Armies of Praying Mantids Attacking
Legions.
Hundreds of thousands of baby praying mantids, almost transparent skeletons
gaining ground as they marched, growing larger and stronger, forcing their way
out of the cocoons and overtaking my cabin.
Even
a veteran hermit can have her moments of alarm, isolated in a log cabin deep in
the dark forest. It’s not exactly the
answer to empty-nesting pangs when nests of insects decide to occupy the former
home of children, now grown and gone.
So…there I was, Friday evening, lying on the old worn velvet couch,
immersed in a novel when I heard skittering and clawing over in the corner of
the dining room. It sounded like birds
building a nest in the protected corner of the porch above the apple butter
pot. No problem. But an hour later when I heard the somewhat
otherworldly activity, I questioned it.
It was dark now and an unlikely time to be building a nest. I opened the screen door and squinted to see
above the arc of the porch light. No
birds. No signs of a nest. I came in and rounded the corner to the
dining room and looked up at the rafters.
WTF? Eerie-shaped foam-like
cocoons seethed out of the cracks between the highest logs in the corner. Pine resin had shellacked a couple and was
dripping down the largest one.
Had
they laid hundreds and hundreds of eggs, creating a cocoon around them as they
laid more… and then bolted while I was engrossed in the last two chapters? I thought of the turtles I had watched mating
that day. Hours and hours and the moment
after orgasm, she escaped to the woods at the edge of the yard in no time flat.
She
was gone before he even rolled over from where he had collapsed on his back in
ecstasy.
I
googled insect cocoons. And more insect
cocoons. I took photos and sent them to
the kids. Did they have any idea?
Did
I mention that it was Friday night? No one responded.
Finally,
I lighted on the praying mantids cocoons.
They were foam-like and could be any shape.
The
articles raved about praying mantids.
But it looked to me like it could be too much of a good thing. I dreaded the morning they would stir and
break out. Relieving the cabin of
ladybugs and stink bugs was challenging enough for me. And they don’t look you
in the eye like a praying mantis does.
Dreading
what I had to do, I hardly slept. I woke
early and headed down to the stall in the chilly dawn for the tall stepladder. I texted my son’s fianceé, in the county for
her sister’s bridal shower, notifying her that I might need back-up help. What
if the project was gooey? What if, when
I took my butter knife to the cocoons, thousands of jelly-like embryos came
squirming toward me with some malevolent intent they only understood as a
survival instinct? I did not know how to
prepare, but felt someone should know that I was in peril.
Two
hours later I had most of it out and lying in pieces that looked like pastries
on the countertop. I had dissected
several, searching for embryos, eggs or silhouettes of the departed.
It was disappointing. Possibly the shinier
beads of the tightly-woven cellulose were eggs?
Hundreds and hundreds of eggs. Thousands in fact. Tens of thousands in
all.
Around
noon, the youngest rose from his hangover and texted a response. “Mom, that’s sealant foam. It’s been there since we moved in. I remember it from when I was in elementary
school.”