Open Season for Ants
Last summer, a mysterious ant problem arose in the house. They would show up in the bathroom one day to eat some cat sick, then upstairs in the office to take advantage of a dish left out the night before-scads of them building tiny scent laced black ant highways through our house.
Over the winter they were dormant, but we knew that at any moment the ants would be back. It has been warmer recently (with the exception of ice/snow/sleet week last week), and the ants have been scouting the house. I'll find a solitary ant on the carpet of the living room, or hanging out on a windowsill, or near the bathroom sink.
Today marks their first foray of the year, though. They discovered the container of orange juice next to my bed (feeding my cold), and established an open ant highway in a matter of only a few hours.
I traced them to the baseboard, where they disappeared into a hole. Thinking I might find their nest, I followed them outside. Sure enough, the ant highway had taken off down the garden hose inches away from the bedroom wall. I lost them in the gravel driveway, where their paths were no longer singular, but the trail of ants disappeared under aggregate chunks and dispersed into fractal pathways. Frustrated, I watched for a while, and was surprised to find some aphids-ant cattle-wandering in their midst.
I went back inside and grabbed the vacuum cleaner. Its hum is the mark of ant death in our house. They flee at the sound. One by one I sucked them to their doom, clearing their new ant highway to the orange juice. I would rid the container of them entirely only to watch them reappear moments later--they are excellent at hiding, and they have an acute sense for danger.
It is painful, cleaning up the ants. I feel like some great titan lording my largeness over them. They brace their tiny ant bodies against the vacuum's torrid gusts before they are swept into its cavernous dust-filled belly. They learn quickly, though. After two passes with the vacuum hose of death, the ants no longer dash out in broad sight from the same path--it shortens as the next ants smell the disuse of the trail. I feel bad, really, it isn't as though they can hurt me, or are eating my house, or doing anything really bad besides attracting aphids, but I kill them. I am the progenitor of an ant holocaust. Worse than that, despite my callous murdering, I value their organization, their great pilgrimages across the driveway, their pertinacity, their survival instinct that braces them against Hoover's roar.
Any suggestions for making this problem disappear? They wander straight past ant bait houses. I have heard borax and pancake syrup make a tasty poison dish for them. I might bait them outside, since I know from what direction they travel.
Over the winter they were dormant, but we knew that at any moment the ants would be back. It has been warmer recently (with the exception of ice/snow/sleet week last week), and the ants have been scouting the house. I'll find a solitary ant on the carpet of the living room, or hanging out on a windowsill, or near the bathroom sink.
Today marks their first foray of the year, though. They discovered the container of orange juice next to my bed (feeding my cold), and established an open ant highway in a matter of only a few hours.
I traced them to the baseboard, where they disappeared into a hole. Thinking I might find their nest, I followed them outside. Sure enough, the ant highway had taken off down the garden hose inches away from the bedroom wall. I lost them in the gravel driveway, where their paths were no longer singular, but the trail of ants disappeared under aggregate chunks and dispersed into fractal pathways. Frustrated, I watched for a while, and was surprised to find some aphids-ant cattle-wandering in their midst.
I went back inside and grabbed the vacuum cleaner. Its hum is the mark of ant death in our house. They flee at the sound. One by one I sucked them to their doom, clearing their new ant highway to the orange juice. I would rid the container of them entirely only to watch them reappear moments later--they are excellent at hiding, and they have an acute sense for danger.
It is painful, cleaning up the ants. I feel like some great titan lording my largeness over them. They brace their tiny ant bodies against the vacuum's torrid gusts before they are swept into its cavernous dust-filled belly. They learn quickly, though. After two passes with the vacuum hose of death, the ants no longer dash out in broad sight from the same path--it shortens as the next ants smell the disuse of the trail. I feel bad, really, it isn't as though they can hurt me, or are eating my house, or doing anything really bad besides attracting aphids, but I kill them. I am the progenitor of an ant holocaust. Worse than that, despite my callous murdering, I value their organization, their great pilgrimages across the driveway, their pertinacity, their survival instinct that braces them against Hoover's roar.
Any suggestions for making this problem disappear? They wander straight past ant bait houses. I have heard borax and pancake syrup make a tasty poison dish for them. I might bait them outside, since I know from what direction they travel.