Their World vs. Ours
A few years ago a favorite house plant was infected with tiny insects that resembled sea barnacles. When I consulted a local nursery the in-house horticulturist diagnosed our plant with Scale, saying, “You have scale, that sucks, there is little you can do”. He must have sensed my irritation with his diagnosis because he immediately followed it up with some maddening philosophical wisdom: Insects, we live in their world, they don’t live in ours.
Fast forward two years later, we have moved into a new house and our plant is scale free and thriving. Things were feeling good. Two weeks into our new life my feelings of supreme serenity were diminished when I found a line of ants charging towards my morning toast. Awesome, we have ants.
I have never had ants, but the experience has proven to be a bizarre and thrilling kind of hell.
Although I do not know much about these insects, I do know this - ants will find their way into your house, no matter what. Our ant invasions come from both the north and south ends of our home, all driven by one goal - finding our kitchen. It turns out that although phenotypically identical, the mindsets of the northern and southern ants could not be more different.
Northern Ants:
The ants that come from the northern part of the house display a remarkable kind of discipline. One that I do not see from the Southern ants. Their organizational talents and ability to focus on a single objective, finding crumbs, is impressive. Their military strategy is centered around night raids, this is when they are the least vulnerable. So, every night when the lights go out, thousands of troops are deployed to traverse the rugged terrain of wooden floorboards, in an impeccable formation, to ambush our unsuspecting kitchen.
Although impressed by their clean lines and sheer numbers, their point of origin is easy to trace, leaving them vulnerable and subject to my brutal counter attacks, every morning.
Southern Ants:
The Southern army is smaller in aggregate soldiers, but they overcome their numerical inferiority through superior use of tactics. They have abandoned the conventional marching lines in favor of a more contemporary strategy: Guerilla warfare laced with some revolutionary improvisation. They are everywhere. They deploy small groups of combatants at all hours of the day using surprise attacks, hit and run tactics, as well as trench raids.
Their sole mission: bringing utter destruction to the kitchen while leaving no trace to their base. Under the leadership of gifted commanders, the southern ants have seen the most success.
Not all ants fall under the above categories - let me take a moment to recognize the others:
Other Genres of Ants:
Pacifists: Ones who believes that war and violence are unjustifiable. These ants are generally on their own: accompanying you while watching tv, relaxing on the leaf of a houseplant.
Mutinists: Ones who refuse to obey orders. These are the ones that stray from a marching line, attack their fellow soldiers & never retreat when they see an opponent's attack.
3 weeks into our war against the ants, we have studied the strategies of both battalions and have adopted our own offensive and defensive tactics that seem to be working:
My husband’s tactics: A man of details, meticulous and methodical. He ensures that all the kitchen countertops are clear of crumbs, the trash is taken out before we go to bed and ensures there is no evidence of food. Anywhere.
My tactics: I am more inclined to savagery, poisonory, and booby trappery. I am responsible for setting up traps around the house to lure in the enemy and then attack with my Miele C3 vacuum.
A few nights ago, we were going through our evening routine of defensive prep. I was in the zone cleaning out the C3 and my husband was hard at work in the kitchen. Mid-prep, I heard him say:
“Dude, this is so much work. Should we just call an exterminator?”
Prepared to assent, I looked up and caught glimpse of something so exquisite and intoxicating that, for a brief moment, I forgot we were in the middle of a war. There it was, my husband, on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor of our pristine kitchen.
I quickly suggested we forgo the exterminator and keep doing what we have been doing.
It was clear my response was not what he wanted to hear, so I quickly followed it up with a philosophical saying I heard a few years ago: “We live in their world, they don’t live in ours.... oh, you missed a spot”.
All is fair in love and war…best enjoyed in a clean kitchen.
xx,
Sgt. Neda
