So, not violent. I even try to get along with insects. Not in the Buddhist sort of harm nothing way, which has been a theme for the past few days, but just because I often think, hey, they didn't ask me to move into their land and take over. Never mind that I don't know where humans, as a whole, are supposed to go. I guess we were here too, but, suppose that in reality we should collectively shirk civilization and go back to living naked in the woods or wherever where, yeah, the insects would then have a better chance of biting, stinging, foraging on us. Possibly in many, many places we don't want to be stung or foraged on/in, by insects at least.
In fact, in another incarnation, I labeled myself the Ant Messiah, because I often, at work, the labor job thingy, would dispense bits of Doritos and lard laced Little Debbie desserts to the ants underfoot, expecting that they were going home and talking about the first coming of this great being who gave them...well, essentially large doses of cholesterol. Guess they really didn't need to thank me too thoroughly.
I often wondered what would happen to them as we displaced their intricate worlds, pouring concrete and building a freaking massive house on their stable plains. I even recall going to great pains to be self critical when I obliterated and I mean ZAP! obliterated one of the ant minions for crawling up my pants leg and biting his or her messiah. I am an angry god.
As I said, I'm not typically violent, and try to be good to insects even. I don't kill the black spiders that live inside because they kill flies, and they're kind of cute. And I don't kill Daddy Long Legs because, sheesh, don't you know, that's bad luck, and besides, they're really cool, I think. Especially since they could kill you with their toxic selves but just can't because they're too small. I bet they made up the "bad luck to kill 'em" stuff just to fool us. Good for them.
Anyhow, a few days ago Earl and Ricë were over taking pictures of the swanky pad before I began taking it apart. (Sadly it is very apart now.) They were out on the balcony, and it's fairly well known amongst those I know that I had a pretty dang nice container garden there this year. I'd describe it, but a picture might be better (or a few pictures):
Those were earlier in the Spring. I remember when I went to LA and returned everything was blooming like mad. In fact my Mom had care of the garden right in its prime, and got to see all the blooms almost in perfect timing, which is nicely ironic since she seems to have a black thumb. Actually I think it's the oil companies having ruined the well water at her house, and given decent water, or vaguely decent water as Midland's water might be called, she could grow things.
So, everything growing in my garden grew well, in any event. I even raised the Bells of Ireland from seeds, and I've been waiting years to do that successfully. They are now gone, but they did well for a first try.
Point being, this was a nice container garden if I do say so myself. And one point of pride was a rose bush I bought, one which thrives, according to the info, in mild climates. We are not a mild climate, but this year has been mild, so the rose bush did well. While I love roses and rose bushes, I'm not mad about them continually, and they typically require their own set of rules. But this bush was named Rhapsody in Blue, and I've always been a sucker for that Gershwin piece, so I bought the plant, it grew, and it blossomed.
Okay...Earl and Ricë were over and seated near my purple basil plant, another point of pride, raised from seeds, and used in a number of culinary creations this year, from Mom's watermelon with feta and basil leaves, to Earl's perfect execution of my conceptual bread/tomato/basil/mozarella open faced toasted sandwiches.
Honestly I will try not to digress any more!
Earl and Ricë were seated by the basil and noticed a green grasshoppery thing on it. My immediate reaction was to grab the bug and smash it, like the ant, to oblivion. I thought I had knocked it lifeless a few days before. But Ricë wondered if it was not a benevolent, aphid eating creature. I wondered as well, despite the fact that the basil had holes spotted throughout the plant. After all, the bastard aphids had been attacking my oleander all summer long, and it has been a long battle.
Fair enough on the non katydidcide I thought. I also believed I had heard they were helpful, and that some other evil insect had trespassed and dined on my plant goodies. I let the katydid live.
Tonight, while watering the garden, as it is the last thing to go, I noticed the katydid was back. On the beloved rosebush. The mild climate rosebush that had rhapsodised in blue all summer. The katydid was munching away, not on leaves, but on the tender, as yet unopened flower buds. Exposed to the night sky were the chewed layers underneath the green sheath. What's worse is the katydid apparently needed to eat a few bites from every bud. Every bud! Like a greedy kid who takes one bite out of every sandwich on a serving plate so that his or her cooties can claim to own all the food.
The evidence.
So I grabbed at the katydid but it jumped away. It would have been a pulpish green mass otherwise. I went to get more water, and upon returning the katydid was back. Again I tried a grab and smash, and truthfully I don't know where the damn bug went this time.
It will likely return. Too tempting, no doubt, this green and bluish purple and white oasis in the vast wasteland of West Texas Apartment Balconies. Even better, its owner frets about potential past and post life consequences.
But why the rose bush, the fragile rose bush? So much other stuff to eat.
That katydid better enjoy the rest of its mealtime without running into me. Soon the garden will disperse to other homes, and the fine dining experience will end there at least. And if we cross paths again, Buddha or no Buddha (they can all turn their heads,) this is gonna be one slime patch of an insect.
Or else, the Ant Messiah might be resurrected, and call upon his ant worshippers to seek, attack and destroy the lone katydid.
Little Debbie snack cakes shall then rain upon my faithful!
So, everything growing in my garden grew well, in any event. I even raised the Bells of Ireland from seeds, and I've been waiting years to do that successfully. They are now gone, but they did well for a first try.
Point being, this was a nice container garden if I do say so myself. And one point of pride was a rose bush I bought, one which thrives, according to the info, in mild climates. We are not a mild climate, but this year has been mild, so the rose bush did well. While I love roses and rose bushes, I'm not mad about them continually, and they typically require their own set of rules. But this bush was named Rhapsody in Blue, and I've always been a sucker for that Gershwin piece, so I bought the plant, it grew, and it blossomed.
Okay...Earl and Ricë were over and seated near my purple basil plant, another point of pride, raised from seeds, and used in a number of culinary creations this year, from Mom's watermelon with feta and basil leaves, to Earl's perfect execution of my conceptual bread/tomato/basil/mozarella open faced toasted sandwiches.
Honestly I will try not to digress any more!
Earl and Ricë were seated by the basil and noticed a green grasshoppery thing on it. My immediate reaction was to grab the bug and smash it, like the ant, to oblivion. I thought I had knocked it lifeless a few days before. But Ricë wondered if it was not a benevolent, aphid eating creature. I wondered as well, despite the fact that the basil had holes spotted throughout the plant. After all, the bastard aphids had been attacking my oleander all summer long, and it has been a long battle.
Fair enough on the non katydidcide I thought. I also believed I had heard they were helpful, and that some other evil insect had trespassed and dined on my plant goodies. I let the katydid live.
Tonight, while watering the garden, as it is the last thing to go, I noticed the katydid was back. On the beloved rosebush. The mild climate rosebush that had rhapsodised in blue all summer. The katydid was munching away, not on leaves, but on the tender, as yet unopened flower buds. Exposed to the night sky were the chewed layers underneath the green sheath. What's worse is the katydid apparently needed to eat a few bites from every bud. Every bud! Like a greedy kid who takes one bite out of every sandwich on a serving plate so that his or her cooties can claim to own all the food.
The evidence.So I grabbed at the katydid but it jumped away. It would have been a pulpish green mass otherwise. I went to get more water, and upon returning the katydid was back. Again I tried a grab and smash, and truthfully I don't know where the damn bug went this time.
It will likely return. Too tempting, no doubt, this green and bluish purple and white oasis in the vast wasteland of West Texas Apartment Balconies. Even better, its owner frets about potential past and post life consequences.
But why the rose bush, the fragile rose bush? So much other stuff to eat.
That katydid better enjoy the rest of its mealtime without running into me. Soon the garden will disperse to other homes, and the fine dining experience will end there at least. And if we cross paths again, Buddha or no Buddha (they can all turn their heads,) this is gonna be one slime patch of an insect.
Or else, the Ant Messiah might be resurrected, and call upon his ant worshippers to seek, attack and destroy the lone katydid.
Little Debbie snack cakes shall then rain upon my faithful!
1 comment:
i would worship you, Oh, Snack God, if only you rained down tortilla chips, rather than the skanky little debbie cakes.
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