The ants piled in to the subway car. Each had a newspaper. (by looking carefully at the header you could tell which colony they were from) Committed to business-like conduct & social order each ant had her paper folded into a strip so she could read one column at a time without getting the paper in the faces of other passengers. Some ants read by sight, while others opted for braille, which they scanned with the sensitive tips of their antennae. Fortunately most print material on Myrmecos contains both.
Holding a sturdy leather strap with one tarsal claw, the paper with another & checking her pocket watch with a third, ants were the picture of urban sophistication.
I did feel a little out of place on the train full of ants. Their antennae neatly folded like the colony newspapers, they made excellent use of the space. No jostling, no arguments. Just a silence filled with pheromone conversations that I could not hear.
A tall and elegant bull ant worker with bright dark eyes offered me her seat... as if being a human were a kind of infirmity. I took up her offer. I really needed to sit down.
"Why not stop and have a bite to eat?" Said grasshopper.
The little ant paused, resting her massive, heavy load.
"No time! I must get these seeds to our underground garden!"
"Why grow underground? It's nice up here."
"In winter the storms will come. We must be ready!"
And with that she hurried off to her nest, running to make up for the time she wasted talking to the grasshopper.
"What curiously paranoid little people!" he thought, as he munched another delicious, sun-ripened summer peach.
The summer days were growing shorter and grasshopper was cold. "Good thing I still have a little oil and my lovely oil lamp." He emptied the last of the oil into the lamp and warmed his long green legs. It was so nice to relax. But, he couldn't stop thinking about the busy ants.
Before very long at all the oil was all gone and the cold returned. "I shall fetch some more from the market first thing in the morning." Said grasshopper, "It's not just the ants who can plan ahead!" Feeling pleased with himself he went to bed.
The next morning grasshopper put on his best coat & his little black cap and walked down to the market. On his way he encountered a whole column of ants going in the opposite direction.
"Oh no!" He cried, "Have you bought all the oil?!"
"Oh no!" Said one ant.
"We would do no such thing." Said another.
"We've not come from market." Said the third.
"We were fetching parts for our windmill!" They all chattered together and indeed each ant had a tool, or a blade, or a motor in tow.
"But it's cold!" Said grasshopper "What good is a windmill? Don't you need oil?"
"We have plenty stored..." Said one ant,
"But we don't even need it" said another,
"Our nest is electric" said the ant he met before,
"This windmill will heat it!" They all chattered together.
Grasshopper marveled at how the ants seemed to think of everything. And he trudged on to the market. On his arrival he was dismayed to find that the old toe biter who ran the oil shop had raised all his prices.
"There were storms in the south." Said the big old toe biter. "I'd give you a discount, but I've got all these eggs on my back." Indeed, his back was packed with eggs. "Sorry friend."
Grasshopper returned home with only half as much oil as he'd planned to buy.
The summer days were gone.
The great storm came.
The winds rattled the garden and stole the leaves from the trees. The winds tumbled the ant's windmill at terrifying speeds. The river was swollen with angry brown water, while deep in the earth, the ants tilled their gardens.
Grasshopper tried to stay warm. But the oil didn't last long. When the sounds of the storm died he climbed up to the garden. He was terribly hungry and horribly cold.
But the garden was empty and broken.
Grasshopper cried.
Grasshopper cried and sobbed, feeling very sorry for himself. But even as he cried he thought "I know I'm having quite a bawler ... but I don't think I'm crying as loud as this sounds" Yes, some of the crying sounded nothing like a grasshopper at all. It was much too... squeaky.
Grasshopper stopped crying, the sad squeaky noises continued. It was coming from a toppled berry bush, for trapped in the branches was a little ant.
And she was very very sad because there are few things in the world as pitysome as a lonely ant.
Grasshopper rushed to help her.
With his long green limbs he freed the little ant from the branches.
"oh thank you!" she squeaked "Thank you! now I shall be able to get home to my sisters where it is nice and warm, and have some nice food once again!"
Grasshopper tried to smile at this.
But the little ant could see he was not happy. "Oh no! that was a very rude thing for me to say! Whatever will you do with your garden in ruins?"
Grasshopper pulled his best coat around him and straightened his little black cap. "I don't know." He said at last.
"Well you should come and live with us!" Said the little ant.
"I couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair. You worked all summer and I did not."
"That's true" Said the little ant "But we always have extra, it's our way! How else could we ever be able to help our friends?"
And then grasshopper was crying again. But this time for a different reason.
When spring came the ants and their new friend, grasshopper, were filled with excitement. So much to do! An elevator for the nest, an upgrade for the windmills & most ambitious of all... a bigger underground garden, one where the fruit trees could grow through any great storm.
Tonight, while standing in the kitchen for a 4am snack of some kombucha and a few saltines crackers, I noticed an ant where my phone had been.
He was not crawling, or even standing. He was laying, rather limp. His limbs seemed less functional than one would desire.
I recognized this was my own doing. We've been at war with the ants for some time, now, and yet, I felt guilty for this. I've killed dozens of ants, many just by running the water in the sink. But this wasn't death. This was ongoing pain. Even though ants lack the advanced nervous system that humans contain, he had a directive that he could no longer perform.
I wanted him to die successful. I wanted to make his final moment one of euphoria.
First, I got a pinch of sugar. I ate most of it, and then presented to the ant two grains. I pushed one close, then got a toothpick so I could push it even closer. He seemed disinterested.
I remembered learning that ants use a saliva to break stuff down. I decided that may be too much work. So I got a paper cup, put a pinch of sugar in it, and took just enough warm water to dissolve the sugar. Then(after failing to coerce the ant into the paper cup), I dipped the toothpick, and I painted a small puddle nearby.
One of the ant's co-workers came by, checked on him, and excitedly began to drink the sugar water, or maybe, to measure it. I noticed his feelers going back in forth in some kind of silly-looking dance. Meanwhile, the injured ant took to one of the grains.
I admired the ant's resilience. I take the first excuse I can to stop working. I do not believe humans should be so self-sacrificial, and yet, witnessing the ant, a tear nearly came to my eye. Was I in awe of his persistence? Or did I feel great shame about my own tendency towards futility? When I am injured, I become dejected. I give in. I decide that the world must be against me, then.
A third ant came along, walked away. It seemed to be scouting for paths. Maybe looking for additional sugars. As I perceived it, they wanted to determine what number of ants needed to be brought back to my kitchen counter.
Zero.
I hovered with a plastic fork and a paper towel. I'm a fickle god, aren't i? Mysterious. I'd already given this ant more than I'd ever given any of them. It was time to say goodbye to my little experiment in projection. And yet, I found it very difficult.
I scooped them up, and I ground them as quickly as I could. I did not want them to be aware of their failure. I wanted them to die heroes.
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For weeks now ants have been thumbing their noses at us as we lay out ant traps that have not worked.
Day after day hordes of them have been marching along. I figured they had gotten too smart for…
There are a few stories...
If you mean my "soothing political sci fi story" it's here.
Since you have a cute bee icon and a name like "snailofchaos" maybe you want a story about a real ant told with video. Here is the story of dottie the ant. (She is one of my many hundreds of pet carpenter ants.)
But I also have an old story, a retelling, for the age of climate change. Here is my version of "The Grasshopper and the Ants" (I'm still adding illustrations to this one)
I hope this helped! If not let me know.
Blue Ridge Parkway Artist is Still Fighting Ants and Dream on...
Blue Ridge Parkway Artist is Still Fighting Ants and Dream on…
Blue Ridge Parkway Artist Please Check out My Story on Youtube!
Wow! The ants are marching away in our bathroom. The kitchen still has some but they look like they are just wandering around looking for food or their friends. I guess toothpaste rules. Masses and masses in the bathroom. Anyway, between cleaning up my studio and…
thEY BIT UR TONGUE hdhddjdw ok but have u ever went to eat some sweet bread and then got yelled at immediately as you bit into it that there were ants on it
