secret lives of mantids
2011: winter,
spring,
summer,
and fall.
Another wonderful year.
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Praying mantids, the carnivorous, ham-handed little things, eat what would eat your radishes and apricots and are thus your accomplices in the garden. Last April we bought an egg case home (walnut sized and papery like a wasp nest) and I wedged it in a persimmon tree per carton instructions. I checked it for weeks for signs that the hundred miniature mantids had emerged (all at once! and leaving no evidence of their escape unless you catch them in the tiny act), but was distracted as the bees came and we went for hikes and and started our family.
In August, I took pictures of a strange and never-before seen kitchen invasion: three or four bright white mantids that arrived in turn to our window sills. Each time it happened, it was a more immediate task to get the pinching things outdoors without harm to us or them than to wonder about the reason or coincidence. It’s only this winter, flipping through my pictures from the year, that I realize those were my mantids, hatched and grown completely beneath my notice.
Our yard must have been full of them all summer, but I was happy with other things and didn’t remember to look for them. They must, as advertised, have grown up and secreted themselves in our fruit trees and tomato cages, won and lost insect wars and sought mantidy destinies. There was so much that I did notice this year, but more still on hand had I just been able to keep in all in mind. What a thing to wish for again.
