EATIN’ ANTS FER BREAKFAST

That’s right. I’m true-blue Equator livin’, now. I have eaten ants for breakfast. No no, nothing so primal and glorious as huge carpenter ants skewered on sticks over an open pit fire, but rather the tiny white ants that roam the kitchen and found their way into the Raisin Bran box after the sugary raisins. I noticed a line climbing up the cupboard away from the box, and upon closer inspection, saw them ducking in under the “insert flap here” piece. Eileen and I observed an ant farm-like atmosphere through the plastic bag when we pulled it out, which elicited an, “EEEEW - gross!” from Eileen. We were on our way to throw them out when Ms. Lydia said, “Oh no, you can’t mind the ants – they don’t do you no harm”. We looked at her with wide eyes and she persisted, “No – of course not, no harm a’tall. They get on things from time to time, but you just scrape them off or shake them out and go on eatin’”. So the box stayed on the shelf, we learned about how to set up “moat traps” of water around things that were potentially defile-able by an ant colony. They learned the hard way after a wedding cake was assaulted by an ant army, but the guests ate it anyway. We figure everything edible will go in the fridge.