My discovery of Maine’s wasp population occurred one evening while my wife was visiting our children in Texas. Work kept me from travel, but I wanted to surprise her on return with a window mounted air conditioner in the bedroom. So I lugged the AC from the garage, across the kitchen, across the dining room, across the living room and up sixteen steps to the bedroom. If that doesn’t say “I’ve missed you” I don’t know what does. Sure, it did benefit me also, but that was never the motivation.

The window in the dormer recess seemed best, so I raised the lower window sash, removed the screen and mounted the AC. I installed the accordion like blockers on either side of the centered unit, put a foam seal over the blockers and the AC and closed the window. Switched on, that sucker blew ice cold air at hyper velocity, but to give it a full operational checkout, I hopped on the bed, powered on the TV with the remote and settled in to watch George Reeves as Clark Kent/Superman in the Adventures of Superman on DVD.

Right about the time hands on hips Superman was being introduced with “…Truth, justice and the American way…” a small black bullet shot across the room. Then another. Then another and the black stream continued until twelve bullets were fired and reappeared as a dozen angry black paper wasps taxiing about on the rear bedroom window!..!! Apparently there was a wasp nest on the outside dormer eve above the AC and the AC was sucking them out of the air and shooting them into the bedroom.

Fear, exceptional displays of athleticism and a daisy shaped fly swatter resulted in wasp carnage and a broken seal on what became a $500 argon filled double pane window repair. Running on adrenaline, but unscathed, the ac was removed, the screen reinstalled and the window was tightly closed and latched. I hopped into bed to reconsider the entire air conditioning fiasco, but a nap took a higher priority.

So I put my weary head on a pillow, put my arm under it for support, when it felt like someone put out a cigarette on the underside of my forearm. Then again, and then one more time before I grasped the wasp that was drilling into my arm and crushed it in my grip. Yes, it did sting me one more time in the palm of my hand before its component parts were spread across the bedroom floor and it was no more.

Ever since then I became conscientious about wasp nest removal high in the roof’s eves, apply strong insecticide twice yearly and I have concluded that I don’t really like air conditioning. There was a bat in the bedroom incident, but I will save that for a later time.

In the words of the great philosopher Little Richard, “Keep a-knockin’, but you can’t come in”

Hmm.. twenty-six years on a thirty year roof.  The roof ridge is still water tight but the main shingle run is in bad shape. The rest of the roof is clean, algae free with many more years of life remaining. Carpenter ants have been known to gnaw through shingle to get to wet wood, but the decking is dry, as is the roofing paper. Wasps do not eat shingles or use them for nest material. Raccoons? Squirrels? Angry birds? Carpenter ants? I do not know, but will know shortly. Could be those mutant giant Maine Pileated woodpeckers in search of bugs.

Roof repair is not difficult and materials are straight forward as long as the underlying roof sheathing is intact. At least through attic inspection, the roof is sealed tight. If homes were built with rooves on the ground, I would get right on the repair… but they are not. This ridge is approximately thirty feet off the ground, but I am not. Note: The word “rooves” is now labeled archaic, but so am I.

Gravity, the archenemy of old guys…

I have whined about this before, so another grumble can’t hurt. I hauled these three bundles of ridge shingles from the back of the pickup parked in the garage to a heavy picnic table on the porch, prepping for the roof repair. When I was young, I believe that period in time is referred to as mid century modern, I would have tossed a bundle atop each broad shoulder and picked up the rest on a second trip. Unfortunately, I no longer have shoulders beyond the minimum required to hold up my T shirts, but only one at a time.

From garage to porch steps is one hundred feet. Two steps up from walkway to the porch, then seventy-five feet around the porch to the table. So I put down one dolly, unloaded three bundles of shingles from the truck, then topped the shingles with aluminum roofing nails and roofing caulk, then topped that with a second but inverted dolly. A rope was tied to the bottom dolly and top dolly so they could be pulled along from an upright position and pulled along is exactly what I did until I got to the porch steps at the end of the walkway.

The freeloading inverted dolly was flipped over and positioned on the porch deck. The shingles, nails and roofing caulk were transferred from the original dolly to the porch dolly. The original dolly was left at the intersection of walkway and porch steps and the now loaded dolly was rope towed to the table. The dolly load was lifted piecemeal to the table top, along with Dewey who just returned from aerial reconnaissance then, collectively, their mugshots were taken. Can I get an amen? OK, at least sit up a little straighter even if to feign interest.

What remains is the rest of the DIY journey. I need an extension ladder to go from the sloped ground to the porch roof. Then another ladder with roof hooks will be needed to get from the porch roof to the second floor 12/12 pitch roof ridge. Getting there with my own body mass might be doable, but I would be lacking the materials to do the job. Assuming I could haul a 70 pound shingle bundle up the ladders, where would I stage the other stuff: nails, roofing paper, nails, sealant, etc. Especially the etc.?

Exhausted from all of that thinking, I napped and had a dream. And in that dream, I called the guy who helps when the work is too strenuous, or requires skill, or I’d just rather be doing something else. While he is mastering this high wire challenge, I’ll do the retrim on the garage doors.