People are more afraid of insects than of dying. Our fear is hardwired, rooted in our instinct for self-preservation. These tiny creatures with six legs, many eyes, and a skeleton on the outside stir something deep in our psyche. Now that we are primarily an indoor species, we view insects as invaders when they appear in our homes. The problem with our fear of insects is that we need them, and they are fast disappearing.
I have been slowing down and spending quality time with insects in my garden. My parsley planting from last year is in full bloom, and the tiny green flowers attract a cloud of insects. I open iNaturalist on my phone, select the camera, and slowly sidle up to the plant. I notice a large red and black fly settle upon the flowers. I take a picture and hit “use photo.” The next screen asks: “What did you see?”
Now for the fun part. When you prompt iNaturalist to answer that question, a spinning icon appears with the phrase “loading suggestions.” Then, a list of names emerges. The first suggestion is usually correct if you start with a clear image. The names are fantastic and often quite funny—entomologists must have a sense of humor. Here are some of my favorites.
Insidious Flower Bug, Fraternal Potter Wasp, Cherry Acrobat Ant, Bi-colored Crown-of-Thorns Wasp, Tumbling Ragdoll, Modest Masked Bee, Obscure Plant Bug, Wavy Mucksucker, Confused Furrow Bee, and the White-faced Micropanther.
Over the past four months, I’ve documented 115 species of insects in my garden. It took me four years to reach 116 species of birds! My garden is full of a diverse offering of fruit trees, cane fruits, vegetables, herbs, native plants, and more. One of the upsides of gardening with an eye for diversity is that it creates space for more life. Observing all these amazing little creatures makes you more sensitive and in tune with your place. I can now identify many of the insects I see, which adds a new layer of meaning and interest to gardening.
I recently had a close encounter with a panther in my garden. I watched as he climbed an elderberry to survey his domain. The White-faced Micropanther is a tiny Robber Fly. Robbers’ modified mouthparts form a rigid, hollow beak that serves as a dagger, a hypodermic needle, and a straw. When robbers impale their prey, they inject both neurotoxins and digestive enzymes, turning their prey into soup.
A walk through the garden now includes encounters with old friends: the Dark-veined Longhorn Bee in the sunflowers, the White-faced Micropanther in the elderberries, and the Confused Furrow Bee in the parsley.
I am learning their routines. Before sunrise, I often find Longhorn Bees asleep on a sunflower. I wonder if they slow down and become visibly tired in the evening before coming to rest amidst the pollen and nectar. They must feel a sense of security being surrounded by so much abundance. I imagine they dream of swimming in a pool of nectar.
As I watch them sleep, I consider their needs. I know they are solitary ground nesters and like to nest near their beloved sunflowers. I also have learned that there are a lot of unknowns when it comes to some of the less common insects. I have read through species accounts with blank spaces and statements like “breeding biology unknown.” It seems the thing I should do to support them is to plant more sunflowers.
Another common plant in my garden is mint. I pick mint leaves to make tea. Mint is starting to flower now, and it attracts wasps—lots of them. At first, I was nervous about getting close, and I would flinch when a big wasp flew by me. Over time, I realized the wasps were busy going about their lives. They were eating, collecting food for their young, competing for resources, resting, mating, and hiding. When I stood still, they ignored me.
After coming to appreciate wasps, I planted a couple of small patches of Figwort to attract them to my garden. They routinely parasitize and eat caterpillars off of my kale and other plants. Before wasp numbers increased, my kale would be full of holes from caterpillar feeding. But since I started befriending wasps, I have clean kale in midsummer. The wasps and I are united in defense of kale.
There is a lot of drama in the insect world. Wasps may seem formidable, but when you see a North American wheel bug, formidable is redefined. Imagine a giant monster with strong, grasping arms, a tiny head, and a large syringe for a mouth. If you’re an insect just doing your thing, and you have the misfortune of encountering a wheel bug, you will be held tight as a giant needle pierces your body and injects digestive enzymes, which induce immobility within 30 seconds. The large needle-like mouth of the wheel bug then draws the juice out of its prey until only a husk remains.
As if wheel bugs were not enough, well-camouflaged spiders with eight eyes watch from behind flower petals, ready to grab whoever comes close.
You can be afraid of spiders and frustrated with ants and still care for insects as a whole. Creating habitat for insects is gratifying, and it provides a chance to shine the light of our awareness upon the garden. We can freely bestow our gifts and support plants, which support insects, which then support birds.
It is possible to expand your window of tolerance for insects. In fact, insects are inviting us into a relationship. Each gossamer thread of connection we make with nature brings us joy. Daily interactions with life help us to feel grounded, secure, and part of something larger than ourselves. There is so much delight in nature. When I watch insects chasing each other at incredibly high speeds, my conditioned response is to see aggression. But what if they are chasing each other for the sheer fun of it? How can we know otherwise? Bring yourself into harmony with the frequency of insects, and a whole new world of revelations awaits. We used to know how to tune into other beings. The ability lies latent within us.
Within each of us there is a silence
—a silence as vast as a universe.
We are afraid of it…and we long for it.
When we experience that silence, we remember
who we are: creatures of the stars, created
from the cooling of this planet, created
from dust and gas, created
from the elements, created
from time and space…created
from silence.
In our present culture,
silence is something like an endangered species…
an endangered fundamental.
The experience of silence is now so rare
that we must cultivate it and treasure it.
This is especially true for shared silence.
Sharing silence is, in fact, a political act.
When we can stand aside from the usual and
perceive the fundamental, change begins to happen.
Our lives align with deeper values
and the lives of others are touched and influenced.
Silence brings us back to basics, to our senses,
to our selves. It locates us. Without that return
we can go so far away from our true natures
that we end up, quite literally, beside ourselves.
We live blindly and act thoughtlessly.
We endanger the delicate balance which sustains
our lives, our communities, and our planet.
Each of us can make a difference.
Politicians and visionaries will not return us
to the sacredness of life.
That will be done by ordinary men and women
who together or alone can say,
"Remember to breathe, remember to feel,
remember to care,
let us do this for our children and ourselves
and our children's children.
Let us practice for life's sake.”
― Gunilla Norris
Message integrated, mission accepted. Am already growing out a meadow for bees and butterflies. Talk to birds that visit. My repulsion of spiders has lessened greatly. Will honor my shared silences. And am sharing your work.
Beautiful photography and message. Thank you for sharing this!