The Yellow Jackets

As the story begins TheCrow is relating one of his experiences to his friend, Trey...A selection from the apple tree conversations.



          See those pretty, red rose bushes up there in that yard, Trey? They belong to my Mama. She purely does love a red rose. They are awful pretty, ain't they, Trey?

          One day, a time ago, I was up there in that yard a seeing ifen there was anything to be found. I was having me a good day, too. I had already found me seven marbles. Every one of them was of a different color, and only one of them had itself a chip in it. They were those good kind like they used to make, not those old, cheap cat's eye marbles those marble people are passing off on us nowadays.

          Now, I know some of those cat's eyes are awful pretty to be a looking at, and I ain't a holding me no grudge agin a one of them. But I tell you, when you have got that old slingshot stretched back as far as you can get it, and you are a fixing to let fly at some old bucket a laying somewheres in the yard, purely to hone your craft so to speak. Why, you are a wanting to have yourself a fairly good piece of ammunition, something that will bounce itself offen that bucket and not break itself like a cat's eye will. That being the case, you can use that piece of ammunition more than oncet, ifen you seen where it went when it bounced itself offen that bucket.

          One of those marbles out of the seven was a blue marble, Trey. I taken her aside and put her in my front, left side, pant's pocket for safe keeping. The reason for me a treasuring that blue marble is because over the years I have done me some studying on the nature of marbles, Trey. As a result of that studying, I have figured out that blue marbles are the best color for a shooting with. I ain't taken me the reckoning as to why that is, but when a feller has himself a blue marble in his slingshot, when he turns a loose of her, she will fly straight and true. There ain't many sights prettier than a sky blue marble a flying through the air...

          Whenever I have taken it in mind to do a thing of importance, I always try to be a carrying a few blue marbles in my pocket. White is the next best color for a shooting with, Trey. Ifen I ain't got any blue ones to hand, I will carry white, although, white marbles have a tendancy to veer off to the left right afore they hit the target, so a feller has to carry that adjustment in his mind right afore he turns a loose of them. That chipped marble was a red one, so I did not feel too bad when I only got to pocket six of those I had found. Although, red is the third best color a feller can find, I never lean to the stoop when I find a red marble, they are too unpredictable and there ain't no use in a shooting with one.

          Anyways, Trey, I was up there a looking when something flew itself right close along side my head of a sudden, so I jumped nervous, a looking all over to see what it was that had sounded like a big ball of sting-hungry yellow jackets a chasing themselves something. And for a natural born fact, I know that particular sound uncommonly well. The reason I know that sound like I do, my Mama says, is because me and it have been properly introduced and have slept in the same bed more than oncet.

          Trey, my Mama sure has her some peculiar notions about yellow jackets. Ifen I was in her garden a fixing up her vegetable patch, and she happened to see me arguing with a yellow jacket, she'd say, " Jamie, honey, leave those pretty yellow jackets alone. They aren't a going to hurt you none. Go on now, and get your Mama's sweet yellow onions hoed, then I want you to plant me another bed of lettuce." Trey, I was sure taken by a hard spot when she would speak like that. As much as I loved my Mama, a difference of opinion stretched between us when it came to the subject of yellow jackets. No matter how pretty my Mama said they were, deep in my heart, I knew there were only two kinds of yellow jackets, them as was going to sting you right then, and them as was a going to sting you later.

          I was over yonder on the side of that mountain the first time I made their acquaintance. I had worn myself down and was a going home, when I happened upon a thing that lit my eyeballs. I had just climbed onto the topmost reach of a big, saddle-backed rock a standing there a lonesome. I was a looking over its edge, not a caring about a thing, except seeing ifen there was anything down there where I was a looking what might could get me rejuvenated. See, I wasn't nigh on ready to get home.

          There was a couple of things down there what might could catch your eye, but the one that had caught mine, and made the sparkle light up in them, was that steep slope I was a looking at. That darn slope was packed so tightly with dead leaves I was a thinking I could hitch me a ride for long nigh fifty feet afore they give out. I up and taken myself offen that rock, and piled me a heap of those leaves in a likely spot. Then I backed off a ways, and taken me a running go. I made the formal introductions between those leaves and myself while I was a sliding through the air. When I lit on that pile of leaves, they up and bunched up under me afore they started in a sliding down that slope like one of those avalanches.

          I rid that thing like I was a riding a bucking bronco, a whooping and a hollering and a kicking my heels up in the air. Directly though, me and those leaves slide to a halt. Trey, I was setting there in those leaves a thinking about a going back up that slope to have me another go at her, real quiet-like, not a hurting anyone, and generally minding my own business, when I felt what I thought was something a taking itself a holt on me. It wasn't any more than a second afore whatever it was had decided that it didn't take itself any kind of a fancy toward me. It was then when that little, red wagon I was always a dreaming about turned over. That wearisome thing set itself to a biting me or a stinging me, one or the other, and it didn't make me any measurable amount of difference, because it wasn't a doing me any favors either way.

          That is when I seen them, Trey. Those things were a crawling all over me, a biting and a stinging and a buzzing. My Mama says Impatient should a been my middle name, and as much as it grieved me to be a carrying that around, I didn't set there a waiting for that engraved invitation to come a walking up a yonder in the mail. I jumped out of those leaves a running afore my feet was under me, a headed for Pikeville.

          I thought I was a whooping and a hollering and a kicking up my heels in the air when I was a riding those leaves, but you ain't heard you the real thing till you have done been rode proper-like by a whole passel of yellow jackets.

          Trey, those hateful things just don't rightly know when to get off of a feller. Seems oncet they have acquired themselves a taste of you, they take themselves a heap of unnatural enjoyment out of sinking in their stingers. I reckon them as was a riding me had done that sort of thing a time or two, because they sure were experts at it. Every time I taken me a step, one or the other of those tormenting devils would sink a stinger into me, a making the fire blaze up. There was only one way I could think of to put out that fire, and I was a headed for it.

          Directly, a feeling like I was one of those half scalded dogs what was a standing in the way and taken him the scalding what was meant for the hog, I come on that creek I was headed for, and fetched myself into it, shoes, clothes, yellow jackets and all. I stayed in that cool water for a spell, a teaching those yellow jackets how to swim, and a making certain that none of them didn't get too good at it. After several eternities had passed, the fire a riding on my backside had burnt itself down to a few smoking embers, and I came out of that creek and set out for the house to see ifen I could get myself some sympathy.


in progress...