Some people are born natural handymen. Others can fix almost anything with a little ingenuity, determination, and a trip to the hardware store. And then there was my neighbor, Mr. P.

As a very young child in Marquette, Michigan, many of life’s greatest entertainments didn’t come from television. They happened right outside our front doors. One summer, a colony of bees moved into the eaves of the Periwinkle family’s house, and Mr. P decided it was his duty to evict them.

What followed was not so much a battle between man and nature as it was a three-act comedy featuring ladders, bug spray, fire, an increasingly irritated swarm of bees, and one very determined Frenchman who simply refused to admit defeat.

If common sense had been a spectator, it would have left after the first act.

Enjoy my recollection of Mr. “P” and the bees.

The kids in the Periwinkle family, a large family living down the street from us, were our best friends. We could always be found playing in their yard, or they were playing in our yard.

Their father, as I remember, was not very tall, but he was a strong Frenchman fighting the beginning of a paunch hanging over his belt line. To a little boy of only three years old, he was a giant. He was a very gentle giant, however, and the neighborhood kids liked him.

Mr. “P” was a very quiet and soft-spoken man and was never seen without a smile on his corpulent face. It was difficult to see the smile sometimes because a very fuzzy beard obscured his grin. Even if we couldn’t see his pleasant smile, we heard it in his soft voice.

The Periwinkle family lived in a two-story, green shingled house, with an attached garage, down the hill from us. The attached garage was an oddity in our neighborhood; most houses on the block didn’t have a garage.

One summer a group of particularly industrious bees constructed an elegant hive under the eaves in the back corner of the Periwinkle house. This corner, directly over the garage in the backyard, overlooked the patch of yard where neighborhood children played constantly.

The Periwinkle’s backyard was the largest and best-kept yard in the neighborhood. Mr. “P” knew he had to remove the beehive or some poor kid was going to get stung.

Attempt One: Stick & Ladder

He first tried to use a ladder and long stick to do the job. Steadying the ladder against the house and climbing it, he tried poking the beehive with the stick, hoping to knock it down.

After climbing as far as he thought was safe and stretching as far as he could, he found he couldn’t reach the hive. It was too far away. The beehive was near, but not near enough to knock down. He couldn’t move the ladder any closer to the house either; a large, thorny berry bush was in his way.

After stretching didn’t work, Mr. “P” foolishly leaned away from the ladder a bit. With one hand hanging on to the ladder, Mr. “P” leaned out a little bit more. He still could not reach the hive. Frustrated, he leaned out even more.

He was within a hair’s breadth of reaching the beehive now, but still not succeeding in his mission. One more stretch and he would be able to knock the beehive out from under the eaves.

Steadying his left foot on the extreme edge of the ladder rung, dangling the right foot in midair, he paused momentarily to examine the state of affairs. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He inhaled one strong, deep breath before stretching his stocky frame to its limit.

With one extreme powerful jerk of his body he reached out to whack the hive. He dropped his stick! He grabbed for the lumber in an instinctive motion, but slipped.

Wow, what a dismount! In an instant he lost his grip on the ladder rail then lost his balance completely. His left foot shot off the ladder rung.

Poor Mr. “P”. He was lucky the bushes were beneath him softening his fall. He wasn’t completely untouched, however. He twisted his ankle, ending up on crutches for two weeks and scratched his face and arms when he landed in the thorny bushes. Oh yeah… the beehive… it wasn’t touched.

Attempt Two: Bug Spray Surprise

For the next two weeks, we couldn’t play in the backyard of the Periwinkle’s house because the bees were still buzzing around. Once Mr. “P” had recuperated and was off his crutches, he was more determined than ever that the bees had to go!

With renewed resolve, he vowed to rid his house of bees once and for all. There would be no more playing around, no more toying with the pesky vermin by poking their hive with a measly switch.

He armed himself with a weapon equal to his task at hand. He would get rid of them once and for all by using the most powerful bug spray his money could buy!

Once again Mr. “P” pulled his trusty ladder out from the garage. Climbing the ladder as before, he stretched as far as his stunted body would allow. Getting nearer to the beehive (making sure he didn’t lean out too far this time), he was ready. On his back was strapped his handy-dandy, all-purpose, high-pressure, pump sprayer. He had loaded it with lethal bug spray.

Pumping the lever with all his strength to build up pressure within the canister, he settled in on the ladder before pulling the trigger releasing the bug spray. Unfortunately, just as he fired his weapon at the enemy’s entrenchment, the wind picked up

It was blowing the fine mist from the spray back into his face. Mr. “P” never knew he was allergic to the chemicals in the spray! Didn’t take him long to find out though.

Mr. “P”’s face immediately turned red as it swelled like a little hairy puffer fish. It was a good thing he had a beard because his fur hid most of the swelling.

When I saw him walking around the neighborhood over the next few days he looked like a man with a hairy red balloon sitting atop his shoulders. It took over a week for his swelling to go down.

Attempt Three: Torch of Doom

By now, Mr. “P” had enough of the senselessness. Ladders, sticks, and even bug spray were child’s play. HA! He thought long and hard before coming up with his greatest idea! (Or so he thought at the time.) He decided he would torch the accursed beehive.

Whoa! Let’s just stop right here for a moment and reflect on the recent adventures my neighbor Mr. “P” has suffered through. Did he really want to go there? Well, there was no stopping him.

Remember the stick and the ladder from earlier in this story? He pulled them out of the garage again. Taking the long stick and wrapping the end in old rags, he soaked his newly created torch in a pail of kerosene. (Slow down there, you’re way ahead of me now.)

It’s easy to guess what happened to Mr. “P” this time. The stick, being made of wood and covered in kerosene-soaked rags, made an unfortunate combination. You guessed it, when Mr. “P” lit the rags on fire, it didn’t take too long for the stick to begin to burn also.

Knowing he had to move quickly, he climbed to the top of the ladder as fast as he possibly could. He stretched as far and as safely as he thought possible. This time, the fiery baton in his hand was held out far enough to reach the beehive. To his wonder and amazement, the beehive caught fire as planned.

Mr. “P” hadn’t planned on what happened next. Why he didn’t figure on some kind of a reaction no one knows, but as the beehive became engulfed in flame, the bees hastily deserted their habitat! Boy, were they ever furious!! It didn’t take them long to find out what was making their hive so hot.

With their hive ablaze and hell bent for revenge, they attacked, flying directly towards Mr. “P”. Screaming with fright, Mr. “P” abandoned his ladder as fast as he could.

He must have remembered the fall he took earlier in the summer, as he was more careful in his descent this time. He escaped with no broken bones, but he did get numerous bee stings.

The ultimate damage was done when Mr. “P”, diving for cover, forgot about his torch. The fiery rags, by now, had burned through the stick, which fell onto the garage roof lighting it on fire. The hive, which was still burning under the eaves of the house, ignited another roof section.

Noticing the fire, Mr. “P” (whose face was starting to swell from the bee stings) ran for his garden hose and aimed it at the roof. He twisted the brass nozzle on the hose to allow the water to flow. Nothing came out. Only then did he remember he hadn’t connected the hose to the water faucet on the house.

By now fire trucks were roaring up the street, screeching to a halt in front of his house. It was fortuitous that the firehouse was only two blocks down the hill.

The firemen had the fire extinguished in short order, however, before loading their equipment back into their fire engine; they lectured Mr. “P” about being foolish for trying to get rid of the bees in such a dangerous manner. He was in no mood to argue by now; his tongue was swollen, having been stung by at least three bees.

The Buzz Ends

Mr. P spent the rest of the summer repairing the damage—repainting the garage, patching the eaves, and growing increasingly wary of backyard biology. But the bees? They were gone.

Whether it was the smoke, the poison, or the overwhelming display of human foolishness, they’d finally had enough.

Looking back, I sometimes think those bees were smarter than all of us.

Years later, I still laugh whenever I think about that summer. Mr. P never intended to provide entertainment for an entire neighborhood, but that’s exactly what he did. What began as a simple attempt to remove a beehive somehow managed to involve twisted ankles, allergic reactions, bee stings, a small roof fire, fire trucks, and enough excitement to keep the neighborhood children talking for weeks.

Looking back, I’m not sure what impressed me more: Mr. P’s determination or the bees’ refusal to surrender.

The hive eventually disappeared, the house was repaired, and life returned to normal. But the story lived on. In fact, it became one of those neighborhood legends that grows a little funnier every time it’s told.

And whenever I remember Mr. P standing on that ladder, armed with another “foolproof” plan, I can’t help but think that the bees weren’t really fighting for a hive.

They were fighting common sense. And for most of that summer, common sense was losing.

Thank you for being patient over the past few weeks as I was incapacitated due to a freak ailment and hospitalization. I hope to resume posting on a regular in the near future, but for now, as I post, I will keep you up-to-date.

Please share my stories with your friends and family so they can enjoy my stories as you have.

Regards to all,

Mike