Wendy came to our patio with a great need. She had babies and they needed food and shelter. She was quite capable of taking care of these needs on her own, without the help of my wife and myself. All she needed from us was space, a very small space, indeed. But we had to turn her down.

The fact is, she never asked us for anything. Nor did she seek our permission to use the small space she wanted from us. Had she chosen a different space of ours, we might never have noticed her. But she chose a space just outside the door on our patio.

You see, Wendy was an organ pipe wasp, and she came to our patio to build a nest for her young. We didn’t notice her at first; she came and went swiftly and worked quietly high up on the patio wall, just under the roof. By the time we did notice her, she was more than halfway through her building project.

She would come and go, come and go, and each time she would bring a small ball of mud she had made from wet ground somewhere nearby. She first plastered little balls of mud together to form the basic wall of her structure, then, bit by bit, tedious trip after tedious trip, she brought tiny amounts of mud that eventually formed the nursery for her young.

It was clear from viewing the nest from the outside that it contained two tubes about an inch in length and perhaps a quarter inch round. The outline of the two tubes was visible on the outside wall of the structure. Wendy built the top tube first, leaving a perfect circle opening at the end. After she sealed the top tube, she built another beneath it. It is these tubes which define her species: organ pipe wasps. The tubes resemble the pipes of a grand organ. Only they are horizontal instead of vertical.

I noticed as I watched from the safety of the glass window in the storm door that separated her from me that she continued to make countless trips even after the structure seemed completed. I am no expert on the building codes observed by the organ pipe wasp community, but it seemed to me her nest was complete. Yet she came again and again, stuck her head in the opening she had made, then left, only to return again and repeat the procedure all over. Each night just before sunset, she sealed the opening then reopened it the next morning.

Since my knowledge of wasps was limited to the understanding that they have stingers with which they can sting people who interfere with them, and thinking that all wasps had a special but perverse delight in treating humans with ferocity, I decided to find out more about them. Off to the Internet I went seeking wisdom from that depository of all that is evil, good, or something in between.

Organ pipe wasps, I discovered, are not aggressive wasps. They do sting humans, but only if they are handled in such a way that they feel frightened. I made a vow to myself that I would never handle Wendy in such a way that she would be frightened. In fact, I promised I would never touch Wendy in any way at all!

So Wendy built the nest in which to lay her fertilized eggs. Each of the tubes she built in her nest was slanted down slightly on a diagonal. First she toured the yard looking for food for her young. Small spiders were her choice. She caught them, paralyzed them with her venom, then placed them at the low end of each tube. The venom would keep the victims alive, but paralyzed, for many days. Thus she provided for the first meal each of her children would enjoy.

After the tubes were well-stocked with hapless spiders, Wendy laid one egg in each tube near the spiders. Then she exited and sealed up the opening one more time. If she came back, it was only because she had more eggs to lay and thus more tubes to build. Once she had deposited all her eggs in tubes she had constructed, she would not return to the nest. Wendy would never see her offspring or care for their needs beyond what she had already done.

The experts had written that we should leave the nest alone because as soon as the new wasp emerged, its belly full of spider parts, it would not return to the nest. Winter would dry out the nest and it would most likely disintegrate before the return of spring. Also, the wasps were great controllers of the insect population around our house. It was to our advantage to have the wasps nearby, the experts said.

But we had a problem. We have offspring of our own, grandchildren who like to play on our patio when they come for one of their frequent visits. The presence of Wendy, even though the experts said she meant us no harm, near to our grandchildren did not seem like an ideal situation to us. So we did what we felt we had to do. We knocked down Wendy’s work, spilling paralyzed spiders and wasp larvae on our patio floor where they were swept away by my wife’s broom.

Within minutes of our destruction, Wendy returned. We retreated to the safety of our glass door to watch. She flew back and forth, up and down, along the patio wall, lighting briefly and repeatedly on the spot where remnants of her nest still clung to the wall. But she found no nest. She kept this up for several minutes, then flew away. We have not seen her at the site since.

I am trusting there are no wasp vigilante who will be showing up soon to seek revenge for our mistreatment of Wendy and our destruction of the home built and stocked by her tireless efforts. I have a great deal of respect for Wendy. It was fascinating to watch her work. In that tiny wasp brain of hers she carried all the knowledge she needed to complete her task. The location of the nest. The location of the spiders she repeatedly stung and carried to the nest. The blueprint of the nest. The knowledge of where to lay the egg so the larva would have instant access to food. The ability to close up the nest at night and reopen it the next day using the same entrance hole. How did that tiny brain carry so much important information?

Many would say it is the result of evolution. Centuries, even millennia of trial and error have built up the knowledge and ability of this insect to carry on its work of reproduction. Evolution, many would say, is the teacher who put the necessary information in Wendy’s little brain.

But I see it differently. I believe Wendy’s ancestors were created with the ability to do all that we watched Wendy do on our patio. The design was not Wendy’s, nor was it developed over countless eons of time. I believe the Creator of all life gave the first of Wendy’s ancestors the ability to do what needed to be done. I believe God put the information Wendy needed into her tiny brain, just as He did for each and every one of those organ pipe wasps who preceded her.

We are sorry, Wendy. Our grandchildren are more important to us than your children are. But we respect your tireless efforts to provide for the next generation. Next time, please choose a better location for your nursery. But keep on doing what God created you to do. Just don't do it on our patio.