Not In My Front Yard

Sometimes it doesn't pay to clean.

I washed my front porch down with a hose on Saturday instead of sweeping it as I usually do and as I stepped back to admire my work I saw what looked like a tiny white worm crawling around. (You're not eating, are you? Please don't eat and read this.) I brushed it away and forgot about it until the next morning when I went to pick up the Sunday paper.

You know those termite mounds they show in Africa that are six feet high? Well, these weren't quite those, but in my mind they were eerily similar. I brushed one away and sure enough twenty or so subterranian termites began crawling around and complaining that I'd interrupted their breakfast.

That would be my house.

You know, I try not to use poisons in my garden. I try to get along with every living thing that saunters its way into my front yard, including pill bugs (rolly pollies) and other insects that creep me out personally. I am not a Bugist. But I do draw the line at termites. I realize that they're beneficial in nature to break down trees and wood that would otherwise set Malibu back on fire. But I really do draw the line at eating my investment.

And there is the creepiness factor.

I mean, someone builds the house, you buy the house, now something is eating your house. Lots of little somethings that live together underground serving some invisible queen.

It's all creepy.

Not really reason enough to wipe out the whole colony, I confess, but the eating your house thing, that really has to stop.