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AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS 



November, 1910 



The Wasp's Year 



By Harold Bastin 



iHE social wasps of the genus P'espa differ 

 widely in their habits from the social bees. 

 The latter insects are, so to speak, much 

 more civilized than the former; while 

 their manner of life has been so often de- 

 scribed that almost everyone is more or 

 less familiar with the topic. About wasps, 

 however, comparatively few people know more than that 

 these insects possess stings, and that they are able and will- 

 ing to employ these weapons on the smallest provocation. 

 Yet in many respects the life history of the wasp excels 

 that of the bee in interest. 



The story begins in the dull days of the year. The na- 

 ture student, grubbing among decayed timber during the 

 winter months, often discovers a particularly large wasp 

 ensconced in a dry crevice. This wasp is no ordinary in- 

 sect. She is a dormant queen, destined to found a kingdom, 

 and to become literally the mother of all her subjects. Her 

 nuptials were accomplished in the late days of summer. 

 Thereafter, warned by the chills of autumn, she sought 

 out this snug hiding-place and composed herself for sleep — 

 first folding her wings close to her sides and taking a firm 

 grip with her jaws lest, in the oblivion of slumber, her foot- 

 hold should relax. 



With the early promise of spring the queen awakens. 

 Her first care is her toilet, which she performs with skill 

 and nicety. It has been said that if cleanliness be next to 

 godliness, then insects are but one degree removed from 

 piety; and certainly no insect is more scrupulous than the 

 wasp. But there is a limit to everything. So when our 

 queen has dusted her eyes, and furbished her wings, and 

 polished her armor until her whole person shines and 

 sparkles like a locomotive engine newly come from the 

 shops, she turns her attention to a more serious aspect of 

 life. 



Her task is to discover a site for the founding — or, 

 more correctly, for the hanging — of her kingdom. The 

 reader must know that while some kinds of social wasps 



hang their nests 

 from the 

 branches of 

 trees, others 

 hang them from 

 roots in holes 

 beneath the 

 ground. The in- 

 ject whose his- 

 tory we are at 

 present tracing 

 belongs to the 

 latter group. 

 H e r ancestral 

 tastes are 

 wholly s u b - 

 terranean. So 



she flies with de- 

 liberate questing hum along the hedge-banks and the escarp- 

 ments of gravel pits, seeking a cavern that will satisfy her 

 exacting notions of fitness. 



Entrance to twig nest 



Not infrequently, her house-hunting terminates in 

 tragedy. Late frost or heavy rain, the beak of a bird, or 

 the grinding heel of austere mankind — anyone of these 

 may prove an overwhelming catastrophe to our vagrant 

 queen, whose kingdom and people are as yet a vision of 

 the future. 



But we will assume that the wasp really finds a hole 

 to her liking. It will be, perhaps, three or four inches in 

 diameter, and from the roof will depend at least one sub- 

 stantial root. 



She may enlarge the cavern somewhat, diligently carry- 

 ing out tiny particles of earth. But, these preliminary 

 arrangements over, she hastens to obtain a supply of ma- 

 terial for her foundations. 



Alighting upon a fence or other exposed woodwork, she 

 rasps with her jaws until she has accumulated a little bundle 

 of woodfiber. This she macerates with the copious saliva 

 of her mouth, and thus works up a kind of coarse brown 

 paper. From this paper, as we shall see, her kingdom is 

 entirely formed. 



As yet, however, the queen has prepared only one tiny 

 pellet. With it she flies back to her chosen hole, and 

 spreads the moist atom upon a small area of the root which 

 is to be her building site. Hour after hour, day after day, 

 she repeats this journey to and from the hole, always re- 

 turning with a pellet of papier-mache. In the course of a 

 week or so, the result of her labor takes the form of a little 

 gray cap pendent from a footstalk attached by a triangular 

 base to the root. It resembles a fairy umbrella blown inside 

 out in a high wind. Beneath the cap, protected as by a 

 domed roof, are three or four shallow chambers or cells; 

 and in each of these the queen has laid an egg, which, as 

 the opening of the cell is directly downward, she has glued 

 firmly into place. 



We must realize that the queen is in a hurry, and is 

 not finishing her work as she goes. Her main object is to 

 provide, as quickly as possible, loyal subjects who will assist 

 her in her toil. So her first cells are mere shallow saucers 

 when she lays 

 her eggs in them. 

 Later, when the 

 grubs hatch and 

 begin to grow, 

 she builds up the 

 cell walls round 

 them as occasion 

 demands. 



The time now 

 comes when the 

 queen's powers of 

 paper-making are 

 well-nigh 

 exhausted. But 

 this is coincident 

 with the matur- 

 ing of certain of 



the grubs, which issue from their cells as fully-fledged 

 wasps. They are alike, and yet unlike, their queen mother. 

 They "favor her" in the matter of form and color, while 



Twig nest 



