As I write this, I'm fighting the urge to stop occasionally to absent-mindedly scratch beneath my nose. It's not one of those mustache things, or even a mosquito bite or poison ivy, although I've run into some of that this year. It has more to do with my fat lip.

I had planned a gala bonfire for July 4, complete with marshmallows, chocolate bars, graham crackers and hot dogs.

Personally, I've always thought hot dogs and marshmallows were enough, but that's besides the point. I had been saving up brush and other burn pile materials for several months and it all needed to be burned before the pile grew any larger.

Prior to that day, I made some preparations around the house to get ready, like cutting down all the weeds around the yard with the string trimmer. Although I earlier professed not to enjoy trimming, there is a certain appeal in watching the grass and weeds fall, as well as a satisfaction in having it all look nice when done. However, there's not much fun in being cut by briars, splatted with poison oak, covered with bits of green pulp and pummeled by little rocks and sticks.

While I was at it, I took the precaution of cutting back the weeds from around the brush pile on the bottom of my property-the planned site for the bonfire. The weeds were pretty tall and, up until Saturday night, it had been pretty dry out.

I didn't want to risk having a forest fire instead of a bonfire.

After cutting a nice fire break around the pile, I went back the following evening to rake up the loose grass while one of my friends tossed a couple of limbs back on top of the pile that had fallen off.

As I raked the embankment behind the pile, I found myself being attacked by at least one very angry insect. What may have been a yellowjacket, trying to attack my face, was swatted off just a little too late. It stung me in the upper lip before I could knock the persistent little devil to the ground.

Not knowing where the bees were coming from-often, as most folks know, yellowjackets live in underground nests-I returned to the area of the attack most cautiously. My friend soon spotted the bees flying around inside the brush pile, where they had built a large paper nest.

Since I had already raked most of the cut grass down to the pile, it was with some relish that I watched as the fire was lighted and my newfound enemies perished. With one very pouty lip upper lip somewhat curved into a smile shape, I watched the thing burn up faster than a tank of fuel does in my old pickup.

Soon I wasn't noticing the welcome flames as much as my own mouth. Within a half hour, my lip had swollen noticeably and I was the target of snickers here and there, mainly from members of my most immediate family. Of course the laughter didn't stop there, the fat lip jokes carried on for another 36 hours or so until the swelling went down. Sometimes while talking, even seriously, I was greeted by uncontrollable giggles.

Later that night when I looked in the mirror after the fireworks show, I saw what appeared to be a collagen injection gone wrong-or at best half finished. My thin upper lip on the right was flanked by my new "Mick Jagger" look. Although I've always been a fan, I never thought I would favor the legendary singer.

Although I did crack a few jokes about it, I was the brunt of far more laughter than the jokes would entail. Luckily, the pain wasn't as bad as it looked. Once it had swollen up, the pain was mostly gone. But now it's itching as it heals, which is much more bothersome and the reason for my scratching.

Anyway, before getting stung, my time was eventful, but not nearly as entertaining. I spent the day on Friday working on the siding on the back of the house, tearing off the old rotted siding boards and replacing them with plywood and fanfold insulation.

There were bees to deal with there as well, but none so aggressive as the yellowjackets in the brush pile. The old shutters on the back of the house, which were basically hollow pieces of metal painted maroon, were great refuges for bees, especially ones that make flat paper nests like wasps. After tearing everything down and spraying and removing the nests, I still had to deal with homeless bees buzzing around for quite a few hours afterwards. They seemed more confused than angry, for the most part. I suppose it would be like coming home to find your house missing. I haven't done that since I last drank too much nectar at my friend's house, I'm sure the bees were thinking. What a night that was. By that evening, they all had basically gone away, especially after I removed the remainder of the siding and all vestiges of familiarity with the neighborhood were gone. At least none of them stung me. One did cause me to jump off the ladder swinging my arms wildly when it hit me in the side of the head, but it might have just been near-sighted.

There is another large bees' nest in the wall in the back of the house that I have yet to deal with. They appear to be hornets, which are notorious for being foul tempered. It is with some reticence that I look toward to this week and being forced to confront another bee nemesis without the aid of a very large fire. A fat lip may be the least of my worries if things go badly with a wall filled with hornets. Maybe I'll wear a bee suit this time, since I actually know they're there to start with. I hope I have a better plan by then.
 

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