Catching Ants

I stood on the path in the garden, my heels resting on the edge of
the lawn. At one end of the path was a pineapple bush, with as yet, no
pineapples. At the other end of the path was an enormous banana tree.
It had been a plan of my mother's to eat the bananas from the tree in
our garden, but that was almost impossible, as neither the gardener nor
we had ever managed to catch them before the birds or the ants. I knew
where to stand to catch the ants. They would march across the back
garden from one end of the path to the other in a thick, prickly line
of red every afternoon carrying food on their backs like tiny fruity
rucksacks. I stood barefooted in a cotton dress in the middle of the
army, feeling them climb over the tops of my feet and wiggling my toes
because it tickled. The ants' tolerance of me was not great and after a
while they began to stop and nip my feet. Then they were climbing my
legs and biting me harder and it wasn't long before they covered me in
their rubbery crimson bodies and I started to scream. I ran around on
the grass trying to pick them off and crying as they bit me. Then from
across the garden, Ar Sui, the gardener, arrived with the hose and
washed the ants off of me and back on to the path where they regrouped
and continued their afternoon mission. I was fascinated by them and
soon forgot the pain. It was a common sight in our back garden to see
me covered in red ants and old Ar Sui with the hose coming to my
rescue.