Beetle Picking

Since moving to Florida, I haven’t seen a Japanese beetle. I grew up in the Northeast and in my memory the Japanese beetles appeared on July 1st each summer. One day there would be none and the next day they seemed to be munching away on every leaf and flower in sight. It was the hallmark that summer had arrived. They were slow moving and when they flew they had a tendency to bump into things, although that was not a problem because they only wanted to go short distances, from one shrub to the next. They carved out scalloped edges and chewed lace patterns into leaves, diminished the petals until the blossoms looked tattered, and did serious damage to a vegetable garden in a few days. Their appetites were awesome.

Their unwavering concentration on eating left them particularly easy for a child to pluck from a plant and examine carefully. They showed little fear or annoyance being held between two fingers and although there legs were prickly, we knew they would not bite or sting us. Their rigid outer shell was iridescent. The large head was glimmering green and the hard body reflected like polished copper.

My mother invested countless hours transforming the sandy soil in our back yard by mixing in compost. She would begin in the early spring planting seeds indoors; then as the weather outdoors began to warm placing the sprouts under the cold frame. She hoed rows for beans, tomatoes, and squash. She never purchased a flower, shrub, or fern, but transplanted many from the gardens of friends, nursing each new one along by carrying cans of water. She would get down on her knees for hours to pull out the weeds.

Mom was not about to let the garden be lost to some tough-skinned beetles, but one thing she would not do is put the children and the birds at risk by using pesticides. The killing had to be one at a time, and as quick as possible, like plucking weeds. Stepping on the bugs was messy and ineffective. Instead my mother partially filled used coffee cans with kerosene oil. It was an odd summer pastime, seeing who could fill the can of oil first. At times four and even five children could be seem going from plant to plant harvesting beetles and dropping them into a can where they suffocated.

I wanted to have fresh squash, pole beans, and ripe tomatoes. The truth is I found beetle picking satisfying. No doubt some of the neighborhood children found the drowning of beetles a way of releasing their anger or frustration.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized that even if one only eats vegetables, some life has been sacrificed.