Update on WWIII with the pollinators. I am still alive. The lawn mower stands alone in the dark and the rain. My war injuries greatly benefit from the Benadryl (oral and creme form). I have some pain, redness, swelling and heat but am much improved.

I believe the battle is over. I found one more pollinator inside my territory but he was deceased when I found him. Proper burial will commence.

I will not destroy my enemy. I attacked first. This ground nest wasn't even in the mowed area. Ironically I was trying to make it a better yard for pollinators by mowing down some short buckthorn when this nest became collateral damage. I offer my hand in peace. I might put up a memorial for the enemy, a sign that reads "Men At Work."  I am determined to be the bigger person in our peace negotiations. Actually I am lucky to only 3 bites and none to the face. When the war began I was wearing shoes, socks, farmer bibs, hat, and long sleeved hooded shirt. Only my face,neck and collarbones were exposed. My wounds are easily hidden. I am lucky.

Photo of war casualty on knitted bathroom rug. Very sad. By the way those other pictures display another worry for me. I grew bird house gourds in my garden. The vines with their crazy strong tendrils were trying to strangle my sunflowers and tomato plants. I prevented murder by plants. I cut them back and left a good 30 feet on the grass to die. Three sections of vine refused to die. The severed vines lived and actually flowered without roots like decapitated chickens running around the chicken coop. My yard is a yard of horror. Again, I beg of you, please check on my welfare routinely. Like Pat Benatar sings, "Love is a battlefield."