Jungle Adventures

No, that’s not the name of an old pulp magazine, as far as I know. I’m talking about the fact that today, for the first time this year, I had to break out the lawn mower and cut the grass – and weeds – in the front yard. Now, I know that in some locations south of here – Alvin, Texas, say – people have been mowing their lawns all winter, but this is the first time I’ve mowed since last October or early November.

One thing I quickly discovered was that fire ants have taken over our front yard. Ever seen those giant termite mounds in Africa? The fire ant mounds in our yard are only slightly smaller, and I exaggerate only a little for dramatic effect. When I was a kid we didn’t have fire ants. We had the dreaded red ants, which every adult in Texas in the Fifties and Sixties pronounced “red aints”, as in “Watch out for that red aint bed! They’ll bite ya!” Well, as bad as red ants were, fire ants are worse. I managed not to get stung while I was mowing, but I don’t know how I did it. It must have been a sight to see, me pushing the lawn mower and hopping over ant beds with the grace of a wounded walrus.

My father fought a lifelong battle with ants. Red ants, black ants, fire ants, he didn’t care, he just enjoyed the combat. At first he employed a scorched earth strategy – he poured gasoline on the beds and set them on fire. I’m sure the theory was that the gasoline would flow down into the ground and burn up the ones under the surface, too, but I don’t think it ever did. As time went on my dad’s efforts advanced to a higher level of technology. He began to use poison. Seemingly once a week he would announce, “I think I’m gonna go dope them aint beds,” and he would spend the rest of the afternoon happily dumping poison on them. As anyone who has tried to get rid of ants knows, the little monsters laugh in the face of such efforts. The so-called poison granules are the McDonald’s French fries of the ant world. They gobble ’em down and go right on about their business. But I guess it makes us feel better to know that we’ve at least tried to win the battle. So next week I’m sure we’ll break out the Amdro and dope them aints. It’s a tradition, after all.