Ants. Ants are wonderous creatures. Highly organized, they operate in rythym to the needs of their society, every one with a job to do, and a desire to do nothing else. They utilize sophisticated pheremone-based communications, laying down trails to food, alerting others to the presence of enemies, and identifying their individual roles to all others from their society whom they happen to encounter. Indeed, they are magnificent. Except for the fact that the little bastards invade my kitchen after the first heavy rain of fall. Every year without fail.
I know that they will come. I prepare. I clean everything. But no matter how careful I am, it is all in vain. Invariably, there will be one thing I will overlook. This year, it was a Heinz ketchup packet that developed a leak in one of my kitchen drawers. A small leak, but no matter. For the scout ant who finds it, it is as the mother lode. A warm, dry environment under cover of darkness containing an exciting food source. Said scout makes its way back to the nest, spraying out trail markers with an ebullience and thouroughness equal to Tammy Faye Bakker applying mascara. The scout has done its job. And now it is time for the society to descend upon my kitchen in earnest.
The onslaught begins with a small line of a few ants making their way to the glorious tomato product. Do I investigate their businees and quickly remove the offending packet? Of course not. For I am out of the house. Perhaps I am taking in a movie. Maybe I’m over at my son’s house hanging out with him. It matters not. For by the time I do finally notice the start of the battle, the tiny line has been eclipsed by thousands of like creatures, intent on striking it rich in the wild which is my kitchen. Some of course decide to leave the ketchup alone and wander all about, looking for further sources of manna. A drop of spilled chai on a counter which is covered from site by the blender. A bit of ice cream residue on the oft-recycled garbage bag. Soon they are everywhere. Little blossoms of movement.
When I notice them, all which I know about battling them comes to mind. So much of it is inneffective. “Find where they’re coming in and block it off.” Alas, it is to laugh. The entire wall is their pathway, and they pour from the cracks which lead indoors.
I think of the counter-attacks I can launch, keeping in the back of my mind the possibility of adopting a scorched earth policy via the use of a heinous can of chemical poison. But I like the planet. I try to act responsibly most of the time. And so I look for solution that cause the least harm possible to anything besides the ants. Or even including the ants. I don’t want to destroy the nest. I don’t wish them off the face of the earth. I simply want them to be their astounding little selves elsewhere.
I read recently that the application of vinegar would dissuade them from acting out their societal imperative in the area of application. So I get a spray bottle and pick up some white vinegar. I select Heinz as the brand of vinegar, as it amuses me to think that the corporate instrument behind their gathering would also be used to play the tune by which they are dispatched. And so I spray. And I spray and I spray and I spray. At first, it appears to work. The ants stagger around! Scent trails obliterated, they wander as do men lost for too long in the desert! In the world, but no longer attuned to it. Confused. Lonely. Demoralized. Vanquished! My delusion that they are on the ropes lasts for about five minutes. At the end of that time, all lines of ingress and egress have been re-established. If anything, the ants appear to be invigorated and energized by the dousing. I imagine them carrying vinegar molecules back to the nest, mandibular gnashing taking the place of drooling, as they ponder the delightful german potato salads that the cooks will now be able to make.
The internet speaks of a chalk substance that can be found in the Chinese community of any large city. Use of this chalk apparently produces the line which the little monsters will not cross. “If only the line which humans will not cross could be found so easily” I muse as I plan the purchasing of said chalk. A little further investigation however, reveals that the chalk has been banned for use or for sale in the US. Purportedly for the safety of children, but actually, I think, due to the powerful ant lobby in Washington.
A few other home remedies later, I am left where I am always left at this time of year. Sitting on a kitchen chair, holding a can of death. The usage instructions are on back along with the warnings. “Use in a well-ventilated area. We recommend the top of Mount Everest during a particularly violent storm.” “Don’t point at eyes. Don’t point it anywhere else either.” “Thinking about using this product causes latent potentials for 47 different types of nasty cancer to start gently throbbing within your DNA.” “Actually going ahead and using it after thinking about using it will cause said latencies to spring forth with late-term malignancy.” “Should not be used by pregnant women or women who are thinking of becoming pregnant. (By pregnant women, we mean every person who exists, has existed, or will exist.)”
And so it comes down to this. It works. Sorry body. Sorry earth. Sorry ants.
