Corona Wildlife Diary: Day Eighty-six

Day Eight-six

The legendary, heroic protest singer Woody Guthrie had the slogan ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’ emblazoned across his guitar (listen here)

The lead singer of John Peel’s beloved Half Man Half Biscuit had ‘This Machine Kills Wasps’ across his. (listen here)

Fascists and wasps. Equally hated and despised. But while one are a bunch of loathsome invertebrates that should be slapped down every time they start to agitate us I have to confess I have some empathy towards the wasps.

(Photo: Paul Hobson)

One flew in the kitchen yesterday after I left the back door open while I watered the chilli peppers in the greenhouse. It battered itself against the window until I escorted it out with the help of a jam jar and a postcard.

The wasps’ world was created way back in April. A single, pregnant Queen emerged from her winter-long hibernation, flew, fed and founded a new colony. She single-handedly constructed 30 hexagonal homes from chewed-up wood, laid an egg in each and lovingly tended to her new babies which, when grown, became her workers. Through sheer determination, spit and sawdust they enlarged the colony constructing an impressive suspended structure. Other workers collected food – caterpillars, flies, spiders – to feed the now-flightless Queen as she produced more eggs.

(Photo: Alan Price)

June was the golden age of the Empire. The colony swelled to almost 6000 wasps. There was a real buzz about the place. An entire self-contained Utopian society in matching yellow and black uniforms working together to serve their illustrious leader. Inside the dome the temperature was maintained at a comfortable 32 degrees. When the temperature rose on hot days, the workers united and the whole colony whirred their wings, creating a community-powered air-conditioning unit. 

(Photo: Alan Price)

But dark rumours started. Some said the Queen was becoming crazy for power. There were whispers that workers’ eggs were being destroyed to ensure only the Queen’s offspring were raised, that she had started to create other Queens in her image. With no more workers being born, the work load in the colony increased. This wasn't the dream they had worked for. The wasps had become slaves to a tyrant.

(Photo: Alan Price)

Then in late summer came the news. The Queen is dead. Her mesmeric hold over every wasp was lost. Revolution! The virgin Queens fled to mate, hibernate and start a new colony elsewhere next year. Meanwhile the colony falls into anarchy. Paper walls are torn down, the temperature plummets. Rome burns. There is fighting and cannibalism. Those that stay, face death from cold and starvation. One wasp manages to escape. Alone, betrayed by his leader, without family, without purpose he is confused and lost in an unfamiliar world. He turns to alcohol to quieten his pain and the fermented fallen fruits of autumn provide temporary relief. Intoxicated and hungry he stumbles around searching for sugar.  

(Photo: Darin Smith)

And now, in his dying days he bumps into us: giant creatures with sugary drinks and snacks. Our reaction to this 15mm political refugee is to swat him away with a rolled up copy of the Daily Mail.

Perhaps, later in the year, we should have a bit more sympathy for the plight of the wasp.

Here's a nice cover version of a Woody Guthrie song for you with some prescient words he wrote in 1950 about his landlord Fred Trump (here).

And here's Bruce Springsteen with a cover of Woody's best known song 'This Land is Your Land' (here).

As Bruce says 'With countries, just like with people, it's easy to let the best of yourself slip away". Let's hope, after suffering through this pandemic together, we come out of this a more tolerant society.