Bugs in My Freezer

by Vicki Edwards

  I once heard a story, though it did not involve any spouse of mine, of two individuals who worked in a bee lab. One, as the yarn goes, was irritating the other to the limit of his patience and tolerance. Finally, the disgruntled coworker could stand the strain no longer. He grabbed a bee and threw it down the shirt of his tormentor. It turns out that the former had intentionally chosen a drone bee (males don't sting), but even a bee expert cannot discern the gender of a bee while it's trapped in his or her garments.

  No one was actually harmed, so perhaps this guy's buzz was worse than his bite. Nonetheless, it's good to respect entomologists.

  ***

  Chapter 3: No Immunity

  There are certain perks that go with various professions. Cookie salesmen often get to take home samples for their family. Diplomats' kids can get out of parking tickets. But no truces between bugs and man, I had to learn, grace the lives of the entomologist's family.

  "In Defense of Mosquitoes"

  I bolted upright in my bed. The clock said 4 a.m., but I was fully awake from the histamines surging through my body. My hike through a local nature preserve was now fully 10 days in the past, yet my maddening souvenirs were screaming to be scratched. Amazingly lucid for this hour of the day, I contemplated the tactics of two of earth's most loathsome creatures.

  Formerly, the member of the animal kingdom I least respected was the mosquito. Yet lying there in bed I had experienced epiphany. It took being ravaged by a far more wicked parasite, but now I recognize the mosquito's charm. This other parasite, the cause of my current torment, is known as a chigger. If you will consider with me these two notorious human adversaries, I think you will agree that, as parasites go, the mosquito is the more gracious.

  The mosquito resides near stagnant water. As a vector of malaria and other deadly diseases, it has been responsible for more human deaths than any other animal. Yet, in the battle of human versus vermin, it's the tactics rather than its kill rate that has won the chigger its lowly place in my esteem.

  The mosquito has a distinctive buzz, which serves as an early warning that a parasite is approaching. The mosquito is also visible to the naked eye, which makes its detection and demise even more simple for creatures possessing higher intelligence. Finally, the mosquito is a pragmatist. It lands on the first piece of exposed flesh it can find, and performs its blood theft in the open.

  The chigger has eight legs and only two body segments, and therefore is not an insect, but a mite. It tends to camp in large numbers at the tips of grass stems, shrubbery and other low vegetation as it waits to ambush a passerby. No buzzing will alert you to the chigger's presence. This mute mite would be mistaken for a tiny speck of sand or dirt, should you even be sharp-eyed enough to spot one. Unlike the mosquito, the chigger examines its victim thoroughly and stealthily chooses a position of attack where it is most likely to go unnoticed. This undercover enemy can penetrate many different types of fabric and will march to where the host's clothing is most restrictive, then strike. (Take a moment to think about those spots where your elastic clings tightest. These anatomic regions are seldom places where you would feel good about scratching in public).

  The chigger uses chemical weaponry. The covert intruder pierces the skin and injects its saliva, which contains strong digestive enzymes. Once having liquefied minute areas of flesh, the chigger drinks in its nectar. Hours later welts develop and the incessant itching begins. The irritation caused by the mite's saliva generally lasts days longer than the discomfort of the mosquito's small transfusion. The itch of a chigger bite is comparable to an acute case of poison ivy.

  The final difference between these two foes and their respective styles of warfare involves the psychological effects on the victims. The mosquito victim is outraged. He shouts and arms himself with citronella products, swatting devices and aerosols. He has the full support of his fellow humans, who offer the appropriate sympathy. The chigger victim suffers alone. Since chiggers clump in camps, they often brutally attack one person with the full strength of their numbers, leaving her comrades untouched, wondering what all of the fuss is about. The victim is left demoralized, wondering what she did wrong (I was wearing repellent), and how she can defend against another attack (restrict future hikes to arctic climates). She awakens from a fretful sleep to ravage her skin with her own fingernails. . . aaah . . . where was I?

  I take some comfort from the folk wisdom that the chigger didn't enjoy the experience either--that it would prefer to dine on duck. Since both ducks and humans are immense to the chigger, it grabs a mouthful of human when the opportunity arises, then spits us out in disgust.

  As you can see, the mosquito is a much more tolerable beast. There is often the opportunity for open confrontation, which generally results in human success. Certainly, there is a cost to the battle--a blood-stained shirt or forearm. Yet that is a small price to pay for such a satisfying victory over an old enemy. The chigger silently, secretly inflicts its wound, creates excruciating torment, then departs to begin a new stage of life. The host (Don't you love that word? "I'm hosting a party on Friday." "Really. Well, I'm hosting a chigger colony.") never sees what bit him.

  I try to learn something from experiences that involve suffering. The take-home message here is that when it comes to human parasites, it's easier to defend against a frontal attack than to convince a mite that you are not a duck.

  Friends, fun and fire ants

  I grew up fascinated with ants. They are always engaged in purposeful activity. They create intricate civilizations in miniature. They are neat. I grew up in Michigan, however, and had never heard of fire ants, until I moved south. Fire ants also are full of activity, and build civilizations, or, rather whole empires. But they are harder to like. The are the mob of the insect world. Should you inadvertently disrupt a portion of their turf, all of the homies, and there are millions in each nest, will swarm out upon you, sting, move up your body a bit, and sting again. The welts remain painful for at least a week, and it is unheard of to get "a" sting. If you've disturbed the nest, the entire colony will come for pay-back.

  I was not the only newcomer to the fire ant zone. There were many people moving to the "sunbelt" in the 80s. In fact, I was a part of a newcomer club. Once a month, a dozen or so of us newcomer-mom types got together for lunch. We would meet at a different member's home, visit, eat and let our children play together.

  One summer day we had a visitor-a lady from the northern part of our country who had just moved to town. She came that day with her toddler son. While we were chatting, her son let out a blood-curdling cry. Several of us ran to her son and stripped him naked within seconds, assuming that he had stepped in a fire ant nest. What we had executed was the exact right thing to do, since the stinging ants often climb inside a child's clothing to bite. They are easy to brush off once you can see them. We applied the proper first aid-and with professional speed and grace. We turned to our visiting mom, proud of our accomplishment. She stood there staring at us, mouth ajar. It turned out that the little guy had a bee sting.

  I don't remember the poor child's name, as his mom didn't come to any more of our luncheons.

  ***

  Chapter 4: Misadventures & Misunderstandings

  Professionals Indignities

  Perhaps you would not want your son or daughter, niece or nephew to enter into a profession that elicited so many raised eyebrows. I will take it upon myself to assure you that there are more obscure professions than entomology. We have many friends who are mixed couples (one scientist, one regular person). I love to hear stories of one particular couple's social encounters. You know how creative people are with ice breakers at social functions. Sooner or later someone would ask the pair what they did for a living. The conversation inevitably went like this:

  "Mike, what do you do?"

  "I'm a nematologist." (a person who studies nematodes)

  "Hmm. Sue, what do you do?"

  "I sell Breyer's ice cream."

  With back n
ow turned slightly away from Mike and toward Sue, "Really! I just love Breyer's ice cream. Tell me . . ."

  The moral of the story: At least the average person can launch a decent conversation from the topic of insects.

  Enology, etymology and enemalogy

  There are sometimes confusing misunderstandings for entomologists to endure. One might honestly confuse other sound-alike fields of study such as enology, the science of wine and wine making or even etymology, the study of the history of words. But there are some lines where confusion is not the culprit, but rather where malice rears its ugly head. Yes, there are times when the good science of entomology has been intentionally distorted to sound like-- something else.

  It was a going away party held in our honor. We were heading for the west coast where my husband was to help start up a new biotech company with the noble cause of developing natural pesticides. Yet one so-called friend used our departure to roast my husband and his profession. He said, "Young Denny's mother was not too sophisticated. She thought the best way to treat most any illness was to purge it from the body. Therefore her favorite remedy was the enema. Denny grew up with an unnatural fear of enemas, but since he was also taught to face his fears, he made a snap decision that day on the college campus when he saw the office of "enemalogy." After years of study, he was still a bit confused about why his professors spent so much time talking about bugs."

  Close Encounters

  Yes, entomology has at times been embarrassing for us, but for professor Greg Paulson, it was downright dangerous. He writes,

  "When I was working on my Ph.D. I spent a lot of time studying the nocturnal interactions of ants in pear orchards. This required that my assistant and I use red headlamps so we could observe the ants without disturbing them. One evening I heard someone say, 'What the h--- are you doing?' From my position crouched at the base of a tree, I looked up straight into the business end of a double-barrel, 12-gauge shotgun.

  "Apparently one of the neighbors had seen red lights bobbing up and down in the orchard and thought he was witnessing an alien invasion. I'm just glad he asked questions before he opened fire. From then on my assistant and I changed to lights we carried instead of wore on our heads and we placed the lights as far away from us as possible when we worked the orchard."

  Likewise, one entomology professional (Jim) knows how it feels to be misunderstood. Here is his story:

  "While I was attending college at Washington State University (taking a class in Systematic Entomology), I spent a great deal of my spare time collecting insects for the required collection with a classmate named Jeff. On one particularly nice spring day, we drove into the mountains north of Moscow, Idaho to collect insects. We were well stocked with all of our collecting supplies and entomological 'paraphernalia,' including nets, beating sheets, kill jars, specimen vials, and of course collection aspirators.

  "Everything we needed was packed into the car for a good bug trip except, unfortunately, our lunches. We had a very successful time with the insects and after a full day of collecting, we headed back toward Moscow with full jars and vials but rather empty stomachs. Once back in town, we went to where all the poor students go for food, the local McDonald's.

  "Not only were the poor students eating at this McDonald's, but so were several of Moscow's finest law officers. We ate our burgers and then got up to leave. I noticed Jeff was looking out the window quizzically at his car. Two local police officers were peering into his car with great interest. They cautiously looked at Jeff's car and then walked back to their patrol car (which was one or two parking spaces away) and quietly talked to each other.

  "Jeff and I thought this was odd but didn't give it too much thought as we left the restaurant. The officers eyed us suspiciously as we approached the car. As Jeff unlocked the car the two officers came up behind us and told to step away from the car and not to move. They then asked who owned the car and asked if they could search the vehicle. Jeff said that they could search the car if they wanted to and then asked them why they wanted to search his car.

  "The first officer looked disgustedly at us. (I suppose we were a little grubby looking after our hard day of bug collecting). He then reached into the car and triumphantly pulled out our aspirators (which were lying on the dash board) and knowingly held them in our faces. 'What are these for?' he said. The second officer then pointed to our nicely organized boxes of jars and specimen vials and gruffly asked, 'What's inside of those?'

  "It suddenly became very clear to us what was going on. Jeff started to laugh looking at the officer holding our aspirators. The officers were not impressed. (I wasn't impressed with him laughing at two very stern policemen either). We then told them that we had been collecting insects and that he was holding our aspirators and not some interesting looking marijuana pipe or other drug paraphernalia. They were not convinced. You have to admit, aspirators do look rather suspect.

  "It only took a quick look at our jars and sample vials to clear us of drug possession charges. But the aspirators were another matter. After some talking, Jeff finally got the officers to give him the aspirators so he could demonstrate their real function. After sucking up some flies around the restaurant lights we had totally convinced the two of our innocence.

  "The two cops were actually great guys and were so surprised that we were legit. They at first thought that we were the all-time biggest fibbers trying to con them with a truly inventive and ridiculous story of insect collecting. Later we all had a good laugh over the whole ordeal. They were so sure that they had just caught a couple of dopers stupid enough to leave their bongs, drugs and paraphernalia out in plain sight.

  "We talked awhile longer with the officers and then headed for home in Pullman. From that point on we made sure we kept out aspirators out of sight as per their advice."

  ***

  Chapter 5: FAQs and Facts

  Over the years, I have noted that many folks ask the same questions of entomologists-burning insightful questions. I attempt to satisfy these universal curiosities, as well as throw in some little known insect facts which could possibly enrich your life (if you are ever on a quiz show when "Insects" is one of the categories).

  FAQ #1 But what do you do?

  Entomologists work in laboratories, outdoors and in classrooms. While some entomologists study insects purely to learn more about them (basic research), many have specific goals, such as keeping pest insects from eating our crops, and treating and preventing insect-borne diseases. Studying insects is also helpful in learning about genetics and ecology.

  Did you know that forensic entomologists help solve crimes? Indeed, they can tell how long a body has been deceased by the species and developmental stage of the insects found on it. (If you think this sounds disgusting, ask a scatologist what he/she does.)

  FAQ#2 How did you get into entomology (or why)?

  From anecdotal accounts, we have found that some people get into entomology through a fascination with bugs, specifically, a love of nature and the outdoors in general, or from a career side road, such as biology. Others have grown up on farms, where they have seen first-hand how insects and humans compete for the same food. Since there are a variety of career opportunities in entomology, I have heard it said that one definition of an entomologist is "an employed biologist."

  FAQ#3 I found this bug in my house. It's brown. What is it?

  Since there are more than one million types of insects which have been studied, described and officially named (some experts calculate there could be more than 30 million types of insects), and since color is not the most defining characteristic for bugs, this may narrow down the possibilities to-a very large number. If you are serious about identifying an insect, there are two choices: check out a field guide from your local library and compare your insect to the pictures and descriptive information in the guide. Or stick the bug in a jar and take it to your neighborhood entomologist. If you don't have an entomologist in your neighborhood, most university or county agricultur
al extension offices can point you in the right direction.

  Politically Incorrect Insect Facts

  My husband regularly corrects people when they mention that they have been stung by a wasp, mosquito, bee, etc., by stating, "He stung me."

  "No," he gently chides. "Only the females sting, as the stinger is actually a modified ovipositior." That may be true, but I have wondered what take-home message children would read into this statement. Only the females cause pain, attack, draw blood? Although this information may be correct, should it be kept from those who would read something more into it? Then of course there are the female spiders and praying mantids, who eat their mates. Perhaps its best not to draw too many comparisons between insect and human cultures.

  Bugs: They grow on you

  From time to time, in the course of innocent everyday conversations with strangers or casual acquaintances, a question comes up about insects when my husband is not around. Often without hesitation I have spouted verbatim various authoritative factoids or principles that I have overheard from him. "Don't worry, that's not a bee. It's a fly-see it only has one set of wings." When mouths open and eyes stare at me, I look down at my feet and apologize. "I'm sorry. I never meant to be a bug expert, but I'm married to an entomologist."

  I wasn't always bug savvy. I used to get creeped out by things like walking sticks and spiders. (Now I know that spiders are not even insects. They are in a family called arachnids. But they do get lumped in with bugs for general purposes, and entomologists often study them also.) One of my worst childhood memories is of seeing a spider on my arm. I remember standing and screaming until my mother brushed it off of me.

  My fear did not automatically go away with adulthood. I would panic if I saw a spider in my car. I would pull off the road until I was sure that I had stomped the life out of it. For years, I was sure that spiders were voyeuristic, as it seemed they were always hanging out in the corner of my shower. Being married to an entomologist who assured me that very few spiders could harm a person did not allay my fear at all. I wasn't worried about toxic bites, as I was sure that I would die of fear if a spider even touched me.