Conscious Choice: Ladybug, Ladybug

June 1999

Ladybug, Ladybug

by Betsy Robinson

Being an ardent supporter of animal rights, I am somewhat perplexed by my murderous reaction to a mealybug invasion. A judgment call, I christen it — if I do nothing, they will destroy my plants, so in this instance I reason that murder is justified. I dab, spray with soap and alcohol, cover my face with a surgical mask and dust with diatomaceous earth, and finally resort to bare-handed squishing, but still the creatures survive and procreate. They kill the begonia, thrive on the coleus, blanket the undersides of the crotons; but when they move into my heirloom African violets, that’s the last straw. I’m washing the banana croton, gnashing my teeth while contemplating toxins, when I notice a strange dot drop off my plant and slide towards the drain. "Oh no," I gasp, rescuing the ladybug just in time, and as I gently place her back on her perch, I notice something amazing — not a mealybug in sight — and I have an epiphany.

I dig through my piles of garden catalogs, pulling out those that offer beneficial insects. The man at Worm’s Way is extraordinarily helpful. I learn that Mealybug Destroyers (tiny black ladybugs, or Cryptolaemus montrouzieri, credited with saving the Southern California citrus crop in the early 1900s) would be my best bet, but they’re $50-plus for 100. Regular ladybugs (Hippodamia convergens) would be much cheaper, and no, "Worm’s Way" assures me, I’m not insane; plenty of people use ladybugs indoors.

"How about something to kill cyclamen mites," I query. I don’t have cyclamen mites, but I’m so excited by the prospect of setting up a balanced indoor ecosystem that I think it best to investigate. Perhaps there’s an alternative to all the expert instructions to discard cyclamen mite-ridden plants.

Thrips Predator mites (A. cucumeris) are the best bet for cyclamen mites and they come in quantities of 10,000. I make a mental note, thank Worm’s Way for the help, and ponder my plight.

As I am a firm believer in literature, I eagerly await, and then read the Worm’s Way pamphlet "What’s Eating My Plants?" From it I learn that, although ladybugs "don’t always provide the best pest control expected," they are "fun garden pets!" Also, you can keep them dormant in your refrigerator because they store enough food to last for a few weeks, if you don’t freeze them to death. The pamphlet advises that to keep them from flying away, you can spray their wings — which, animal activist that I am, I instantly pledge not to do.

From Mellinger’s I purchase The Gardener’s Bug Book. While espousing my own philosophy that all living things have a place in this world, the book assures me I’m not a bad person. It states categorically that "good gardeners must know when to intervene on behalf of their plants." Also, Mellinger’s has the cheapest listing for ladybugs, so I order. It’s several days later that I calculate how many ladybugs in a half pint, and I phone friends.

Day One (November)

With great trepidation I carry my 9,000 new pets up the stairs, feeling their tiny vibrations against the sides of the box and the stomach flurries of an adoptive mother. I wonder how my two dogs will react. Despite tremendous guilt over keeping them prisoner following what was no doubt a harrowing trip from Ohio via the U.S. Postal Service, I follow the directions on the box and put them in the refrigerator to await evening release.

6:30 pm. It occurs to me as I stick a scissors under the staples to pry open the box that I have no idea how these bugs are packed. I hope there’s some sort of inner container and that I’m not presently stabbing anyone to death. But, I reassure myself, they’ve been in the refrigerator and are probably too logy to be clinging to the ceiling of the box. I’ll just shake a few onto each plant, then close the rest up in the box.

The first thing to learn about ladybugs is that four hours in a refrigerator has no effect whatsoever on their mobility. The second and third things are that ladybugs are not dogs (the words "sit" and "stay" are irrelevant), and that they do not respond well to herding.

At the first crack in the box, there is a mass exodus. Seemingly millions of frantic, thirsty ladybugs scurry out like soldiers from the Trojan horse, swarming over the window sill, onto the floor, up my arms, and across the walls. The water-filled saucer under the ivy becomes a camp ground, and in minutes the entire pot is covered in black-spotted red clumps as they strain for a sip of water. There’s no turning them back, and I frantically call friends who promised to adopt to tell them it is now or never. They have all changed their minds.

At 7:00, with one fatality on my conscience, I finally get the box closed. As I look at the little red hoards crawling across my living room carpet, I think, it’s nighttime in New York City. I’m no fool; I call my friend with a German shepherd mix, and we take our three dogs with us to Central Park. We’re off to liberate the remaining 8,000 bugs.

We do not sleep easily this night, the bugs and I. The spathiphyllum and its basket are preferred seating for the ladybugs, and several hundred vie for position. Others seem dazed and wander about the apartment as if trying to find their way back to Ohio. I spend the night imagining things crawling on me. The dogs sleep fine. Rosie eats one bug but is otherwise oblivious despite the fact that several have taken up residence in her rawhide chews, and Daisy looks at me as if to say "What’s all the fuss?"

Day Two

Sharing a two-room apartment with a thousand ladybugs quickly desensitizes one from fear of creepy, crawly things. After cautiously trying to rescue the stragglers on the living room carpet from uncertain death by starvation, I discover that ladybugs are far more timid than I about contact, and I begin to bond. Although I don’t get to know them individually, I feel a sharp pang of loss when, later that day, I discover one drowned in Rosie’s water bowl.

By evening I deal calmly with those that wander up my arm when I’m relaxing on the couch, and as I transport them back to the window sill, I notice one rather huge bug writhing strangely on the radiator grating. Upon closer examination, I discover it is, in fact, two bugs vigorously doing what happy bugs do, and I smile and return to the TV.

Day Three

Normally this would be my day to clean the foliage, but I think it best to leave everything be. Infested plants touching plants is now fine (bridges), and vacuuming is verboten.

The beetles are quite fond of the jades and are making good progress in eating them clean. Same for crotons, but the coleus looks like a mealybug condo.

Day Ten

Cold morning. I tiptoe over to close the windows and find one tired ladybug staggering across the carpet. The Worm’s Way man said you could do this anytime of year, but perhaps he assumed I’d keep my windows shut. What population remains desperately wants to be asleep. I feel like a Jewish mother when I insistently wake them, pleading "Eat! Eat!"

Day Eighteen

I give up on the coleus. The jades and the crotons are clean, and the violets are still fighting. Most of the ladybugs are gone — departed or sleeping in the woodwork — so I might as well close the windows. And, as I do, I silently thank my little helpers.

Next June

Summer. Warmth. Mealybugs! I have spotted one ancient, two adult, and one infant ladybug crawling up from the baseboard. (Could it be the progeny of the radiator frolic?) The experiment was a flop, but the ecosystem lives!

Betsy Robinson works at Parabola magazine and will graduate this year from the IM School of Healing Arts in New York.

Sources for Ladybugs
and Other Beneficial Insects

Nature’s Control, P.O. Box 35, Medford, OR 97501, 503-899-8318.

Mellinger’s Home, Farm & Garden Catalog, 800-321-7444.

Worm’s Way Urban Farming Source Book, 800-274-9676.

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