Swarms of army ants, marching through steaming jungles, regularly show up on TV nature shows. However, most folks don't realize we have our own ravenous insect hordes in the Southwest - harvester ants.  I'd heard of the critters, but life in the asphalt jungle doesn't prepare one for the reality.  Besides, even insects are too smart to settle in areas where people welcome summer by frying eggs on sidewalks.

So, after a week down in Phoenix, when I returned to the mountains, I was astonished to discover two out of three thriving chrysanthemums were suddenly twigs.  "Danged rabbits," I said as I walked over to examine the damage.  Wrong.

Red ants about three-fourths inch long covered the ground.  One climbed on my shoe and I shook my foot.  A few minutes later, it  bit me. War had been declared.  Friends gave me their recipes for getting rid of the pests.  

"Dump a gallon of gas on the ant-hill," one suggested.  "Flip a lighted match onto the anthill and run like heck."

"No, there are too many exits for that to work," another said.  "What you need to do is feed them gunpowder for a week, pour a pile on the ground to make a fuse, and light it.  When the ants explode all over your yard, you'll discover how big the anthill really is."

"Thanks," I said and headed for the local nursery.  I remembered using Diazinon years ago; it had been insect death in granular form.  Unfortunately, somewhere in time, my favorite poisoin had been banned.  (Someone probably fed it to their spouse, although I can't imagine how; the stink alone could stun at ten paces.)  So I picked up some yellow stuff that  is supposed to kill an ant mound within a week, sprinkled it on the mound and prayed.