Beauty and the Beast

​There was an old song by Jim Stafford called Spiders and Snakes. The song is about Mary Lou, a school-age girl who is sweet on a classmate. She invites him to walk her home from school. On the way, she tells him, "I don’t have to go right home, and I would kinda like to be alone some, long as you would."
The young man answered, "Me too." So, they took a stroll and wound up down by a swimming hole; she wanted to get romantic. But in his adolescent awkwardness, the school boy finds a frog in the water by a hollow log; he shakes it at Mary Lou, saying, "This frog's for you!"
Mary Lou didn't like the frog and thus sang the famous refrain, "I don't like spiders and snakes, and that ain't what it takes to love me." I love that song!
Years later, the song inspired me to catch frogs and such, and on occasion, I've shaken one or two at my wife Melissa, saying, "This frog's for you!" Melissa was not impressed and responded a little differently than Mary Lou; as a matter of fact, one time, she locked me out of the house. Even though she is not afraid of them, my wife apparently did not want the reptile that close to her face when she wasn't expecting it. I'm not afraid of critters either, but spiders and snakes are different.  
Although I'm not afraid of spiders or snakes, decades ago, we made a deal: (me, the spiders, and the snakes.) Don't come in my house and you get to live. Simple. A spider in my house is not afforded the benefits of the 'catch and release' program. A spider in my house is compressed and wrapped in burial cloth (toilet paper) and given a proper septic burial. I've never had a snake in the house, but I would release the snake. I reciprocate the same courtesy when I am in their environment.
I will stop the mower to let a snake pass in the grass; that's his home, and I respect that. Spiders in the yard will have the chance to go away, but if they insist on staying where I'm working – well, one of us must go, and it ain't gonna be me. I never kill bees, and I even let a wasp go unless they build a nest too close to my home. Wasps are just not socially well-adjusted.
A couple weeks ago, a swarm of paper wasps built a nest on the side of my Alaskan camper – right by the door. I had intended to remove them at night, but I got busy and forgot. The other day, I needed a tool from the camper. There hadn't been any activity around the wasp nest for over a week. So, I carefully opened the camper door. HOLY CRAP!! The nest was indeed alive and well!
I had no idea how so many wasps could be inside that little nest! They came out like an army enraged, ready for battle to protect their fort. There were probably only a couple dozen, but when angry wasps are swarming – even a few can seem like thousands. I ran for dear life and dodged what could have been a disaster.
I went into the house looking for wasp spray, while giving the raging insects time to calm down. I get the wasp spray in a can that will shoot from twenty feet. "Dang, we're out of wasp spray?" I wrote it on the shopping list, left Nova Mae in the house, and returned to the yard. It would be hand-to-hand combat, one against an army of at least twenty-four. I really needed that tool from the camper.
By the time I returned to the camper, all the wasps were back inside – except two sentries who stood guard at the opening to the nest. I lost the sprayer for my garden hose, so I couldn't blast the nest with water from a safe distance. Instead, I picked up a six-foot-long 1X2 board and sneaked in from the side. One of the wasps saw me. "Look! It's your mom," I said, pointing in the other direction.
When the two wasps looked for their mom, I quickly poked the nest with the square tip of the board. The nest fell into the grass; wasps were swarming as thick as smoke from a wildfire! Before retreating, I smashed the fallen nest four or five times. "Haha! Take that, you evil little bas… Oh crap, they're coming after me!" I quickly threw my board like a skilled medieval warrior throws a spear, lancing the center of the grounded nest. Then – I ran like a cowardly chicken! I'm not a violent or vicious person – but I was battling wasps! I would have been more gentle with any other insect.
Over the last couple of months, I've been working on deck projects outside. I've come across a lot of pine sawyer beetles. Most of God's creations have a natural beauty, but not the sawyer beetles – they're just plain ugly and awkward, too. They fly with their body horizontal (as a pilot I assure you that is not aerodynamic) Well, the little beetles aren't so bad when they have their smooth black skin, but as they mature, their skin becomes rough, brown, and grey splotchy colored, and they are creepy – especially the males.
The male sawyer beetle has booming antennae twice the length of their body, that just hang in the air while they fly. It the most uncoordinated form of aviation I’ve ever seen. Sawyer beetle faces are ugly, too, with bulging eyes, and you can see their sharp pinchers! (They do bite.) Ick!
While working on the deck the other night, a sawyer beetle landed on my face! At first, I thought it was a giant mosquito, but its feet were clingy like a June bug, and then one of his antennas was actually poking me in the eye! Still, I didn't squish him. I grabbed the sawyer beetle off my face and threw him.
The beetle flew in his clumsy way and then landed on the top board of the deck railing where my carpenter's square was sitting. Wow! The insect on a measuring device showed how large he was, and I'd never seen one so big. After taking photos, I flung him off my square and into the yard. I'd had about enough insects for a while, but all insects serve a purpose; even the wasps, although I have no idea what their purpose would be. Still, I'd seen enough of the ugly; I needed to find some of nature's beauty.
The following day, I took a break from the deck to work on a trailer for a few hours. It's an old trailer I dug out of the woods on our property with my neighbor Gene. I will convert the trailer into a cute, raised backyard garden. I can't wait to see it filled with flowers.
While working on the trailer, a dragonfly flew very close to me and landed on the black frame's edge. I like dragonflies – I think they are pretty, and they are expert fliers with their four wings, especially compared to the sawyer beetle; it’s like beauty and the beast. Plus, dragonflies eat a lot of mosquitos, that’s a bonus. But this fella just sat on the black steel looking at me. He was the most beautiful dragonfly I'd ever seen and was only inches away from me. "Take a picture," I said. But as I reached for my cell phone, my movement scared him away. But not for long.
Within a few moments, something landed on my arm. I immediately thought it was a sawyer beetle, but when I looked down, it was the same dragonfly; his beauty was unmistakable, like no other. He climbed up my bicep and onto my shirt sleeve. I watched as he continued up my sleeve and came to rest on my shoulder. I was looking into his eyes, and he into mine, as if he wanted to tell me something. We gazed upon one another for at least thirty seconds. "Take a picture," I said. But as I reached for the camera, he flew away again. "Boy, if I never see him again, I will never forget his beauty." But he wasn't gone long.
The dragonfly returned, hovered around my face briefly, then landed about ten feet away. A few years ago. Melissa and our granddaughters built a fairy garden under the crabapple tree. The dragonfly landed on a log left over from the fairy garden. He was even more beautiful sitting where his color contrasted the brown log and green blades of grass. "You can come take my picture if you'd like," he told me.
I slowly took my phone from my pocket to take his picture. He seemed very comfortable with me, so I knelt in the grass next to him. I took several photos and told him, "You are the most beautiful dragonfly I've ever seen." He stayed on the log for a few minutes, occasionally batting his wings. I thought he would fly away, but he was just enjoying some sunshine. "I've never seen a red dragonfly," I told him. "You are special." I watched him for a couple more minutes until he flew away. "So long, my friend, feel free to come back anytime."
I opened my cell phone and typed, "How rare is a red dragonfly?" The first search returned, "Red dragonflies are extremely rare – so seeing one is a blessing in itself." Next, I searched for the significance of seeing a red dragonfly.
The Japanese consider the red dragonfly "very sacred," symbolizing courage, strength, and happiness. The American Indians believe red dragonflies can "bring a time of rejuvenation after a long period of trials and hardship." I am grateful nature sent this amazing creature my way.  
Ole Mary Lou might not like spiders and snakes, but I don’t mind them. Just how blessed am I that this little guy, a red dragonfly, should visit me three times on a beautiful sunny afternoon in the Northwoods? Life is good!