A Deep River Year - 2017

They are here, everywhere. They are Gypsy moth caterpillars, little hairy things that hang by long silky threads and chomp their way through the tall trees that are New England's glory. A few days ago I sat back in a dentist's chair for my semi-annual cleaning and noticed that the hygienist was distracted by several little worms crawling up and down my shirt.


Last year was a bad one for the destruction and defoliation caused by these creatures.  Our hope was that a wet Spring would create a perfect climate for the fungus which is one of the few natural enemies of these caterpillars. But there still seem to be a million of them around. That can happen when just one female moth lays up to a thousand eggs in a summer. It's hard to get rid of them all. And when the little things start to crawl up the trees to feed on the leaves, they seem to be everywhere. They slip down from the eaves of our barn on those little threads, blowing in the breezes onto our clothes and hair--and if we're eating outside, onto our plates. When they are up in the treetops, they sound like a constant, soft summer shower, raining their little black droppings down from on high, too. And recent medical reports indicate that a lot of folks are breaking out with welts on their skin--allergic reactions to the caterpillars' hairy backs.


It all started in the mid 1800's when some hopeful entrepeneur in Massachusetts thought that these caterpillars might create a silk industry in New England. A few of them placed on a windowsill blew off in the wind, and the rest is history. So it goes, that often our biggest problems are of our own making. And often, they are harder to fix than they were to create in the beginning. Of course, it's a matter of opinion whether Gypsy moths are evil incarnate. They are just a part of nature, perhaps misplaced. For them, it's just about survival. We, who squish them with our thumbs, may be the evil ones. I do it anyway.


Gypsy Moths


It may not be
 that the world will end
 in fire and tempest.
 Listen to the worms
 up in the trees,
 chewing their way
 to the Apocalypse.
 But perhaps they wriggle
 gratefully
 toward the treetops,
 giving thanks for the gifts
 they are about to receive,
 and praising a kind Creator
 for all things green.
 And we, the wise ones
 who build armories
 fit to destroy the world,
 who leave our poor
 hungry on the streets
 or poison the very earth
 that feeds us,
 we name as bane and baleful ill
 these little worms
 who only wish
 to live.


--Timothy Haut