Dancing with Danger…or maybe not
True Story
© Robin Easton - All Rights Reserved
I let go and fall
deeper and deeper
into nature’s alluring mysteries.
-© Robin Easton
Dancing with Danger…or maybe not.
~~ Unusual and True Story ~~When I lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I had an organic garden so abundant it fed dozens of people. I had composted this little plot of desert earth for almost twelve years. Although very small, the garden produced more than enough food to get two people through the spring, summer, fall, and most of the winter. I canned, dried, and froze gorgeous vegetables. I gave food to neighbors, friends, young college students, a local shelter, and the immigrant families that came to my yard sales.
Although my organic garden was no larger than my office, maybe twelve feet by fifteen feet, I marveled that one minuscule patch of deeply loved Earth could bear such profuse life. My garden flourished much like the Australian rainforests I once lived in. The plants grew clustered together, all mixed up, with no exposed earth.
I never tilled or turned the soil. Nor did I plant neat rows. I simply took a garden rake and very lightly scratched the earth’s surface. Then I poured all my seed packets into one plastic food container: carrots, beets, lettuce, chard, dill, marigold, basil, parsley, beans, pumpkin, zucchini, and more. I put the lid on the container, shook it vigorously, and broadcast the seed right on top of the soil. I cast far more seeds than the small garden plot could sustain, but I knew the seeds were not just for me. I then gently misted the garden with my hose every morning and night, basking in the promise hope…soon to awaken.
I loved to watch ants haul off their share of marigold seeds, which they adored. Purple finches pecked at a few sunflower and spinach seeds but did not like many of them. Tiny darting field mice gathered various squash and sunflower seeds, but not as many as I thought they would. After the ants, birds, and mice collected what they needed, there still were enough seeds left on the soil to sprout a thick lush garden.
Day-by-day, inch-by-inch I watched my garden burst into life with dill, marigolds, basil, parsley, cilantro, beans, tomatoes, chard, garlic chives, sunflowers, cosmos, kale, squash, zucchini, arugula, pumpkins, jalapeno peppers, chili peppers, gourds, edible weeds, and more. That garden was a tangled ‘riot’ of perpetually exploding life.
No one could believe that I grew a garden in such a haphazard way. It was full of ladybugs, praying mantis, honey bees, butterflies, moths, hummingbirds, and other life. One exploratory shovel-lift of soil brought up at least twenty earthworms. The soil was fully aerated from the worms’ tunnels and filled with their castings. My little garden was a self-sustaining, balanced ecosystem, one that over the years brought in more and more life.
Eventually, most of the plants self-seeded or wintered-over to sprout again in spring. I was gifted a plethora of volunteer veggies and flowers, along with many cross-pollinated plants that bore intriguing fruit and unusually colorful flowers.
My tomato plants were five feet tall and produced roughly three hundred tomatoes per single plant. (Yes, I sat in the garden and counted.) With five plants I had fifteen hundred tomatoes, boxes, and boxes lined my kitchen floor, often stacked two and three boxes high, awaiting to be canned, frozen, dried, and given away. My sunflowers grew a foot taller than the roof of my house. At their base, the stalks were as fat as my wrists, and the seed heads were as large as serving platters, a fall feast for American Gold Finches.
Hundreds of jalapeno peppers filled jars and hung in rows from the walls, chairs, and curtain rods. Drying herbs dangled in clumps from the ceiling. I had lettuces far bigger than basketballs, so massive they did not fit in the refrigerator without being quartered (see next photo, third row, middle photo, lettuce next to a size 10 shoe). Chard and kale sprouted almost year-round. Tomatoes lovingly tucked in at night with blankets and plastic, bore fruit into December. I had Life!
My garden and I were in the midst of a love affair so intense, I lost myself to it. This was effortless gardening and mad-passionate lovemaking, life bursting out of control. The life of the garden infused itself into me, speaking to me, aligning my atoms with those of the garden until I became as much Garden as I am Human….maybe more….at least for a time. My relationship with this little patch of Living Earth remains one of my most vivid experiences of pure joy.
One morning I went out to water the garden, and as I picked up the hose a large hornet buzzed around my face and hands. I do not fear hornets, but I do respect their ability to sting. However, the hornet’s ability to sting was not what shocked me. He was at least an inch and a half long…or more, the largest of the genus Vespa (wasps) that I have ever seen. Nowhere in all the countries and all the forests where I have lived did I see a hornet as large as this one. He looked like some kind of prehistoric being.
The hornet hovered so close to my face that I felt the draft from his wings. I closed my eyes, stood still, and waited for him to fly a foot or two away. When he did, I moved closer to the hose to water the garden, he eagerly pursued me. Although his behavior intrigued me, I moved cautiously. When I moved away from the hose he darted at my hands, not stinging or touching me, just darting toward my hands and away again.
I stood still for a minute and observed his behavior of darting toward me and then away, toward and away. Where is he darting to? Ah, the faucet handle that turns on the water.
I slowly moved toward the faucet, and at that moment he ceased darting. He hovered close by watching me. Still moving slowly, I picked up the hose and turned on the tap. Water gushed out, and again the hornet darted at my hand and arm, trying to land. I suspected that he only wanted water so I quickly sprayed some over the lawn furniture and ground. But he ignored it.
He then flew off a few feet and repeated his darting dance. He seemed more agitated. That was when I laid the hose on the ground, calmly walked into the house, closed the screen door, and waited for him to leave. He followed me to the door, buzzed around the screen, dove at it a few times, and flew back to the garden. When I went out later, he was gone.
The next day when I stepped out to water the garden, three big hornets appeared. Each one approached me, but this time all three approached my face and hovered, looking directly at me. They seemed almost suspended there, all facing me. It was an eerie feeling, as if aliens had flown in and were scanning me to collect data to determine who and what I was.
After the hornet’s ‘scan’ they went through the same dance as the day before. They followed me and hovered around me. This time they moved in a noticeably gentler, slower manner. I was stunned. Although they still flew in front of my face, inches from my eyes, they now flew so slowly that they seemed to float back and forth, from me to the faucet handle and back to my face. If they were within five feet of me, they slowed way down and approached in an almost drifting fashion. I was fascinated by their behavior…even deeply moved. This conscious effort on their part to slow down around me moved me to tears. They did not want to scare me off and have me go back inside. This was awareness, consciousness, and something else….
As I calmly moved to turn on the faucet, water gushed from the hose, hit the pavers, and splashed onto my hands. The hornets very, very slowly drifted in, landed lightly on my fingers, and drank from the splashed droplets on my hand.
I suddenly realized the very obvious; they wanted water, yes, but more importantly, they wanted to drink that water from me. They had been observing me each morning and knew that when I came out the door there would be water in the garden. I was ‘the water bringer.’ The first hornet that saw me in the garden, told the other hornets, and in they came. The ‘buzz’ was out. Each new hornet hovered in front of my face as if scanning me to memory.
The following morning, I went into the garden, turned on the hose, and sprayed water around the yard, but the hornets did not touch it. I then went back to spraying water on my hand and arm while I watered the garden with my other hand. The hornets landed on me, and with their little feet clinging they drank from the droplets on my skin.
Sometimes I made a shallow puddle in my palm and they lined up around its edge to drink. I wandered through the garden with my arm extended out at my side, palm up, and hornets came and went while I watered all the plants around me. It was one of the most unusual and intriguing experiences I have ever known with another intelligent species.
Some mornings if I was running late and my little winged friends heard me in the kitchen, they hovered at the screen door, their little wings buzzing. I heard them say, “Please come out now, and give us some water.” As I opened the door I felt their excitement, as they shouted to each other, “Here she comes. She's bringing water. Hurry everyone get over here.” They followed me through the garden as I watered lettuce, tomatoes, and garlic chives, my extended arm and palm covered with water droplets and beautiful large hornets. I moved freely through the plants without worry of being stung.
If I suddenly had to go inside, I slowly turned my palm and arm upside down and lowered my arm to my side. The hornets understood the meaning of this gesture and would let go of me and fly a couple of feet away.
These intelligent beings even went so far as to protect me. They seemed to immediately know which garden insects could be potentially harmful to me. They let the honeybees come and go around me, but if a yellow-jacket or a tarantula-hawk wasp drew close to me the hornets would chase them off. They didn’t mind these insects being in the garden, but they were not allowed near me.
I wondered if the hornets might prefer to drink from my arm and hand due to the salty sweat on my skin. My first experiment was to thoroughly wash my arms and hands with a natural, non-toxic soap, then thoroughly rinse them before going into the garden. I felt like a surgeon scrubbing before an operation. I continued this daily scrubbing and rinsing for two weeks, and still, the hornets preferred to drink from my arm or hand. Scientific or not, I deduced that it was not my salty sweat they wanted.
I realized that for whatever reason, the hornets actually enjoyed my company. Even after drinking water, they would often light on the arms of my lawn chair while I sat in the garden and played my flute. They seemed to love to drift in close to my face, hover there, and just look at me. After a few seconds they floated off so slowly they appeared to gently bob up and down as they went. I found this interaction so endearing that I sometimes held out my hand for them to land. As evening approached, they returned to their hive somewhere in the eaves of the house.
I often stood in the garden, Human staring at Hornet, and Hornet staring at Human. I felt so profoundly moved that I teared up. The hornets never landed on my face or touched my tears. They simply hovered, staring. This face-to-face gazing was my most powerful experience with the hornets. It was when the mysterious bond between us formed a clear, open bridge, one that carried understanding and love back and forth between us. For me, it was a deeply spiritual experience, one that transcended everything I had ever been taught.
As I learned to dance with hornets, I noticed something else that still fascinates me. Sometimes one or more of my friends or neighbors would visit me about the time I watered the garden. I decided to try another experiment. I warned my friends that there were huge hornets in my garden, but if they remained calm the hornets would not bother them. I then asked for a volunteer. I told this person to calmly walk into the garden, pick up the hose, and start to water the plants. I always tried this experiment before I entered the garden for the day. So in that way, the chosen friend was always the first person to walk into the garden.
I watched from the kitchen window as one of my friends opened the door and went out. I waited. My friend picked up the hose, turned on the tap, and waited. Nothing happened. Each friend always came back into the house and said, “There aren’t any hornets out there.” No matter which friend went into the garden, male or female, I always got the same results, no hornets.
After my friend(s) came back inside, I waited three or four minutes. I told them to watch as I opened the door and stepped into the garden. I barely had the screen door closed when the hornets instantly came to my side. They eagerly followed me while I turned on the hose, and sprinkled water on my arm and hand, which they proceeded to drink while I watered the garden.
I was delighted because I now knew that the hornets were capable of distinguishing me from other humans. I also understood that they trusted me and knew me to be both benevolent and helpful. I later learned that wasps (which includes hornets), honeybees, and some other insects have very sophisticated facial recognition capabilities. They not only remember the unique faces of their own colony members, but they also remember human faces, just as we can spot the face of someone we know in a crowd of people.
The hornets must have watched me long before they started to drink from my hand. They knew I was the one who brought the water. Yet, these highly intelligent beings didn’t just communicate their need for water. These mammoth hornets were able to safely and gently communicate their desire to drink that water from my hand and arm.
We had an unlikely, yet highly rewarding relationship. I brought them water and they brought me companionship, intelligence, and life. Maybe I brought them companionship, too. They made an all-out effort to be extremely gentle with me, in the same way a loving elder would be gentle with a tiny child.
We were two different species observing and learning from each other. Over the years we grew to understand and communicate with each other. Together we entered ‘The Great Conversation’ of Life. Many times, I stood in my garden and thought, I love these hornets. I can actually FEEL them loving me.
This experience compelled me to ask, Who else in this garden is communicating with me? What am I not seeing? What else can I learn? By merely observing the life around me, I have learned many highly important lessons from other species and the Collective of Nature. We all can have these magical, edifying experiences simply by observing life in our own backyards. I have yet to know a teacher as compelling and wise as Nature.
We often do not realize that nature is watching us and talking to us all the time. An inescapable relationship exists between nature and humans because we too are part of nature. Our awareness of this relationship not only determines the richness of our daily lives but also our very survival as a species.
We can respond to nature with fear, aggression, and abuse, or we can respond with curiosity, an open mind, and empathy. In this state of awareness, nature will help us to feel safe, loved, and deeply connected to the larger Family of All Life.
My relationship with hornets made me feel more alive. I felt healed whenever I went into the garden to visit them. When I become this merged with the mystery of life, I feel vastly more human, more benevolent, and profoundly humbled. The hornets taught me to be a kinder, less judgmental, and less fearful person. If we can make friends with hornets, what else is possible in this life? I am eager to explore Nature’s endless possibilities.
With much love and hope for us all…
human and hornet alike.
Robin
—© Robin Easton – All Rights Reserved
-- EXCERPT FROM: Robin Easton's upcoming book, "Seeing the World With Wild Eyes."Robin’s Notes
KEEP IN MIND: I have lived intimately with nature for many decades and in some very remote, wild places. As beautiful and nurturing as nature can be, it is always wise to have a sense of the habitat you enter, as well as the life that lives within that habitat.
Keep in mind that not all species respond in the same manner as my hornets, nor do they always want to connect with humans. For example, within the genus Vespa (wasps), some wasps are quite patient, while others respond more aggressively.
It is critical to remember that when we enter nature, we are entering the homes of other intelligent species. We must enter these homes with awareness, and have respect for the species that live there. The more we know, the less harm is caused to everyone involved. Thank you.