I KNEW OF A HIDDEN POND that I figured would be full of fish, so one day I loaded up my car with fishing gear and set out. There was no path to this pond, and you couldn’t see it from the road. You had to know it was there to know it was there. Getting to it involved brushing my way through tall stands of rushes and cattails.
Soon enough I was flinging a colorful plug out into the deep part of the pond, hoping to hook a large-mouthed bass, when a sharp pain hit the little finger on my left hand. A bee had found my pinkie and as I squeezed the fishing rod’s handle, it stung me.
Almost immediately I felt a hot streak zinging up my left arm. It began to itch
