Watching the ants

 by Byrna Porter Weir
Special to the Pioneer Times
    “Too many ants,” said Ina sitting on the top step in front of the cottage, as she pointed to the cement walk. Porter said, “I’ll use a little kerosene along the edges.” That was the solution for my parents in the 1940s. Times change.
    Late one evening last summer, an ant stands on the apron of my white porcelain sink — and stands. What is he doing? He moves one leg around, then another. I watch, get a magnifier and watch some more. Is he eating? No way: No food.
    As the ant flexes its legs, I think of other ants. In Greece, brown ones had very long legs, as if walking on stilts. A fellow traveler on a five-day tour of the classical cities was a recent college graduate from Argentina, who wanted everyone to speak Spanish. To start me off, “Hormiga is ant and poco a’ poco, little by little, that’s how you will learn Spanish.”
    Those tall ones must have been Mediterranean ants, as they appeared in Israel on my shortcut path to Hebrew school in Tel Aviv. I tried out the language on them, and with a cat on the same path.
    I never noticed ants in India until I boarded a plane in Hyderabad, and a few black ants were crawling up the wall near my seat. The stewardess acknowledged my report with, “Oh, yes, thank you,” then ignored the ants.
    This live-and-let-live tolerance for all forms of life in India prepared me for the Philippines, where I was visiting the family of a Filipino-American friend. When I noticed small ants near the sink, my friend’s mother merely brushed them aside and went on cutting vegetables.
    Now, back home in my kitchen, the ant has disappeared. Later, when one appears on the table, I use the bug jar to deliver him outside — and imagine one of his coworkers asking, “How many times has she put you out today?”
    Another bug-jar attempt goes awry. On the windowsill above the sink, the ant evades the bug jar and falls into a dish of soapy water. Oh, no, it could drown! A spoon delivers it to the sink and after a little water rinses off the detergent, the ant moves around and goes into the bug jar.
    Ants do not come in every year, but little ones have arrived in small groups. This year, a larger variety entered, one or two a day — or one twice? Each one rushes around with no discernible purpose. Just trying to get back out?
    Other years, the ants always left after two to three weeks. This year they lasted only two. In the 1940s, at the cottage, they stayed outside.