At first glance it looked like a circus had come to the neighborhood. Bold burgundy and gold stripes ran vertically from the apex of the structure creating the appearance of the “big top.” In other places, at other times, such a tent might contain exotic animals. The two houses on either side were both “camel backs,” named that way architecturally because of their recessed second stories — as though they are camel humps — but that hardly qualified for a menagerie. There were, however, vicious creatures within the tent. They loitered in packs; were known for the damage they created and left piles of “frass,” lovingly referred to as “fecal pellets,” throughout the house. The herd had a special fondness for window ledges as a dumping spot. They were the notorious DRYWOOD TERMITES. Cracking sounds in floorboards were a signal of the damage they had already done as these little creatures, less than an inch long, attempted to eat a whole house.
A termite exterminator had delivered the bad news: The only way to get rid of the critters was to put a tent over the entire house.
We would have liked to be more humane with the bugs; perhaps some form of corrective rehabilitation or wood-free diet restrictions, but when discussing options with a person whose job title is “exterminator” there is no compassion. The only option was poison.
Having experienced both, I would learn that tenting for termites has something in common with getting a colonoscopy: the preparation is worse than the treatment. Household items had to be put away; food needed to be stored. There is no joy beneath the big top when a lawn sign is hammered warning of “DEADLY POISON” within.
Keeping with the circus theme, for the opening act there was a daredevil in the crew. He climbed a shaky ladder to the second floor and then to the roof while carrying on his back the rolled-up tent which would be unfolded to be spread over the entire house.
Another performance group that a Master of Ceremonies might have introduced as “The Poison Sprayers,” would soon march inside, only they would perform before an empty house.
We spent two nights at a relative’s home where the spirit was good, the food was great, the air was clear and the featured animal act was a golden retriever romping in the back yard.
Back at our house the big top was coming down after the second day as though the circus was moving to another town.
I dreaded that there might be an insecticide smell inside, but no, the place was free of odor and, the staff assured, poison.
It is true, the tenting preparation was worse than the procedure but there was one more odious step — the post-op. Everything that was moved away had to be put back, though the benefit was that there were some discoveries of long-lost items which had survived both time and insects.
Most importantly, there were no signs of termite carcasses which had been swept off by the staff in their final act.
Several months have passed and I can report that the house to date has been termite free. There are no more little piles on ledges, no more cracks in floors.
For the bugs it had been a good life. They may not have realized it, but their menu offerings had been aged swamp cypress. From the perspective of drywood termites, they were feasting on classic Louisiana cuisine.
