  Mark still thought he could solve Beth’s problems for her. It was so patronising. The old feelings of resentment took hold and she was reminded of why she asked him to leave three years ago.

  “Keep your shirt on,” he laughed.

  “Or then again, maybe you shouldn’t.”

  Without warning, Mark moved close and attempted a clumsy kiss, his hand snaking down to fondle the crotch of her jeans. Beth pushed him away and stepped sideways. Too surprised for words, she left the kitchen to go and help the children.

  She bundled them all out of the door as quickly as she could and watched the car drive off. Mark was certainly full of surprises lately. What on earth was going on with him? Over the past few years he never gave her as much as a second glance. At times she even felt hurt by the way he had so completely cut-off from her. But at least it kept things simple. She didn’t need this sort of a complication in her life. Beth hoped it was an isolated incident; an aberration brought on by some temporary difficulty at home.

  To help settle her thoughts, she decided to go for a walk. Once outside, the beauty of the approaching evening distracted her from her former concerns. The rollicking, territorial call of the local Kookaburras made her slightly embarrassed. They always seemed to know something about her that was worthy of ridicule. Dragonflies darted here and there, catching and reflecting the late rays of the afternoon sun on their iridescent wings. An Eastern Spinebill, handsome in his chestnut and white plumage, hovered hummingbird-like to feed from a flower. The sky remained a brilliant blue. Beth headed across the lawn to the path that led down to the stables. Beyond the stable, two horses and a small pony grazed in a paddock, flanked by a gully of Gum trees. They raised their heads at Beth’s approach and one by one, ambled over to the fence. Caesar, her chestnut Warmblood gelding, led the way. Shannon, a fine black Anglo Arabian mare, closely followed him. Last came Skittles, a chubby palomino pony who, Beth noted, could do with losing some weight. As she rubbed their faces affectionately, she noticed a flash of black and yellow beneath the stable eaves. Curiously she investigated. A series of neat clay cylinders hung in a cavity between the flashing and the stable wall. Bracing herself with her legs, a black and yellow wasp was packing a mouthful of mud onto the wall of a partially finished cell. Briefly, Beth mistook the insect for a European wasp and thought she might have solved the mystery of the nest location. But on second glance she realised that this was an entirely different insect. She had discovered a nest of the native Mud Dauber, sometimes known as the Potter Wasp. Despite its superficial colour similarity, Beth noted that this wasp possessed an impossibly thin waist. She felt a little envious. It was hard to believe such a fragile reed could support the wasp’s plump abdomen.

  Her wings lay flat over her body in a criss-cross formation, making them look longer than they actually were. With her curled antennae, narrow waist and delicate legs, the wasp looked like some sort of alien, costumed, ballet dancer. As she applied the mud pellet onto the nest, she made a distinctive, contented, buzzing sound. Beth was fascinated. The wasp flew off to collect more mud, returning again and again, until the little pot was nearly finished. Intrigued by the wasps industry, Beth failed to notice the time.

  It was almost too dark to see when the wasp returned with something besides mud in her jaws. Gripped firmly between her powerful mandibles was a large, black House spider. The motionless spider was stuffed unceremoniously into the top of the cylinder. Beth was both spellbound and horrified. Conceding that it was too dark to continue her observations, she headed for the house. She had heard that some wasps paralyse living prey to provide food for their young and had always been repelled by the appalling cruelty of such behaviour. It was like something out of a Gothic horror tale; the victim, buried alive, unable to move or scream, slowly eaten alive by the wasp’s voracious, slug-like infant. Could she rescue the spider? Reason told her that she could not. It would remain helplessly paralysed by venom from the wasps sting, whether inside or outside of the deadly nursery.

  Beth’s distaste was tempered by her grudging respect for the mother wasp. After all thought Beth, she was trying to protect and provide for her babies, wasn’t she? She laboured alone to construct and provision those stout mud walls to ensure the survival of her offspring. Paralysed spiders were an ingenious solution to a lack of refrigeration. The food source remained fresh. Immobilised prey could neither escape nor damage their tomb. Beth realised that to some degree she identified with the mother wasp. Would she do as much for her own children? Squirming out of the silly moral dilemma she had somehow placed herself in, she headed indoors for a long, hot, thoughtless bath.

  Beth awoke to the rays of the morning sun streaming in her window. She felt rested and relaxed, and jumped out of bed in a positive mood. Such early sunshine heralded another perfect spring day. Dressing quickly, she headed downstairs for breakfast. As she made toast, she noticed that her traps, piled high with dead wasps, needed emptying again. Despite the apparent success of these traps, the wasps continued to be a nuisance. Beth loved to eat out on the verandah, but the constant presence of the European wasps restricted this simple pleasure. Unwilling to fend off the unwelcome visitors, she settled for breakfast in the sunroom. Bay windows overlooked the garden where a group of Superb Blue Wrens were feeding. The dull brown of the Jenny Wren’s plumage was in stark contrast to the dazzling blue of the male’s. They fluttered to and fro, pecking at the mulched beds to disturb insects. Beth was relieved to see Spooky asleep inside by a sunny window. The wrens presented an easy target for such an accomplished killer.

  After breakfast, Beth decided to go for a ride in the State forest that adjoined her land. She put the dogs away in their run, and headed down to the stable. The discovery of the Mud Dauber wasp nest was fresh in her thoughts. On reaching the stable, the first thing she did was to see how the wasp’s work was progressing. She arrived just in time to see another unfortunate spider being shoved unceremoniously into the top of a cylinder. Apparently finished, the female proceeded to seal her nest with a mud plug. When the job was complete, the mother Mud Dauber left, never to return. She’d done all she could for her young.

  Beth looked at the little row of clay pots, imagining their dark interiors. Within each cell lay a single egg, together with its allotted prey. They needed to be separated from each other, as the voracious larvae would eat one another just as happily as they would their hapless, helpless spider victims. The paralysed spiders could remain alive in their prison for up to thirty days, but the larvae usually
consumed their living flesh within a week. Beth felt a little shudder go up her spine. Sigourney Weaver and the Alien movies have got nothing on this little drama, she thought. Curiously she inspected the remaining stable eaves, looking for the telltale signs of other Mud Dauber activity. These nests did not always take the same form. Sometimes the nest resembled a wrinkled, brain-like mass or a little mud jug with a curious spout. What she did find surprised her even more than had her discovery the previous afternoon.

  On the opposite side of the stable, underneath the eaves, hung another partially completed nest. It was grey and seemed to be made of a paper-like material. Several dozen honeycomb shaped cells were visible from beneath the nest, which hung suspended from a single stem. Beth wondered again if she’d found the European wasp nest, but the arrival of the tenant soon dashed that hope. The wasp that landed on the structure bore no resemblance to its larger European counterpart. It was a medium-sized wasp, slim and hairless, with a narrow waist. Its body was dark brown with yellowish-orange bands across its abdomen. Its antennae were short and its narrow wings stuck out at an angle as it busied itself at the nest site. Beth’s amateur naturalist knowledge helped her to correctly identify the nest as that of a native Paper Wasp.

  Unlike its solitary cousin, the Mud Dauber, this wasp was truly social. It lived in small colonies containing one queen and a population of workers. Beth knew that this nest could present a problem, as these wasps might become aggravated by human presence close by, and they possessed a fearsome sting. But after a few moments consideration she decided that it was too far away from the house to present a real danger. She would of course warn the kids to avoid going too close. Otherwise she would leave it alone and observe nature at work, pleased that native wasps were at least holding their own against the foreign invaders. The more she thought about it, the more her protective feelings grew. This was no solitary, sinister horror tale, like that of the Potter Wasps. Within a month, if successful, the mated queen would rear a first generation of all female brood by herself. These would become the workers, taking over the tasks of nest extension and collecting insect food for the larvae. The larvae would pupate and some would emerge in early autumn as adult males and fertile females. Beth felt excited by her find. One of the drawbacks of single life was that at times like this there was no one with whom to share the news. She realised that she was missing her children. Not particularly sharing her interest in insects, they would have listened politely and then looked at each other giggling. However it would have been nice to have someone to tell, even if they did consider her fascination somewhat eccentric.

  This fresh discovery again distracted her for a substantial period of time. Although it was now much later than she would have liked, she decided to still go riding. Catching Caesar, she quickly bridled and saddled him. They trotted up the drive, her horse snatching at the bit, eager to have his head. Once on the grassy path leading to the forest ride Beth let him canter, knowing he wouldn’t settle until he expended some of his pent-up energy. He was young and fit and had not been taken out all week. Beth loved the feel of wind in her hair and the sensation of controlled power beneath her. Thoughts of the wasps dispersed as she abandoned herself to the experience.

  CHAPTER 4

  The foundress selected her nest site with great care. She had discovered a natural hollow in the fallen Gum tree, which was completely protected from the elements. Several years earlier, while the tree still stood tall, this cavity was the nursery to some Kookaburras. Before them, a pair of Boobook Owls successfully raised many nestlings in the same hollow. Before them, a colony of Gould’s Wattled Bats reared their brood here. Before this, Sugar Gliders and Possums sought the shelter of this space to safely raise their joeys. The large hollow, perched high above the ground, always provided protection from all but the most determined predators. Goannas and Butcherbirds posed the only danger to the creatures that called this hollow home.

  Now however, the hollow lay on the underside of the tree, almost entirely buried and inaccessible to any but the smallest creature. It was a large space, almost two feet by two feet in area. The foundress fully intended to put it again to good use. Painstakingly she cleared an entrance by moving aside any tiny barriers such as twigs, leaves and little clods of mountain clay. Eventually she had clear access to the site. The entrance was imperceptible to anyone on the outside of the tree. She’d chosen well. The site would afford the colony a large measure of concealment and protection.

  It was time to commence construction. To make the paper for her nest she stripped fibres from dead wood lining the cavity. These she chewed carefully, mixing them with her saliva. She moulded this papier-mâché like material into a short stem, or pedicel, and attached it to a gnarled bit of wood protruding into the roof of the hollow. After several minutes work, a cell gradually took form at the base of this stem. The entrance to this first cell was round. The young queen would gradually lengthen it as the nest grew. Only when other cells surrounded it on all sides would it take on the familiar hexagonal shape of wasp and Honeybee combs. However it differed significantly from a Honeybee cell. Whilst the queen bee formed her first cell from moulded wax produced by her own body, this queen continued to build with the paper she manufactured from bits of wood and saliva. Whereas the queen bee’s comb lay horizontal, this queen’s cell grew vertically and opened downwards. Her babies would grow in a topsy-turvy world, suspended upside down from the roof of their cramped, symmetrical paper cradles. Some invisible design blueprint lay in the mind of the foundress. Tirelessly she toiled and at the end of the first day, her first few cells hung near completion. Exhausted and hungry, she paused to rest. Outside of the nest, a perfect, warm spring afternoon was melding into a cool, still evening. Within the protective shelter of her hollow, the temperature remained even. But before she slept for the night she had one more vital task to complete. Backing into each unfinished cell, she deposited a single, sticky, milky-white egg. An inner urgency compelled her to commence egg laying even before the first cells were complete. Finally content, she positioned herself on a handy ledge and slept.

  The nocturnal inhabitants of the little cave emerged to go about their nightly business. Suspended ominously above them hung the embryonic nest with the quiet form of the queen on guard. Little did they know that many of them would soon fall victim to this formidable new menace.

  Over the coming days the foundress was exceedingly busy. She made regular forays from the nest to feast on nectar from the plethora of flowers crowding Beth’s untidy spring garden beds. She took her place beside the Honeyeaters and bees at the sweetest blooms, replenishing her energy for the task ahead. Frequent trips to the birdbaths on the lawn quenched her thirst and there she collected water for her papier-mâché creations. In between these outings, she continued nest construction. A second cell soon appeared alongside the first. Eventually she made a third one in the angle formed by the first two. As she did with the first, the impatient queen laid an egg in each cell as soon as the walls were partly built. She proceeded in a similar manner until a shelf of cells was formed, all hanging from the central paper stem. Her homemade paper was surprisingly strong. Beth knew that wasps had mastered the art of paper-making long before humans did. While man was laboriously scratching primitive symbols into rock faces, the wasps were already manufacturing their durable paper homes. Certain wasps perfected their own paper processing long before Beth’s ancestors were recognisably human. It is entirely possible that early man learned the art of paper-making from such wasps.

  At about the same time as the foundress completed her first shelf of cells, she began to construct a paper envelope around them. This began as a parasol-like ceiling, which eventually extended around the entire nest, open only at the bottom. This envelope protected her growing brood from potential predators by restricting access points and making the nest easier to guard. It also helped to regulate the temperature within the nest. Over the next few days, she repeated this behaviour many times. She colle
cted her construction material by walking backwards along the rotting wood lining the cavity, gathering a ball of fibre between her front legs with her mandibles, and then making a rapid inspection of the developing nest. The pulp was added either to an existing cell that appeared shorter than its neighbours, to the nest margin to start a new cell, or to the protective paper envelope.

  She maintained a miraculous rule of symmetry, ensuring that the new addition intersected its neighbour at one hundred and twenty degrees. It was also equidistant from its parallel walls. The nest design was as ingenious as it was marvellous. The hexagonal shape of the individual cells provided the greatest possible amount of space with the least possible amount of construction material. Each of the six walls of any cell, acted also as a wall for an adjoining cell. Thus no space was wasted between the cells at any point. The young queen was certainly an architect par excellence. The hexagonal symmetry of wasp cells intrigued mathematicians, biologists and philosophers for centuries. Such celebrated names as Aristotle, Pliny, Kepler and Darwin all wrote treatise on the subject. Early critics of Darwin’s theory of evolution maintained that only God could endow insects with the power to construct such perfectly efficient shapes. The wasp’s ability continues to defy scientific explanation. The simple truth is that the young queen, ignorant of both God and science, achieved this miraculous feat again and again in the hidden silence under Beth’s fallen tree.

  A week or so after nest construction commenced, the queen’s behaviour changed. Her building rate slowed and she spent more time checking and rechecking her brood cells. She made frequent trips to gorge herself at Beth’s nectar-bearing flowers in preparation for the next stage. For her first egg was about to hatch. The egg’s transformation into a larva was barely perceptible, but on the queens umpteenth cell check, she discovered that this first egg had acquired mobility and a mouth. The burden of satisfying larval appetite fell fairly and squarely on the young founding queen. In the world of wasps, the adults are mainly vegetarians, but the young require a hearty meat diet. The foundress, now with hungry mouths to feed, went hunting.