“This is no way to begin the week,” said my husband, Mike, on a hot Monday morning this past summer, “but I think we have a leak.”

I sighed, walked over to the bay window in our bedroom, and peered up at the stain on the ceiling. “I’ll call a roofer,” I said.

But as I looked out the window and craned my neck toward the roofline, I noticed something even more alarming: that bees, lots of bees, or so I thought, were making, well, a beeline for what I later realized was a crack between the exterior stone and cedar siding on our home. The leak was not a leak, in fact, but the handiwork of the insects.

Mike poked the ceiling to determine the severity of the issue. His finger went through the mushy drywall. Unfazed, he went to the kitchen, unrolled a stretch of Saran Wrap, taped it across the spongy ceiling with duct tape around the perimeter—and then left for work.

I am war-weary when it comes to home ownership. After 36 years and four homes, I assumed I’d battled it all—from the lightning strike that toppled a tree on the front lawn of my Lutherville rancher and screwed up the entire electrical system to the septic backup in my 1940s fixer-upper.

Seven years ago, when we moved to our 1979 Pikesville townhome with its gleaming new parts—new plumbing and electrical systems, new roof and HVAC system—we thought home headaches were a thing of the past. And with the exception of the time a finch flew into the house and landed on the 30-foot beam along our living room ceiling, plus an occasional visit from the 7-foot black snake who surfaced for sun from the subfloor of our deck where it lived, and an ongoing battle with moths, we’ve mostly managed to live in our empty nest with ease. Alas, the insect-like hum we had noticed for days in our bedroom was not coming from the neighbors in the adjoining townhouse (they were on vacation), but inside our walls.

At this point, I invoked the famous Woody Allen line, “I’m at two with nature.”

Things that go buzz are a very specific kind of nuisance. (Search: “Bees or wasps in walls of house” on Google if you want to see what I mean. An image search is even more terrifying.) The first step in eradicating winged insects that buzz is to determine what kind you have. If they’re honeybees, which are protected pollinators, the entire hive must be moved intact, and no one will exterminate for them.

After a brief search, I found a team of two on the internet claiming to be exterminators. Hours later, they were standing outside my bedroom window. One of them mentioned that he was a former security guard at the National Gallery of Art, the other was wearing a crepe bee suit. Mostly what they had going for them was that they returned my call. They diagnosed the issue—these were not kindly honeybees but wasps, the meanest mother-effers in the insect world.

Unlike bees, they’re capable of stinging numerous times and are carnivores who first sting their prey and then eat it. (After watching a YouTube video, I learned that when feeding their young, they narcotize their prey, tranquilizing it and keeping it alive until the hatched larvae are ready to feed.) When threatened, wasps swarm in large groups to defend their homes, even when their home is actually your home, and your name is on the mortgage.

All I knew for sure is that our nest now belonged to the wasps.

So, a plan was made for these “experts” to exterminate the following week, then, as part of the remediation, repair my ceiling for the starting price of $2,500 (or more, depending on the size of the nest). As they sat on my bed and petted my dogs, suspicion was starting to set in, but my judgment was clouded by fear and prevented me from asking even the most obvious questions, like since when do exterminators also do home construction? And who removes a live wasp-filled hive? All I knew for sure is that our nest now belonged to the wasps.

Over the next few days, Mike donned latex gloves, a hoodie sealed with duct tape at the wrist, and sweatpants taped at the ankle. Each night he gingerly unwrapped the Saran, sprayed insecticide Rambo-style into the hole, and sealed it up again. The quarter-sized hole continued to enlarge, providing a viewing window—we were basically living inside the hive with that thin coating of Saran the only thing separating us from total disaster. When the wasps continued to come and go, and I had time to come to my senses, I knew it was time to get a second opinion.

A friend recommended Raven Termite & Pest Control—their motto, “If it’s crawling up your wall, who you gonna call?”—and told me to ask for Troy. Within days, Troy arrived, in khakis and a Raven Termite shirt looking the part of a real professional. Unlike the last duo, I was impressed by his plan to kill the wasps before evicting them and hired him on the spot. Oh, and his fee? $250.

First, Troy used a long rod with a pincer that sprayed a white dust in the exterior crack. The wasps, he explained, would then carry the poison into the hive. After the spraying, our ceiling became softer and spongier. At night, I stayed up wondering just how many stings it would take to kill us. (One random search said 1,000.) I was equal parts freaked out and fascinated.

Humans have coexisted with insects since the beginning of time, but we are far outnumbered. According to the Entomological Society of America, there are 10 quintillion insects (that’s 18 zeroes!) on Earth at any given time. There are more than 200 million insects for each person on the planet. There are also more than 100 million species of wasps worldwide—at least a thousand of which seemed to be in our bedroom.

Troy returned 10 days later, to give time for the poison to do its job. With each spraying, the paint continued to stretch and soften, until finally a tiny bit of the honeycomb hive was revealed. It was nestled inside a fan-shaped, brown, and bark-like, protective layer.

“This should do the trick,” Troy said.

Another week went by, and Troy returned yet again. It was time. Standing inside our bedroom, he peeled back the plastic, as hundreds of dead wasps, in various states of decay, fell into a bucket on the floor. At last, the entire nest was exposed. The honeycomb structure was textbook—intricate, handmade (well, actually built from wood fiber chewed into a paper-like pulp and vomited into our ceiling)—and undeniably beautiful.

The hive was covered in poisonous white dust, which gave it a delicate, lace-like quality. On some level, I admired these wasps and their worker bee-ness as purposeful predators whose life’s work is singular and simple: to burrow, usually deep down into the soil (or ceiling), then procreate and eat other insects, which helps keep pest populations down. With his gloved hands, Troy extracted the nest, layer by delicate layer—three in all.

As he excavated and sprayed, several larvae emerged from their sacks and started to hatch before our eyes. “New life,” he said.

When it was all over, in a place once teeming with life, there was now nothing but a hollow hole. I’ll admit, I felt a little melancholy. I got that same feeling years ago when a towering old tree was looming close to our house, and we were forced to cut it down. It never feels good to kill something that was once alive, whatever it is—and for whatever the reason.

Life teaches us lessons, even when we weren’t looking for one in some small cavity between the drywall and the roof of our house. In the end, life is defined by opposing forces—floating and falling, beauty and brutality, birth and death, struggle and survival.

And even the most fortified nest can’t ward off what sometimes slips through the cracks. All you can do is try.

It’s that perfect time of year in Baltimore. The sun is still shining while the air is turning cool and crisp. And in the evenings when you step outside it always smells like your neighbor’s burning fire pit.

With the change in season comes a bounty of fall fun, too. For families, the autumn happenings are piling up as fast as the mountain of unraked leaves in your yard. But skip the raking (or better yet, make the kids do it) and be sure you don’t miss out on any of these local activities that only come around during this gorgeous time of year.

The Barnyard at Weber’s Cider Mill Farm
Fall is the absolute best time to take a trip to Weber’s Cider Mill Farm. You can grab some delicious donuts and cider while you shop for produce or Halloween decor, but the outdoor barnyard is truly the place to be.

With its haunted house, massive slides, hay maze, and, of course, barnyard animals, kids will want to stay and play all day. Feed the goats, stuff a scarecrow, or hop on a hayride. But whatever you do to pass the time—don’t leave without a pumpkin or five.

Pumpkinfest at Irvine Nature Center
If you’re looking to get in the fall spirit, Irvine Nature Center has all the outdoor fun you can handle. It’s yearly festival which celebrates the offerings of autumn has music, food, magic shows, face painting, and more. You can get crafty painting pumpkins, hop ‘till you drop in a sack race, interact with the animals, or just relax the day away at one of Baltimore’s most scenic spots.

Great Halloween Lantern Parade and Festival in Patterson Park
It’s almost time for one of the city’s best yearly parades, produced by the Creative Alliance and Friends of Patterson Park. It happens on Saturday, October 27, and you can expect things to get spooktacular. This event comes with lanterns and costumes and candy, oh my. The festival starts at 3 p.m. and the parade lines up at 6:30. If you need assistance with your lantern-making, you can head to one of Creative Alliance’s several workshops to make sure your lantern is properly lit.

Pick Pumpkins at Gaver Farm
While it’s a bit of a hike, heading to Gaver Farm in Mount Airy this time of year is worth the trek. The pumpkin patch is now open every day to pick your own and hayrides to get you there are free. Apple picking is only open on Saturday and Sundays, so if you’re in need of a bussell for all those pies, make sure you stop by the orchard on the weekend. While you’re there, enjoy all the attractions (open until November 4) like giant slides, pedal carts, corn mazes, and more.

Honey Harvest Festival at Oregon Ridge
On October 6-7, come celebrate all things honey at the annual festival where bees are the headliners. Learn about the incredible creatures by watching honeybee hive demos. And, if you get hungry, enjoy all the food trucks have to offer, then go ahead and make some honey-flavored ice cream for dessert. The best part about this all-ages gathering (aside from the fact that you’ll take home more honey than Pooh) is that admission is totally free. How sweet is that?

Apple picking at Butler’s Orchard
Butler’s Orchard in Germantown is another sweet spot to hit up this time of year. It has some of the best harvesting around including apples galore (Stayman and Golden Delicious) for $1.99 a pound. Now that’s a lot of applesauce! There are, of course, pumpkins to pick and flowers, too. While you’re there, the kids can enjoy the fun of hayrides, pony rides, and even visiting the farm’s two miniature donkeys.

For the longest time we just thought of honey as the stuff that comes in the little bear bottle with a yellow cap. But with local sourcing on the rise, and refined sugar doing a death spiral, artisanal honeys—as pure and natural as it comes—are all the buzz. In fact, according to the National Honey Board, there are more than 300 unique types of honey produced in the United States. In Maryland alone, there are more than 2,000 beekeepers, from commercial caretakers to backyard enthusiasts. 

Honey is full of nuance, its flavors and colors influenced by the seasonal flowers that honeybees pollinate, ranging in taste—from fruit-forward and floral to woodsy and earthy—and tint, from flaxen and golden to amber and molasses. In Maryand, these sweet syrups are a way to taste our region’s diverse terrain. We are known as “America in Miniature,” after all.

H.T. Krantz HONEY CO.
Raised in the fields of Frederick amid clover, alfalfa, or in this case, local wildflowers, this light delight is as smooth and pure as they come—even approved by ultimate locavore, chef Spike Gjerde. Bird in Hand, 11 E. 33rd St., 410-814-0373

BEE FRIENDLY APIARY
This small-batch, Baltimore-bred, ooey-gooey gold is influenced by the city’s flora and foliage, including local flowering trees such as the Locust, Poplar, Redbud, and Linden, giving it a fresh, ambrosial tang. Atwater’s, 815 Frederick Road, Catonsville, 410-747-4120

LORD BYRON’S APIARY
At the foothills of the Catoctin Mountains in the countryside of Thurmont, this clover-infused confection is amber-toned and herbaceous with a peppery spice. (Best of all, it’s sold in one of those adorable aforementioned bear bottles.) Whole Foods, 1001 Fleet St., 410-528-1640

WAXING KARA
This caramel-colored autumn honey is harvested along a breathtaking edge of the Chesapeake Bay in Kent Island on the Eastern Shore. Its silky finish is imparted with the bold floral flavors of native Maryland plants, and a hint of salt from the shoreline’s brackish waters. Honey House, 10209 Grand Central Ave., Owings Mills, 410-363-2200

Nature News

Have you ever seen the alarming photos of what a supermarket produce section would look like without bees? If not, here you go:

So we all get that bees are critical agents in the food chain, right? Well then, one local beekeeper has some bad news for us.

Bill Castro, who runs Bee Friendly Apiary out of his home in Southwest Baltimore, says more than 56 percent of managed honeybee colonies in Maryland were lost in 2016. This follows a three-year average loss of 54 percent.

“This means that beekeepers in Maryland spend over $1.13 million every year to replace approximately 7,600 lost registered honeybee colonies,” writes Castro in an email. “If managed honey bee losses are this high, how do we think that wild native bee populations are fairing?”

The statistic Castro cites comes from Bee Informed Partnership, a collaborative effort among academic institutions, agriculturalists, scientists, and apiary owners to better understand honey bee declines in the United States. The troubling figure reinforces worries about worldwide losses from so-called Colony Collapse Disorder—an inexplicable dying off of hives—that researchers theorize is caused by pesticide use, parasites, and loss of habitat. However, recent stories indicate that the problem may not be as dire as previously thought.

In any case, local bee populations seem to be among those still suffering.

One step the average citizen can take to help the bees is to stagger garden plantings, so at least some flora is always blooming throughout the season. Bees begin foraging in early spring and continue until late fall. However, many garden plants and agriculture crops bloom only in the spring or fall, leaving the bees with little to sustain them the rest of the year.

Your local garden center can probably help you pick plants preferred by pollinator, which include bees, butterflies, birds, bats, and several other insects. Or, if you want to be super eco-friendly, Herring Run Nursery in Baltimore City can provide expertise in creating a pollinator garden using only plant species native to Maryland.

BGE took a small but symbolically significant step toward pollinator preservation in mid-November when it announced a partnership with the Maryland Department of Natural Resources to return approximately 200 acres of utility-managed land in state parks to natural meadow habitat.

“This partnership benefits the state, our customers and, most importantly, the pollinators that are vital for a healthy environment,” said Derrick Dickens, vice president of Technical Services for BGE. “Changing the way we manage these electric rights of way will encourage the return of pollinators and native ecosystems, while still ensuring that power lines are safely maintained.”

Sustainability Shorts

After discontinuing its composting drop-off program for several months while it overhauled its system, Real Food Farm is once again accepting food scraps at its Clifton Park location. The farm’s new system—developed in tandem with the Institute for Local Self-Reliance and Urban Farm Plans—follows a co-op model that asks participants to take a one-hour training course before joining and then volunteer one hour per month to maintain membership. Once joined, members can drop off kitchen scraps any time and take home finished compost to fertilize their own gardens. If residents would like to participate but don’t have time to volunteer, Real Food Farm also accepts compost via Compost Cab, a collection service that operates in the Baltimore and D.C. metro areas.

Somewhere between 20 and 40 percent of all food in the U.S. goes to waste, ending up in landfills where it decomposes and emits methane, a greenhouse gas several times more potent than carbon dioxide. Composting is one way to divert unused food from landfill. Gleaning—the process of collecting excess food in order to feed food-insecure populations—is another. There are several local organizations that facilitate gleaning, including Gather Baltimore, Hungry Harvest, and the Mid-Atlantic Gleaning Network.

Visiting Laureate

On Wednesday, the famed poet, environmentalist, and farmer Wendell Berry spoke at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health about finding hope and sanctuary in a simple life lived in harmony with the natural world.

“I can’t give anybody hope,” said Berry, who spoke as part of a celebration marking the 20th anniversary of the school’s Center for a Livable Future. “Hope has to come up out of you … To find something worth hoping for is a very good place to start. There are things worth hoping for, there are good people, this is still a very beautiful world.”

A recap of the talk, which was led by journalist Eric Schlosser, can be found here.