An open letter to the wasps that used to live in the repeater shack.

By Matthew Payne, KB9UJE

I�m terribly sorry. It wasn�t personal.

When I saw the founders of what was to become your eventual colony arrive in the roof of the shack a few months ago, I resolved to let nature, in all of her majesty, take it�s course. It was even interesting to watch at first; something to pass the long tedious minutes uploading tracks to the DVR, or fixing some aspect of the repeater or controller. Your ancestors, brave wasps all, set their stake in the new world of the repeater shack, full of purpose and direction, and promptly set about the business of building a large colony, and buzzing and stinging everyone and everything in sight, as apparently God intended.

For a while, I had hoped that the peace would last. We were two different species, thrust into the same space, both hoping to valiantly conquer the obstacles set before us, while trying to avoid conflict with each other. I admired the way you built and organized your colony in the roof of the shack, and the diligent care you took in looking after your offspring. I hoped that you admired my work on the repeater as well, and Jay�s efforts in making the place more habitable for all living things, wasps included.

To be sure, your culture seemed a bit strange to me. The female dominated society in which you lived seemed to be a relative utopia, but I would have liked to see more recognition of the contributions of the male wasps in the society, as well as a greater respect for the rights of the common wasp, whose interests seemed dreadfully underrepresented in your largely oligarchical society. Still, I was prepared to accept you openly, despite the difference in beliefs.

Then there was the incident: The catalyst that changed our destiny, bringing us inevitably to this final conflict.

He (excuse me, She) might have been a rogue in your society. An outcast. A criminal. And yet her brutal attack left me outraged. Worse, it subjected me to the ridicule of my fellow man, which found my loud ranting and raving at a small insect to be something of a lark. Oh sure, I was able to beat off the attacker with a broom by standing on the hood of one of the sheriff�s patrol cars, but the damage was done. The die, as they say, had been cast.

After the sheriff deputies had released me from �observation�, I tried to open a dialogue with your colony, to express my desire for a redress of my grievances. I thought for sure that the current conflict could be resolved peacefully, with no further escalation of force. Sadly, this turned out to not be true. Despite all of my efforts, all of my attempts at contact, and all of my good intent, I could not reach a satisfactory settlement with your colony. Indeed, several members of your group mistook my act of negotiation as a potential treat, further exasperating my problem. Hiring a lawyer seemed pointless, and the several I contacted seemed to also regard me as a bit of a lark, which only served to further escalate the conflict, and my anger.

The end was at hand. Negotiations had failed. All that remained was the battle. My use of chemical weaponry may subject me to the harsh judgment of future generations, but I felt I had little choice. Perhaps fate thrust us to this moment. Perhaps there could have been another way. But I�ll never know.

I completely wiped out your entire civilization with a $2.36 can of Wasp-B-Gone.

I felt no elation as I visited the scene of the carnage the next day. Indeed, my heart was heavy as I swept the hundreds of wasp carcasses out of the shack. But the choice was made, and there was no going back.

Perhaps next year, your progeny and I can try again. Perhaps then peace will reign supreme at the Mid-State Amateur Radio Club repeater shack.

But I bought an extra can of Wasp-B-Gone just to be safe.

Respectfully,

Matthew Payne, KB9UJE
Repeater Trustee