The Nest on My Wall
Yesterday I found something living in the side of my house.
Not a family of birds. Not a gentle hive of honeybees.
A massive, black-and-white fortress of Bald-Faced Hornets. Thanks Chat for identifying them with the dangerous photo I took!
One of those “Nope, not today” discoveries.
The kind where your body tenses, your mind says call someone else, and your primal instincts say deal with it.
I could have passed the buck. Paid a guy.
But there’s a masculine edge in life that calls you forward—not out of recklessness, but out of responsibility.
Okay, maybe a LITTLE recklessness.
I have a family here. My Queen. My kids. My home.
And part of my job is to be the one who stands between them and whatever threat is at the gate…
Even if that threat has wings, venom, and a bad temper.
My heart was pounding, but my hands were steady.
And I took care of the nest. Safely.
Sometimes protection isn’t glamorous.
It’s not a sword fight or a heroic speech.
It’s making the decision to handle the thing no one else wants to touch, because that’s what’s needed.
That’s the masculine edge.
Not bravado. Not macho posturing.
Just gritty willingness to stand guard. And an intense need to protect my home.