Magic, witchcraft, science, imagination? We don't care.

For about 10 years now, wasps have been ruining our fun on the back barbecue deck. There are a couple of pot lights recessed into the overhang that make a perfect environment for a nest, or just casual buzzing and diving about.

Water-filled ziploc with pennies

We've battled the insects for years with a variety of conventional sprays and spritzes and bug bombs, with some success. Nonetheless Kathleen has always maintained a leery attitude when lighting and using the grill, retreating as soon as feasible back indoors.
This defeats the joy and dampens the fun of a casual summer barbecue and after we went to all the pain of sanding and refinishing the deck this spring, it would be a shame if we would be driven from it again by these annoying interlopers.
Stan lodged this complaint with our neighbor Mina in a casual exchange on the tarmac this late spring. As a retired nurse, we've consulted with her from time to time about our various physical maladies, always receiving good conventional advice from this experienced medical practitioner.
We had no idea that she also dabbled in witchcraft.
It's true that's she's shown up at our front door in a black cape and witch's hat, but that was just Halloween. We had no idea about this.
She approached the topic with caution, possibly because she didn't want to be laughed off the tarmac. "Now this is hard to believe," she began, "but a friend told me. . ."

Mina -- our wasp consultant

And so she explained, with a healthy dose of skepticism, what can only be described as a magical, mysterious practice that defies rational explanation. And like most things that have no earthly explanation, require blind faith. Here goes, my friends:
Take an ordinary ziploc bag, fill it with water, put in four copper pennies, tie it off and hang it up. Wasps, flies and other pesky insects won't come near.
Yeah, right.
Out of respect for his dear neighbor, Stan politely thanked the nice lady for her advice and promised that he would probably try it some time.
Yeah, right.
When he returned home, his good wife immediately shared the skepticism. But a quick Google of "ziploc wasp" brought a plethora hits. Of course, every cockamamie idea has refuge on the internet. But further study of the topic and anonymous testimonials of amazing results prompted Stan to suggest to his wife: "What the heck, what do we have to lose but four cents and a ziploc bag?"
"Our dignity," would have been an answer, but we've lost that before.
So about two months ago, with no fanfare so as not to attract any attention, a water-filled ziploc bag with four pennies in it quietly appeared on Stan and Kathleen Rolfsrud's back deck, right over their barbecue. No one ever needed to know about this.

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It's been eight weeks. We don't even notice that ziploc bag hanging there anymore. We also haven't noticed any insects. We've barbecued and relaxed around the outdoor table, unbothered. Occasionally, a scout buzzes by and then disappears. That's it.
Go ahead and laugh. We can't hear you out on the back deck.
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Wayne Kasich laughs. He writes from International Falls, where they know about bugs and mosquitoes and pestilence.
"The copper pennies in the baggie trick works really, really well -- if you spray the hell out of yourself with Off before you go sit underneath it."