I plonked myself down in the study the other day with the intention of spending a couple of hours writing. Instead, I gazed out on the backyard, watching the antics of the fairy wrens as they hopped about, and within 30 seconds, 30 seconds mind you, there he was outside the window just a few inches away, a Jack Jumper. Not one of those very tall sporty guys who plays basketball for Tasmania, but the ant variety, equally as energetic but much more deadly.
They are usually ground dwellers, but this rather adventurous specimen bravely paraded around on the outside of the window, taunting me, reminding me that the yard was his territory not mine. A hot sunny day will bring them out, and after suffering anaphylaxis some years ago due to their lethal sting I’ve become an expert at spotting them at fifty paces. They have become my nemesis, my strategy over the years being either to avoid them when further afield, or to engage in battle when they have the temerity to appear on my patch and threaten my stronghold.
If you can find their nest, all well and good, for a dusting of ant powder will dispense with them forthwith, that is until they pop up in another location somewhere down the track. They don’t bite like the more familiar Bull ant, but sting with their tail, the problem being the more stings you get the more it builds up in your system until you receive the one that sends you over the edge and you find yourself gasping for air as your lips and tongue and throat swell, and the prospect of an early demise suddenly looms ominously close and very real.
It became a subject of interest to those of us waiting in the Jack Jumper clinic at Hobart hospital, wondering if somehow we were all emitting a particular pheromone irresistible to said ants, for I can attest to the fact that whenever I find one, if I stand still, no matter how many metres away, it will make a bee-line for me, or maybe that should be an ant-line, and if I squoosh it, you can guarantee his mates will come from everywhere to exact their revenge. After six years of desensitisation injections, with a live ant test thrown in for good measure to see how I’d react, I have since faced the world each day with antihistamines and Epipen at the ready should I inadvertently fall victim to another attack.
As a thinker and planner,
the ant is the equal
of any savage race of men.
- Mark Twain
I’m not an ant hater, far from it, for these industrious little creatures can teach us a lot about teamwork and working for the common good. When the animated movie Antz was released back in 1998, Woody Allen’s voice leant itself beautifully to the conflicted worker ant Z, anxiously seeking to discover his own individuality amid the overwhelming daily grind of the colony’s work ethic. Sound familiar? With no power over where his life was heading, Z felt small, his contribution seen as worthless in the bigger scheme of things. He felt he had to go out into the big wide world to prove himself, to win the hand of the one he loved, and to display the courage needed to face unforeseen challenges before he could return and rally the troops to fight the tyranny of the soldier ants back in the colony making their life a misery.
Of course, everything works out, but funnily enough Z ends up right back where he started, a worker ant in the midst of a huge colony. What has changed though is his perspective. He comes to value receiving the help of others, the camaraderie of working together to achieve a goal, and the satisfaction brought about by helping others himself. Through stepping out of his comfort zone he comes to believe he is capable of much more than others expect of him and can see where he fits in the bigger picture, so what was once a chore becomes a common goal to be faced together. Maybe we humans could take a leaf out of their Operations Manual.
Naturalist Lewis Thomas was an avid observer of ants and wrote:
Ants are so much like human beings as to be an embarrassment.
They farm fungi, raise aphids as livestock, launch armies into wars,
use chemical sprays to alarm and confuse enemies, capture slaves…
They do everything but watch television.
I’m not privy to the inner workings of ant nests and what goes on in the tiny little brains of their inhabitants, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, shining brightly on to my desk, right on cue, His Lordship returned. Was it his job to be the daily scout, seeking out relevant information to be relayed back to the nest? Those little orange feelers out the front were twitching overtime. Could he see me? Definitely possible. Surely he couldn’t smell me through the glass, but it looked like he was sure doing his darndest to seek out his prey. I am proof the immunotherapy works, for since the end of treatment I have been stung with no disastrous consequences, but I made the prudent decision to leave the window closed, definitely didn’t want to tempt fate. Like I said, I’m not an ant hater, but when it comes to Jack Jumpers and making a choice between my life and theirs, I choose mine.
