“You Don’t Throw A Rock At A Hornet’s Nest”
Some of the best lessons for life are learned the hard way, through experience. This has been proven to be true in my life many, many times. Often the lessons come with some pain attached.
One summer day I was messing around a fallen-down farmhouse, an old barn, some out-buildings, and a few pieces of long forgotten and rusty old farm implements. I was but a lad of about 10 years old. It was fun exploring these things, imagining what the place would have been like several years before when farming families had lived in the old house and worked the land. Of course, it was a time of vacation from school and I was in need of things to do to occupy my time.
During my exploration I found a very large, very active hornet’s nest located under the roof overhang of one of the out-buildings. It was impressive! I would imagine it was about 10 inches in diameter in the widest part and, probably, 16-18 inches in length.
I am not sure what came over me at the point in time when I decided it would be a good idea the see if I could hit the nest with a well-thrown, perfectly aimed, baseball sized, ideally shaped rock. If I could figure out what ever it was that took over my brain out that moment I would endeavor to keep that thing away from me forever, or at least try to give to one of those folks that I do not care much for.
Anyway, some way or another, I ended up with a rock flying out of my hand, thrown with great skill and precisely aimed, hitting the very center of that hornet’s nest, ripping a big hole in it, and liberating the 10 million (+/-) hornet’s that had chosen to make the nest their place of abode. In retrospect, that was not a good idea. I never knew that hornets had the ability to track a thrown rock back to the source from which it began its destructive flight. I know that now. I learned it that day. As soon as the rock found its target a whole host of hornets assembled in flight formation and began their revenge flight. They followed the flight pattern the rock had established, in super-sonic speed, and began their assault on their assailant. One after another after another came after me, determined to make sure that I would forever regret the rock I had thrown into the well-built nest they called “home”. It happened so fast I did not have time to run. In rapid order they placed their stingers all over my face, before I could do anything to protect myself. When I finally decided that attempting to run away might be a good idea several of them decided that since they had me on the run they might as well chase me. After a few more pops on my backside they returned to aid in the rebuild of their nest, celebrating their success and laughing at their foolish victim.
By the time I managed to get back to the house (about a half a mile away), I was in the process of being mutated. My face was swollen. I could barely see as my eyes were almost completely shuttered. My ears were beginning to look more like satellite dishes than audio receiving instruments. Whelps marked my back and shoulders.
Soon I was be transported to the Haywood County Hospital Emergency Room where my buttocks would become a bull’s-eye for a needle as large as drinking straw and every bit a foot-long.
All in all, it was not a good experience. However, I did learn a valuable lesson that day. You don’t throw a rock at a hornet’s nest! (Just think of some hornet’s nests in your world that are best left alone.)