2223. Morgan’s pet insects

Honestly having pet hornets can be no fun at all – it’s fun for Morgan of course, but for the neighbours it can be absolute hell. Morgan was the one who collected hornets’ nests as a hobby. Three nests hung on the apple tree at the end of the back lawn. Morgan was all of twelve and when grown up wanted to study entomology at university.

For the time being it was insects, insects, insects! The hornets were merely the tip of the iceberg, but definitely Morgan’s favourite. There were ants, and bumble bees, and daddy-long-legs, and moths, and butterfly caterpillars. Even flies were encouraged but it was proving expensive to feed them because they had to be locked up according to species and therefore were not free to scavenge for food on their own and return to their specific display cabinets. Morgan’s father was a cabinet maker and as keen as Morgan about insects, so he had made lots of pet insect display cabinets which were set up in a big shed next to the garage.

One thing lacking in Morgan’s collection were Murder Hornets. Murder Hornets would have been the jewel in the crown. The curator at the Federal Insect Museum invited Morgan to come and see the Murder Hornets destroy a honey bee hive. It was part of the attraction at the museum. Enthusiasts would pay ten dollars for a ticket to view the massacre – all done once a week and behind glass of course. Morgan was allowed in for free.

The Curator of the Federal Insect Museum was surprised. He had always presumed Morgan was a boy and not a girl. Morgan is one of those transgender names. As you read the story, how did you picture Morgan?

2163. A late frost

A late frost had killed all the bees; just as the plum tree began to flower. No pollination this Spring. No plums this Fall.

Seraphina didn’t quite know what she was going to do. Her abusive husband preferred plum sauce to tomato sauce. “Demanded” would be a better word. If he didn’t get his way in everything he would get angry and violent. Where in the name of goodness was Seraphina to find enough plums to make her annual batch of sauce?

In the end she found a difficult but simple solution: she packed her bags and left.

2091. A warning to the Argentinosaurus

When Dong White, Professor of Entomology at the university, was asked a simple question he went into contortions. The question, asked by a student, was simply, “Why do most species of bees have stripes?” Suddenly Dong White realized the answer to a question he had been pursuing all his intellectual life. Stripes on bees had evolved during, and even possibly predating, the Age of the Dinosaurs. Stripes acted as a warning to the Argentinosaurus, and other long-necked dinosaurs, not to come and pinch honey from the bees’ nests. If they did pinch, they would get stung.

These days, of course, stripes on bees are a hang-over from those days. Today, only giraffes could reach a bees’ nest high in a tree, but giraffes don’t eat honey.

Professor Dong White wrote a lengthy article on his insight and sent it to Scientific America for consideration. He had had other entomological papers published before. Why do bees have stripes? was sure to be a winner.

The magazine was kind enough to return the Professor’s paper. But scribbled at the top were the words: What a load of crap.

1590. Wasps and things

(The photograph is of Paper Wasps at my front door! No, I didn’t leave them there! But look how organized they are – soldiers, guards, collectors, builders… !)

Garrett was eleven years old. He liked spiders and bugs and stuff. Goodness knows how many insects had perished as he kept them as pets trying to work out the parameters. What do they eat? Where do they live? Under what conditions do they thrive? So far, he had had little luck in keeping insects as pets; except for tarantulas, and with eight legs and not six they were better off being called spiders. Besides, how to keep a pet tarantula was well documented. Also ants. He had an ants’ nest behind glass and he fed them bread soaked in sugared water. They seemed to thrive.

Of course, he also cared for monarch butterfly caterpillars. He knew what they fed on, but for the last couple of years he’d grown a little tired of them. They were so commonplace. No! What he wanted was to keep scorpions, and bumblebees, and grasshoppers, and wasps, and… different things.

As luck would have it, once he visited the insect department of the local museum at the same time as a visiting entomologist. Professor Marinko Magyar was one of the country’s leading experts. He specialized in native species of bees, but he knew an awful lot about other sorts of insects. Garrett told him of the difficulty he had in keeping insects as pets.

The professor could not have been more helpful. In fact, he was so delighted that a young person was enraptured by insects that he offered to help Garrett set up a bumblebee’s nest. It was wonderful! Under a removable wooden lid, the bees were behind glass so everything could be observed. A polythene pipe opened to the outside world where the bumble bees could freely come and go to collect pollen and whatever it was they collected. It was a lot of work setting it up, but the professor enjoyed helping the young lad who had shown such interest.

Next, the professor showed Garrett how to successfully keep crickets. The particular species they cared for required rain before they would lay eggs, so a water spray bottle was kept handy. Fortunately, Garrett’s wonderful and expanding “insect zoo” was in a large spare building apart from the house, so there was plenty of room to expand; and far enough away for Garrett’s mother to avoid having to come near “the horrible things”.

Over the next couple of years, with the help of the professor, different species of insects were added to the collection. Garrett and the professor spent hours working with the little creatures. The collection was going to become famous! It all finished, however, a couple of years ago. Now that he’s older, Garrett is taking the professor to court.

1559. Birds, bees, and butterflies

Flora was true to her name. She had planted her large property in plants to attract butterflies and bees. When summer came there were flowers flowering and butterflies fluttering and bees buzzing. She planted shrubs to attract nectar-eating birds. Who needs wind chimes when choirs of bellbirds tinkle in the breeze? And to lie in bed a little longer in the early hours of a summer’s day and hear… the birds!… oh! the birds! The dawn chorus! It was a piece of heaven fallen from… heaven.

Flora’s new neighbour didn’t appreciate Flora’s slice of bliss. “Those bloody birds wake me up every morning. What a racket. As for the bees – I see you’ve put in a hive. Some people react to bee stings. The bees are a menace. And as for flowers, especially lilies, don’t you know people get hay fever from the pollen? I suggest you pull a few things out and start recognizing the needs of other people who live nearby.”

Flora didn’t flinch.

The neighbour’s property was empty and well sprayed. There wasn’t a weed in sight. For that matter, there wasn’t a plant in sight, not even a blade of grass. “We’re getting ready to put it all in concrete. It’s so much nicer, and easier to maintain, and we’ll charge only a few dollars for every kid who wants to play.”

Flora left her paradise for one and a half weeks to go on the Horticultural Society’s Grand Garden Tour. It was one of the highlights of her year. When she returned her garden was dead; no thriving nectar-producing trees, no bellbirds, no lilies, and butterflies, and bees. Even the hive sat silent. Flora asked the neighbour what had happened.

“I done nothing,” said the neighbour. “We’re putting our concrete backyard into a go-cart race track for the local kids. You could learn a trick or two from that as to how to be neighbourly. No bee stings. No hay fever. No bird poop all over the go cart track.”

And that was that.

Poem 80: When birds begin to sing

When birds begin to sing
I know with joy that spring is near.
Somehow, this time of year,
the birds join up in pairs and build
nests, lay eggs in song-filled
days, feed, are never stilled lest
the fledglings leave the nest too soon.

Fresh things are everywhere!
Flowers bloom! Fruit forms! The air – it cries
new life! And butterflies!
And bees! Yet here, in my old, spent
winter of discontent
I must not not forget to turn
the page, the page, the page.

Listen to the poem read aloud HERE!

(Based on the Vietnamese Luc Bat).

1309. Nature Study

Christobelle had a thing for the environment. She was as green as they come. She ate only that which was organically grown. No meat of course; and in fact not even a life-giving chicken’s egg. No insect would be purposely crushed beneath her shoe. Her porch was riddled with spiders spared by Christobelle.

She was therefore considerably dismayed when it was discovered the apples her generous neighbour had allowed her to pick for the past six years, had been sprayed each year. Sprayed! Apparently to kill some moth caterpillar. These people ate cows and sheep and pigs. Why on earth would they fuss about sinking their teeth into a little creepy-crawly? And the thought of poison having entered her body annually for the past six years filled Christobelle with stenchful repulsion. She felt quite ill. What are they taught in school these days? What happened to Nature Study as a subject?

Two nights after this discovery, Christobelle went out and sprayed insect repellent into her neighbour’s thirteen beehives. That should teach him a lesson.

204. To bee or not to bee

Russell was passionate about bees. Ever since he was a kid, he was interested in bees. Being an apiarist was all he ever wanted to be.

When he was nine he started a bumblebee hive. He didn’t keep them for the honey; he kept them as pets. He could watch them through a glass lid at the top. The glass-lidded hive was in his bedroom, and the bees came and went along a polythene pipe that ran to outside his window.

Then he got a honeybee hive. Then two. By the time he was sixteen he had thirteen hives and was ready to leave school. He began to place his hives around various farms and orchards in the area. With permission of course. He had over two hundred hives and a honey processing shed. At last! He was a real beekeeper!

Then he met Adeltha (called Dell). They were very much in love, love, love.

“Dell is the one for me,” said Russell.

Adeltha was allergic to bee stings. A sting could kill her in minutes. Russell sold his hives and milked cows.