I recently read that ants in the Eaton Fire burn areas are thriving because they had nested inside the trunks of fire-resilient live oak trees.

So of course, when they needed a little change of scenery, they headed for my garden window.

I would estimate that every ant in the greater Altadena area is well acquainted with the tiny cracks on the edges of the window that allow them entry. They take the cracks as welcome signs and come barreling in with their families on their backs.

We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so they swam over in the recent rains.

Knowing I am a night owl, they gathered on the kitchen windowsill and surprised me when I came in to get a snack about 2 a.m.

What they didn’t know is that I had wiped the counter down well, including their favorite spot next to the toaster, where for many years they have enjoyed feasting on my toast crumbs.

“When did you get so neat?” one of the ants asked. “We must have stayed away too long.”

Actually, I had walked into the kitchen to make some warm Ovaltine to soothe my nerves from the relentlessly pounding rain that I hoped would not cause my roof to spring a leak. 

Yes, Ovaltine. That stuff we drank as children. Go ahead and laugh; get it over with. All my friends do.

So there’s no point in trying to hide it from my readers. Hopefully, you will take it as an endearing quirk, rather than a regression into childhood.

The ants stared at me as I removed my warm milk from the microwave and added the Ovaltine. I could feel them watching intently to see if I would spill any. My hand actually shook as I carefully spooned the powder into the mug.

Not one granule fell on the counter.

Triumphantly, I turned to my house guests and pointed to the clean counter. But they all clumped together, and a hundred little ant eyes looked at me sadly. I started to feel guilty. After all, they did swim through a bad storm to visit me. And they were distracting me from worrying about the possible tornado warning I had heard on the news. They looked hungry, and, at that point, so was I.

“Am I really making toast for ants?” I asked myself as I placed a slice of raisin bread into the toaster. When it popped up, I scraped some crumbs onto the counter. The ants raced over, and I’m pretty sure they smiled at me. 

Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com 

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