WAG - Moth Madness
I’ve been sitting on this news for a while because every time I get close to finding a pausing point, I suddenly find myself in the middle of another chapter.
It’s like being a character in a James Joyce novel, staring up at the page wondering how you got to the point where you’re at (For those of you who haven’t been assigned any of his readings, or his Cliff Notes, he’s an author famous for not using much transitory punctuation scenes flow into one another, hours pass into years and the next thing you know you’re second guessing the timeframe of every single sentence).
Anyway, moving beyond the rant left over from my humanities class, I find myself in the regrettable position of choosing between telling a tale that has yet to come to a conclusion or watching another week or two go by without saying a word.
I think I’ve sat on this long enough.
You know how I’ve joked that gypsy moths are so rare in Missouri (seven caught two years ago and only four last year) and the odds of me finding them are extremely remote.
Does anyone remember me talking about how I caught more tree frogs (over half a dozen, since they like to hang out in the traps and they don’t stick to the glue) last year than moths (final count: zero).
Recall how I joke about being paid to listen to music and cruise back roads than protect Missouri from the vile scourge of the dreaded gypsy moth of death?
Well… Heh, heh… Three weeks ago I caught one. Three miles north of Sullivan. It was still alive too. I was sent in to the state entomologist (yes, Missouri has one. We have crappy roads, but by golly, we spend the necessary money to have a state bug guy) and confirmed two weeks ago.
I was gearing up to have a big post about my first success when the next day I caught another one. It was a perfect, textbook capture. We sent it in, but no one had any doubt that it was another gypsy moth.
The results were supposed to come in this week, but before they could I found another suspect moth today.
I’m seem to averaging a gypsy moth a week. My general reaction has followed the same pattern: “What?” “Cool!” and finally, “Crap!”
I first question that I finally caught one after two summers of searching (in an area where they haven’t been trapped in over a decade). I have a mounted set of gypsy moths that I can compare any trapped samples to and I usually quadruple check every time (including one last time in the Sullivan office parking lot before I turn the trap into my boss).
I then think it’s great that I actually found one (which justifies all the hours and miles I’ve logged). It’s human nature that security guards get more credit for stopping a crime than for all the time spent making sure nothing happened.
Finally, I feel bad because it means more work to catch the moths (especially since one was captured on state owned land) both this year and next. The problem was going to be there whether I noticed the moths or not, but now we’ve left our ignorance derived bliss and are facing a cold, hard, unwelcome reality.
Well, it’s not all bad. There’s humor involved. My boss is retiring this Fall and jokes how he won’t have to worry about it much longer. The other Department of Conservation trapper (who takes the neighboring counties) is joking that I’m planting these moths to look good. He is also the first one I know who ever catch a snake in a gypsy moth trap.
I feel like I’ve justified my summer vocation. In addition to the song lyrics I’ve picked up, and the singing practice I’ve had (my old choir teacher would be proud), I know have a photo of a gypsy moth number two, the picture perfect catch.
I plan to frame and keep as a reminder that gypsy moths, though a dangerous and formidable foe, are nothing compared to Caleb Michael Smith, Moth Hunter.
'Hey_moths_Bring_it_on'
