As a child, we would go often to my Grandmother(Maw) Norwood's house in rural Heard County. Paw Norwood had a huge old barn that he did not use anymore. There were huge, I mean HUGE red wasp nests in the very top of the ceiling of that old barn. Of course, the first thing grownups would say the first step we took towards the barn is, "Stay away from that barn and don't mess with those wasps, they will sting you." Yeah, yeah, how is a tiny, dumb bee gonna sting us? We have sling shots made out of a real rubber inner tube and we were all crack shots to boot. No one bothered to tell those hundreds of mean wasps just how fearless we were. And no one told us those wasps could trace the path of that rock shot from dozens of yards away. Add all this together and somebody was going to get stung, and that somebody was me. It felt like I had been shot in the neck with a BB gun. As soon as my senses came back to me and the pain became almost unbearable, I started running to the house. To be precise, I ran to the shade tree in the front yard where all the women were gathered in a circle of chairs, talking as women do. They were also dipping snuff as was the custom back then. As soon as I reached Maw Norwood's side she turned and asked where I had been stung, already knowing what I had gotten into by the speed I ran and the volume of my anguish. No sooner than I pointed to the spot, she spat snuff with deadly accuracy on the exact spot. Then I was immediately grabbed and spat upon by others in the circle, each in turn hitting the site of the bee sting. Within minutes the pain was gone and my once white T-shirt was forever brown stained. Since I only owned 2 or 3 more T-shirts at one time, the next time I wore that shirt, someone would see the stain and remark, "Got stung by a bee, huh?"
Snuff spit is a good pain reliever for a bee sting, but man is it nasty?!?