Chores

   I decided to deal with the ground-bee nests that a skunk or possum or bear dug up a few weeks ago. I've been putting it off but knew I should fill the holes soon. Last year, there was a similar excavation of a bee hole in the back yard, the hole being easily avoidable until the fall leaves covered it. I'd forgotten  where it was until one day walking around the house to the back yard, my foot stepped into the hole, and I  slid down the slope, expecting to hear the snap of a broken ankle, but fortunately, I was unscathed. Lesson learned.

  I marked this year's excavations with a sign, at first to warn others of the danger at my doorstep, but after I poured boiling water down the three dug-out holes and the bees were long gone, I left the sign, now with its message worn away, as a memo to me to avoid stepping in the holes. 

  First step was to find a pail and shovel and find a place to dig some dirt. I went to the bank at the back of the property, battling mosquitoes all the way, despite the application of Raid. I filled the pail and poured the dirt down the first, smaller hole.  It was like pouring water into the ocean. I remembered from last year researching ground bees, and finding their underground communities are bee versions of Sim City, extensive underground civilizations. Added dirt  just lay along the pathways. I needed something more solid so I  brought my bucket to the side of the road and filled it with the chunks of blacktop that constituted gravel in the eyes of the suboptimal company that did  roadside grooming a year or so ago. I dropped the pieces down into the two smaller holes and topped them off with the dirt. Exhausted by manual labor, I figure I'll  deal with the largest hole later, or maybe wait until snow fills it in.