Kiss My Grits!

I’m a nature lover. Put me in a garden and I’m happy. I love plants, I love animals, I love all of God’s creatures. Well, most of them.

There are a few for whom my wrath does rise, namely cockroaches and flying, stinging insects. And now, ants as well.

I think anyone can understand my disgust for cockroaches. Even the movie, “Enchanted” couldn’t make me change my mind with all its choreographed cleaning (cleaning! What???) bugs. The stinging insects are another no-brainer. I like them fine if they’re pollinating my squash, but don’t let one fly near me. They are like little loaded guns- a sting sends me to the ER, if I make it that far.

Friday, I found out that ants are also members of the send-Lisa-to-the-ER club. I was watering the hydrangea when I stepped on an ant hill. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention to my feet, until I felt a burn on my ankle. I smashed the offender, brushed off his buddies and went back to watering. My hand started to tingle and I realized that it was from the venom I’d encountered from crushing the ant. I knew then that I might be in trouble. I rushed into the house, took an antihistamine and my husband drove me immediately to the ER. My heart pounded, my lungs closed.

An IV and several drugs later, ants had joined my list of enemies. They were to be annihilated! I formulated my plan.

Did I tell you that I am an organic gardener? No chemicals for me. But I do have a powerful, good-old Southern weapon: grits. Yes, grits.

Saturday morning found me feeding the ants, sprinkling the dry uncooked grits onto the ant hills. “Kiss my grits!” I whispered, lest the neighbors hear me. The ants came out, picked up the tasty flakes and took them back in the hill. I felt a little guilty at their joy over “manna” raining from heaven; I knew that once they had eaten, they’d be drinking some water and the grits would swell up in their little bellies. Then they would expand beyond capacity: exploding ants! Take that, you vermin!

By Saturday afternoon, the ant population in my yard had significantly declined. (And here I thought my husband didn’t eat grits because he was born outside of grits territory!)

I’m sure somewhere in all of this, God has a spiritual lesson for me. I keep hearing one of those songs we sang in VBS: “Oh, be careful little feet where you walk…” It was an admonition to keep ourselves on the path, to not stray, to stay out of trouble. It is a reminder to me today to do a heart check, to check where my spiritual feet are planted and to remember that every breath comes from God.