The ladybug was doing quite well up until yesterday, the day when he was to be returned to the farm. The Preschooler had diligently provided spinach and lettuce leaves peppered with aphids each day, along with just enough water to keep his worms and the other bugs in his mini-ecosystem happy. He slept with his transparent bug bucket at the head of his bed every night despite my better judgment. And even though my dad tried to drown every living creature inside with a Katrina-like deluge when I wasn’t looking, I was able to downgrade the storm to a Category Two before any long-term damage was sustained. Or so I thought.
At 9 a.m. on Wednesday morning, the ladybug seemed fine. By 10:30 a.m., he was not fine at all, having fallen from his perch at the top of the bug bucket into the muddy soil below like a tiny, discarded strawberry. I tried to soften the blow to the Preschooler by explaining that he must have been an old ladybug. After all, the Preschooler had just guided a dozen ladybug larvae through the pupa stage and beyond a month earlier. I assured him that the ladybug didn’t die from lack of love.
But really, Ladybug, you couldn’t have held out for just a few more hours? This was not going to endear me to the Farmer, who, by my calculations, had 350 more aphids than usual to contend with. The story was supposed to end with our triumphant return to the farm, ladybug in tow. The Preschooler would release him into the wild with a bittersweet flourish, thereby learning a valuable lesson about love and letting go, while the Farmer would bestow upon me a knowing look that I would interpret as his pledge to be my backup husband. Instead, it was almost as if the ladybug was making some sort of grand statement. A refusal to be a pawn in the elaborate lover’s games of another species. Leave it to me to find the one principled ladybug.
I didn’t want to return to the farm empty-handed (more for the Preschooler’s delicate pride than my own, I swear), so I spent some undisclosed amount of time outside looking for a replacement ladybug. Normally, you can’t walk three paces without being swarmed by ladybugs, but you just try looking for one when you really need it. I was not successful.
So, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson from all this. If you ever find a ladybug in your CSA produce, don’t tell your farmer.
Very sad and I'm sorry to the preschooler, that's quite disappointing. I made the mistake of inviting the ladybugs in this last fall and they wintered in my bedroom and bathroom, there were hundreds of them. My husband is still horrified. However, after all that there's hardly a single one left for my garden.
Posted by: Alecto | June 13, 2008 at 12:36 PM
If I was a ladybug and heard that story I'd hide from you, too...
Posted by: NurseJen | June 14, 2008 at 01:02 AM
Oh dear, death of a ladybug. Did you have a burial?
Thanks for all the CSA posts...very helpful. But God, I hate Chinese cabbage! (Did I do that right? I have half a head I don't know what to do with!)
Posted by: What A Card | June 14, 2008 at 08:38 AM
Actually, I would assume that aphids reproduce at a pretty alarming rate (research needed), so you might say that the farmer is dealing with a whole lot more than just 350 extra aphids because of the death of this little guy. May have been a tragic misstep in your pursuit of his heart!
Okay, couldn't help myself, had to do a quick Google. Within just one week of being hatched, an aphid can produce 5 offspring per day, for up to 30 days. So your one little ladybug may have helped your farmer out more than you know. :)
Posted by: Kara | June 14, 2008 at 08:34 PM
Aww, poor ladybug. At least the boy isn't playing Angry Bees like I used to. (Angry Bees: take a jar, poke some holes in the lid, and catch as many bees/spiders/sow bugs as you can, then shake the jar. Yes, I come from Circumstances).
Posted by: Heather | June 15, 2008 at 02:42 PM
Oh dear. I had a ladybird (note that we have a much nicer name for them than you do) when I was about the Preschooler's age. I kept it in a matchbox but my mother persuaded me to let it go as ladybirds are nice... so I put it on my hand, said "ladybird ladybird fly away" and just as it flew upwards a bird swooped down and ate it. I hope the Preschooler forgives you sooner than it took for me to forgive my mother...
Posted by: CaroB | June 15, 2008 at 07:48 PM
CaroB: Oh god, how traumatizing! What were the odds of that? P.S. The Preschooler managed to recover once we distracted him with a spittlebug. Foamy!
Heather: Is that how you ended up in your current profession? To make amends with nature?
Kara: A tragic misstep is right. Guess I'll return that wedding dress.
Whatacard: Perfect delivery. Unfortunately, I, uh, kind of really do hate bok choy. It's the one thing I didn't learn to love last year. The only thing. But I have some tips, so I'll keep you posted.
NurseJen: Good. I don't need anymore ladybug flashbacks.
Alecto: Where did they all go, I wonder?
Posted by: Tammy | June 15, 2008 at 11:18 PM