Every bugwatcher knows it’s coming in the late fall, and both delights in it, and mourns for the lost spring and summer, quickly fading from memory. That encore of insect abundance, from heavy, arthritic grasshoppers lumbering up wooden fences, to sun-seeking lady beetles, eager to find snug crevices to pack themselves into for the approaching winter.
This year, here in Leavenworth, Kansas, the Indigenous Summer has been long, hot, and hopelessly dry. It seems to matter little to most of the insects, but birds stopped visiting our feeders. We saw dozens of gulls passing over for a couple of days, though, bright white against an azure sky, the wind speeding them along.
The air is thick with the exuberance of the minute, now that the larger butterflies are scarce, no longer competing for our attention. Dreamcatcher spider orbs snag the micro-confetti of aphids, leafhoppers, and gnats that are on the wing, or that get torn from their perches by the stiff, incessant wind.
Falling leaves jerk my eyes in their direction, on the off chance that they are butterflies after all, like Eastern Comma or Question Mark, or the less common Goatweed Leafwings. Leaves that rocket from the ground skyward are grasshoppers sporting autumn yellow, orange, or black hind wings. The largest ones, with clear wings, that land in trees, are bird grasshoppers.
Political campaign signs in our front yard are sometimes briefly occupied by insects or spiders. The spiders try to balloon off, or seek shelter in the little tunnels of the corrugated plastic. I like to think that they are all signaling their approval, but they are actually endorsing the more natural state of our property, our decision to not use chemical treatments of any kind, and otherwise steward the place through benign neglect.
Walking the fence line in our back yard, I stir a myriad of tiny leafhoppers that alight briefly on the weathered, algae-stained boards. Despite their size, they are riotously colorful, with streaks and bands across their slender wings. Fireworks come in both bright and muted colors that echo the changing foliage.
Earlier in the season, katydids and lacewings were vivid green. Now, they are dull brown, maybe reddish, with bursts of purple or pink. Little orange skipper butterflies pop as I stroll by the tiny lavender asters that grow low enough to dodge the mower blade, along the very edge of the curb by the busy four-lane. Yellows in the form of Cloudless Sulphurs, on a partly cloudy day, flitting from one cryptic flower to another in someone’s front yard.
Flowers, too, bloom again. The goldenrod, and taller white asters reboot themselves for one more round of Can I Get a Pollinator?. They do, in flies and bees mostly. Wild Carrot never gave up to begin with, still looking fresh as a daisy, courting potential pollinators. They succeed, in the form of two metallic flies. The flies depart when a lone ant appears to steal nectar.
Another October surprise….no, wait, today is November the second already….is an immature Carolina Mantis, sitting stock still among our backyard goldenrod. It is probably one molt away from adulthood, but I can’t decide if it is male or female. I wonder if there are any larger insects left to feed it, get it over the hump, or if it will die young, perishing as the teenage equivalent of its kind.
There has finally been rain lately, including today, so perhaps there will be yet another burst of activity in its wake. There will still be ground beetles crossing the sidewalks, and grasshoppers basking on the pavement on warm days, to be sure. Fall Cankerworm has yet to even take the stage, but they don’t always, not every year, and I might not see them if the timing isn’t right.
There is no metaphor here. This is just how nature works. It varies, it adapts, takes chances, weighing risks at a molecular level. Emerge now, or snooze another calendar year. We are slower to act, built to react instead of evolving to be proactive, and to accept whatever weather befalls us. The warm, sunny days seem to encourage our lazy nature, while nature bustles around us, unnoticed by most.
