Bugs in my Freezer
& Other Tales from an Entomologist's Wife
Copyright © 2001 By Vicki Edwards
ISBN 1-58495-780-8
Electronically published in arrangement with the author
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information contact DiskUs Publishing
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Although some of the names in this book are real, permission has been given for their names to be included.
All information in this book is from the author's own words and DiskUs Publishing accepts no responsibility for the validity of the information.
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Dedicated to Dennis Edwards, my bug man
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Acknowledgments:
To our friends in the bug business, and to those who like us in spite of our six-legged pets, thanks for the chuckles. Life truly is stranger than fiction.
Terry Dove
Gordon James
Mr. & Mrs. Mike Bonner
Mr. & Mrs. K. Duane Biever
Greg Paulson and Jim for contributing their stories.
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Bugs in My Freezer
& Other Tales from an Entomologist's Wife
Introduction
Women are known for their own accomplishments today. It may seem peculiar, therefore, for me to write about my life from the focal point of what my husband does for a living. But certain callings influence one's life more dramatically than others. For instance, the wife of an astronaut has more to be concerned with than traffic on the highway when her husband travels. And she may have an exciting career of her own, but about what do you think people most often converse with her? I think you can see my point. So here I am--married to an entomologist.
The first hurdle for me in any casual conversation is the standard question, "And what does your husband do?" Over my 20 years of marriage, I have developed several responses to that question. If I want to impress someone, I simply say, "He's a scientist." If I have a lot of time to explain, I tell them that he is an entomologist. Fewer than 50 percent of the pool of inquirers I have encountered know what an entomologist is. I usually respond to the puzzled looks with the comment, "A bug man." Then the fun begins.
For those with good imaginations, images of spider man or the human fly may spring to mind. For others, pest control commercials may be the only mental connection. Many inquirers have been dumbfounded by the notion that someone could actually earn a living studying insects-who would pay for such a thing? What would he do all day?
I have also met some curious individuals who have wondered out loud what type of person might be drawn into a lifetime of insect study. Some smirk, no doubt imagining an unkempt young man with net slung over one shoulder, tape holding together the frames of his glasses and a Bic collection stuffed in his shirt pocket. Well, to those of you who choose to judge and stereotype in this fashion I have one thing to say. Yes, some entomologists do fit that description. Yet the professional membership of the ESA (Entomology Society of America) includes all genders, temperaments, and personality types. Some entomology professionals did start out with a childhood fascination with insects. Others may have chosen entomology after failing their medical school exams. Anyway, I can vouch for the fact that many entomologists are regular people. In fact, if you saw one on the street without his or her sweep net or collection jars, you probably would not be able to distinguish him or her from a plumber or an air traffic controller. Some are even athletic. My husband played on a baseball team with his entomology department cohorts in college. They were great at catching flies.
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Chapter One: Living with Bugs
My family is basically a normal American family. Really, we are. Oh, don't drink that . . . I know it looks like tea, but it's mosquito eggs. It's my daughter's science fair experiment. As I was saying, we are just your average all-American family. Oh these earrings? Thank you. I like them too. They are the cocoons from caddisfly larvae. Can I get you a cold drink? Help yourself to the ice. What? Oh, what's that beside the frozen orange juice concentrate? Well my husband hasn't gotten around to pinning those yet. Just a few beetles and a crane fly. No. I promise-there are no insects in the ice cubes. Feel free to look for yourself.
Romance and the bug man . . .
Twenty years ago, I married a man who was studying to be a game warden. When he had a change of heart and chose entomology for his life's vocation, I had no idea what adventures lie in store. We were newlyweds during his early entomology years. We enjoyed hikes and nature and picnics. One Sunday afternoon we packed an old-fashioned basket with chicken, lemonade, rolls and slaw and headed for a nearby park. The sky was blue and the air was warm and breezy. After our lunch, we took a walk. We strolled along, his hand in mine. His other hand was holding a jar, just in case an interesting insect should cross our path. After a while, we met up with a couple of fellow entomology students out searching for specimens for their collections. The collections would be graded on variety, as well as number of insects. Some types of insects, I was to learn, are harder to find and therefore of greater worth to the ambitious student.
As we walked, we came near a dead dog. I naturally stepped away from the unfortunate animal. My husband and his fellow students, however, failed to see the vile carcass that I saw. Instead they saw a treasure chest of unique and elusive insects. As they hovered over the dog's decaying flesh, admiring and picking off choice specimens for their collections, I realized that romance and life would be different for me than I what I had expected.
Keeping perspective
When my husband first stepped onto his career path, he passionately searched for insects for his collection. One of his favorite ways to kill an insect is to put it in a container, then put it in the freezer. Insects slow down when they get cold, then die without damaging themselves and therefore their value as a collection specimen. I was not happy about sharing my freezer space with creatures that my mother had taught me had no place in the kitchen. Oddly enough, there was another entomologist who attended our church. I was visiting with his wife one day and asked if she ever grew tired of having insects in her freezer. She told me that she used to think it was awful. Then she met the wife of a pathologist, who had a human foot in her freezer.
"With" or "Without"
We moved to west Texas for my husband's graduate school training in entomology. There, we experienced the joy of Tex/mex cuisine. We visited all of the local restaurants, and slowly acquired a taste for hotter and hotter foods. I mention this as an explanation as to why, when we went to an entomology department picnic, I assumed that the delicious-looking appetizers displayed in two separate serving dishes labeled "with" and "without" were being described in terms of their relative spiciness. Feeling like a fully acclimated southwesterner, and being very hungry to boot, I did not hesitate when my husband offered me a bite of his egg roll-type appetizer, taken from the "with" dish. Just as I had taken a bite, he looked at me with twinkling eyes and proclaimed, "You've just eaten your first bug!"
Indeed I was to learn that the featured food du jour was southwestern corn borer larvae. I have been told that the corn borer larvae also bake up into a nice casserole. I am happy to report that, although there is ample nutritional value in certain insects, the entomologists' families whom we know do not regularly stock insects in their pantries. And although I suffered no ill effects from my bug eating experien
ce, I remain ever suspicious of egg rolls.
This is your cockroach on drugs . . .
I admit it-we had cockroaches. We had an infestation of large, shiny brown cockroaches. But why should that concern me? My husband is, after all, a soldier of fortune in the war against bugs, an expert on insects, an entomologist. I have nothing to fear. I simply add an item to the "honey-do" list and roaches are out of my life. Or so I thought. My husband sprayed the house with pesticide, then left town. I settled myself onto the sofa with a good book.
By nature, cockroaches are shy, demure creatures who confine their activities to corners and only come out into the open when darkness offers them security. But we are speaking of normal, healthy cockroaches. On that warm summer evening, there were no normal, healthy cockroaches in my home. Instead, I had a roomful of drug-crazed roaches who had lost all respect for human superiority. They flew freely around the room, crashing into walls, diving at my head and landing on my book.
Frantic, I called my husband at his hotel and described the horrific scene. He responded with typical entomologist chivalry . . . he chuckled. His expert opinion was that, if the roaches were behaving this way, it was a sure sign that they had eaten the poison and would be dead in the morning. I found that to be a small comfort as I turned just in time to see a roach splash down in my glass of tea.
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Chapter Two: Working with Bugs
Bug Bulimia and other Research Breakthroughs
Lest you think the insect world is boring, let me just mention Mort the Tort (short for tortricid, which basically means a moth with a snout). My husband spent two years of his life studying the lifestyle of this small, desert dweller. The insect is of scientific interest because it damages a plant called broomweed. West Texas cattle eat the toxic broomweed, which causes them to abort their calves. (West Texas cattle get extremely bored with their diet. They will even eat the brightly colored plastic flags that researchers use to mark their experimental plots.)
If you've ever considered writing your life story only to decide that your life is not interesting enough to write about, think about the graduate student assigned to write about the life history of an insect. The student watches and watches, and yet, there it is-just a dumb bug sitting on a weed in the middle of the desert. In a moment of overwhelming boredom, my husband picked up a bug nicknamed Greg (a cousin to Mort the Tort) from his little green oasis and threw him onto the scorching hot sand. Greg ran around for a little while, then died. Still not fully amused, my husband threw Mort to the sand. Unlike Greg, Mort had a strong will to live. And he knew a trick. Rather than die of heat there on the hot sand, he turned his head around and threw up all over himself. With the liquid on his back providing evaporative cooling, Mort made his way back to chez broomweed.
Now you know how scientific discoveries are made.
By the way, Greg's nickname comes from the fact he lives in close proximity to other torts, and is, therefore, gregarious. After discovering the hygiene habits of Mort, it's not hard to guess why he lives alone.
Man's Pest Friend
Most sports teams have mascots, as do schools, and many other organizations. So why shouldn't entomologists have a mascot? Okay, so in light of the fact that entomology is the term for the study of insects in general, I suppose that they cannot have one insect that officially represents them. But if they did, I know which insect they would choose. Hands down more entomologists have Madagascar hissing roaches as "office" pets than any other insect.
This giant, wingless cousin of the common domestic cockroach is roughly the size and shape of a Vienna finger cookie. The males have large horns behind their heads and hairy antennae. My husband claims they are so popular because they are big, docile and easy to raise. You simply toss them in an aquarium with some dry dog food and a wet sponge and you have a healthy habitat for these roaches. But I think it's really the hiss that endears these bugs to the entomologists' hearts. Although completely harmless, the roaches have a distinctive sound they make whenever they are disturbed. The males also hiss when romancing their sweethearts, and when in combat with other males.
These roaches are also a favorite with Hollywood movie-makers, who use them in scenes where a gross-out reaction is needed (e.g. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Mouse Hunt). I don't remember ever hearing the roaches hiss in a movie, however. Maybe it's because the producers have to pay more to those with speaking parts.
Heroes come in all professions
Most homes have their share of problems . . . leaky pipes, faulty wiring, drafty windows. Friends of ours had a house that buzzed. They had poured months of sweat into their fixer-upper, and were just about to move in when a colony of bees became a living part of their bedroom wall. The wife had had enough. She refused to move in until the bees were gone. Enter my husband. A simple man by day . . . driving to work . . . coming home and playing with his children. But to these people-he was their only hope.
They crossed the creaky wooden floor carefully as the bare light bulb overhead cast an eerie glow on the seafoam green walls. After carefully examining the wall with a stethoscope, my husband began drilling holes in hopes of locating the nest. He would drill, then use a flashlight to look into the wall. My husband and his unwilling assistant, the unfortunate homeowner, were on hands and knees, staring at a hole drilled low on the wall when one lone bee popped through the hole. My husband slammed his flashlight over the hole to keep the bee in. He turned around just in time to see the homeowner's backside exiting the room.
The humming coming from inside the wall was very loud now. My husband sat frozen, like the proverbial boy with his finger in the hole of the dam. Meanwhile the homeowner peered into the room with round eyes, sweat dripping from his brow. After much coaxing, he came back into the room to hold the flashlight while my husband mixed up the deadly bug cocktail in his pump-style sprayer. Meanwhile the buzzing stayed as constant as a freshly charged cordless razor.
It took even more prodding to convince the homeowner to remove the flashlight from the hole. Finally he pulled back the light and my husband showered the wall with pesticide, then inserted the sprayer's nozzle into the wall and pumped until the buzzing subsided.
Slowly the color returned to the homeowner's face and he bowed to my husband. And as far as we know, the couple is still living happily ever after in their buzz-free home and singing the praises of their entomologist friend. It makes a wife proud.
The world's luckiest orphan
Nature can be cruel. Generally a young bird that is orphaned or abandoned before it can fly has a poor chance of survival. Even when baby birds are discovered by benevolent humans, their chances of survival are slim . . . unless that human happens to work in an insectary.
My husband stumbled upon a baby woodpecker on the 15th hole of a golf course in Cranberry, New Jersey. It did not have its flight feathers, and was therefore just biding time until the first predator happened by. But fate truly smiled at this bird. My husband took him to the insectary where he worked and housed him in an insect cage.
An insectary is a laboratory where, in most cases, various types of pest insects are raised by the millions to be used in pesticide tests. Corn earworms are a pest and a formidable enemy to farmers, but to a young woodpecker, they are filet mignon. "Woody" was quite possibly the best fed undomesticated bird in history. He was quite a novelty for the technicians who worked in the insectary, (these folks were used to dealing with caterpillars for 40 hours each week) and everybody wanted to feed him. There were even reports that Woody was so overfed that he was "eliminating" whole, undigested caterpillars. (Scientists often note things that the rest of us didn't even really care to know.)
After a mere two weeks at the bugateria, Woody's wing feathers were fully developed. The insectary door opened for him, and he flew to the nearest tree. I love happy endings.
Animal rights-but some animals are less equal
Most people are sensitive to the needless suffering of animals. We don't
want to think that the mascara we apply today was the cause of death or discomfort for any beagles or bunnies yesterday. Yet even in this enlightened era, there are some causes without champions, some victims without talk shows. I am referring, of course, to the millions of insects that die each year in field and laboratory trials.
In 1991, an animal rights group, which shall remain nameless, called the biotech lab where my husband worked. They demanded to know if any animals were being tested in the facility. When they were told of the multiple genocides that routinely took place, the protests ceased. You see, when it comes to unnatural destruction of laboratory insects-no one cares.
Actually, one person did care. After supplying one elementary classroom with cabbage loopers in sealed containers filled with food (so that the students could observe their development and metamorphoses) the biotech company received an angry call. One mother objected, "I can't believe you would do this terrible thing. It is so futile for this creature to grow up just to die."
Interestingly, the lifespan of a cabbage looper moth in an insectary is 10 to 14 days. This moth kept in the containers given to the students could live 6-7 days. The same type of moth in the wild would be very fortunate to live 6-7 days. Perhaps she was referring to quality of life issues?
Revenge and the Bug Man
Oh sure, you can kid a guy who plays with bugs for a living. You can tease, cajole, or torment, but don't ever play a practical joke on an entomologist. Think for a moment of the arsenal of creatures and expertise at his retaliatory disposal. Is this a person you really want to mess with?
Some of my husband's co-workers had not thought out the consequences. They decided to move some office furniture and play some lame joke on this sweet, unassuming entomologist. The next week, strange things happened around the lab. Every time a desk drawer opened, a housefly came out (the old larvae in the back of the desk drawer trick). Shrieks of fright pierced the air as seemingly innocuous memos were lifted from a desk only to reveal a hideous, giant roach (actually, only the shed skins of a roach).
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