Fly away home? The vile truth about ladybugs.
Contributor Leah Hampton, shown here with some pickles, is on the english faculty at Western Carolina University. She lives with her husband Joel in Speedwell.
I could only watch for a little while; they would quickly notice me and cover my whole body, as fascinated by my presence as I was by theirs. It was like being five years old again, playing out in the yard, tickled by the smell of grass, the feel of six itty-bitty legs crawling down my finger. Of course, now it wasn’t just one, but thousands, tickling everywhere. I had to dance, jump, brush myself, and head back inside pronto, laughing all the way. Yessir, I thought, ladybugs are cool.
Nowadays, the little fuckers are driving me nuts. Gone is the marvel, replaced with nagging resentment, desperation, and even occasional domestic violence. I have become a stranger in my own home, and I want revenge.
Harmonia axyridis. Say it to yourself 40,000 times. This is the Asian ladybug (or “Harlequin ladybird,” if you’re British and/or pretentious), of the beetle family coccinellid. It is often referenced by its newer, official name, the multicolored Asian lady beetle. Whatever you call her, she has worked her way into every part of my life. She is in my bed, my office, my classroom, my closet, my walls, my husband’s shoes, my cat’s belly. Walk across the floor, look at my socks… squished ladybugs, each emitting its own version of that putrid blood they have.
Forget where they came from, forget what they do, forget even their beneficial traits, at least for now. Instead, let’s talk about some of the more terrifying, almost Terminator-like qualities of this species. Take, for example, that stinky blood of theirs. A major ingredient is isopropyl methoxy pyrazine; one of their many defense mechanisms, it packs one hell of a pong. Asian ladybug blood also contains antifreeze— or, more accurately, antifreeze proteins (AFPs), sort of like car antifreeze, but organic— which is why you only think you’ve killed them. They hibernate, appearing completely dead, their lifeless corpses filling up windowsills, corners, and vacuum bags, only to re-animate at the first sign of warm weather. Frankenstein bugs, phoenix pests. Zombies.
In fact, ladybugs don’t even have blood. Their bodies, which do not have a circulatory system, produce hemolymph, an all-purpose goop that fills their entire shell. Nice animals have snot, stomach acid, and normal blood. Ladybugs (like most insects) have hemolymph—all of the above fluids and more, mixed together and sludging around inside their round, crunchy little bodies, surrounding every single cell. Creepy.
Color variants of harmonia axyridis, From the HarlequinLadybirdSurvey.org
Ladybugs release their hemolymph on purpose when threatened. If the stench from the isopropyl methoxy pyrazine doesn’t keep you from killing them, the splotches just might. They have more hemolymph than other bugs (in keeping with their wickedness), and it’s harder to get out with Tide. Unlike the innocuous spew that comes out of squished grasshoppers or ants, ladybug juice leaves a mean stain. I think they know this. When I swat at them, I think they say to themselves, “Fine, but you’re never wearing this blouse again!”
This offensive ejaculation usually only happens when you actually kill one, but they can, and will, do it just because they feel like it. This practice is called “reflex bleeding” and is presumably a defense mechanism. All it does is piss me off and make me want to kill them harder.
This is not to say that all ladybugs are bad. Do not abandon your childhood love for them. As a family, they are actually wonderful creatures. Coccinellids are admirably built machines, and almost utterly harmless. Most are quite beautiful as well; my own memories of bright red ladybirds (the famous “seven-spot” and “convergent” lady beetles are our most stereotypical species) have been enriched by my research. These beetles come in a delightful range of colors, and even their tiny little eggs are cute. Most ladybugs have a similar system of breeding and feeding, though Harmonia axyridis tend to have a longer cycle for both, making them a tough competitor for territory. Almost all ladybugs can be used as a natural pest control agent in gardens. Many cultures attribute magical properties to them, give them adorable names (the Irish call them “God’s little cows”), or say it’s good luck if one lands on you. Most species hibernate in winter, in a phase called diapause or overwintering, thus serving as a delightful harbinger of spring, when they wake up to feed and flutter just as we humans are warming up ourselves.
In fact, the Asian ladybug isn’t such a bad kid, either. Conventional wisdom suggests they are a largely benign presence, whose biggest benefit is their enormous appetite for aphids. Although arguably the least attractive member of their family, their orange and black bodies are certainly more appealing than, say, the equally hardy cockroach. Their coloring and tendency to swarm in October before their winter sleep has earned them the nickname “Halloween bugs” in some parts of the U.S. Asian ladybugs are instinctively attracted to warm, light surfaces, especially white ones. As they search for a winter hideaway, you may find yourself wishing you had painted your house, car, and even your children a nice, cool, royal blue.
Expert opinions vary on exactly how and when Harmonia axyridis arrived in the U.S. Many believe the American debut was in New Orleans in the late 80s, where they arrived by boat. Even so, we know its presence here in WNC is primarily the result of intentional importation as a natural, non-chemical means of controlling hemlock woolly adelgid and other naughty critters. These shipments may have arrived as early as the 1960s, though that may have been Coccinella septempunctata, a close cousin. Our large-scale introductions seem to have begun here in the mid 90s. Reviews are mixed on whether Asian ladybugs can truly aid in the fight against woolly adelgid, but yes, they will eat bad bugs.
They will eat just about anything, in fact, though Harmonia axyridis rarely bite (and if they do, you barely notice). Unless you live in a white house that faces west, chances are they’re not hassling you very much. Some local authorities, particularly those concerned with the alarming decline in Appalachian forests triggered by woolly adelgids’ effect on hemlocks, believe strongly that they are “good bugs” for which a live-and-let-live policy is best.
Nevertheless. They are persistent to a fault, and any benefit they bring is, to my mind, far outweighed by their sheer, exasperating numbers and by their insistence on using humans (and our homes) for their own nefarious purposes. Make no mistake; this is an introduced, non-native species, and I have a big problem with that.
To begin with, Harmonia axyridis is the most invasive ladybug (or ladybird) on the planet. Regardless of how they arrived, they’re here to stay, and determined to make their presence known. In less than 20 years, Asian ladybugs have already begun to wipe out other species of coccinellids. The pattern of their spread across the continental U.S. in the last 10 years is disquietingly impressive, both for its pace and its totality. Harmonia axyridis eats faster, flies farther, sleeps less, and is generally pushier than the sweet red ladybug on your daughter’s cartoon lunchbox. State officials in Illinois have reported that their populations of “traditional” ladybugs are nearing extinction, thanks to the superhero fierceness of the Asian variety. In England, the “harlequin ladybird” is seen as a serious threat; England has some really cool, rather delicate ladybugs with stripes and soft voices and that sort of thing. Harmonia axyridis has only just shown up in the last few years there, and the entomological carnage is alarming.
There is also some concern that Asian ladybugs cause and/or exacerbate human allergies. One recent study suggests that up to 20% of us are allergic to them; many informational websites warn you not to touch your eyes after coming into contact with them, and University of Kentucky researchers have found they can cause serious respiratory problems. Combine that with the rising number of your Cullowhee pals who have begun, quite inexplicably, to complain of hay fever, and I’m guessing you might believe this theory.
Then there are the unknown effects. We don’t yet know what these little bastards will do to us over the long haul, but we have some inkling. For example, the American Journal of Enology and Viticulture reported in 2004 that the presence of Asian ladybugs in vineyards can significantly alter the taste of wine, making it less fruity, less aromatic, and adding a strange hint of asparagus and peanuts to its bouquet. So, if the swarms don’t spoil that romantic picnic you’ve been planning, rest assured their stench will eventually work its way into your Cab Sav.
Then there are the unknown effects. We don’t yet know what these little bastards will do to us over the long haul, but we have some inkling. For example, the American Journal of Enology and Viticulture reported in 2004 that the presence of Asian ladybugs in vineyards can significantly alter the taste of wine, making it less fruity, less aromatic, and adding a strange hint of asparagus and peanuts to its bouquet. So, if the swarms don’t spoil that romantic picnic you’ve been planning, rest assured their stench will eventually work its way into your Cab Sav.
Studies and anecdotes like this abound all over the world, and it is widely accepted by experts that at the very least, Harmonia axyridis overcompetes with the kindler, gentler ladybug species of our childhoods, wreaking havoc on local bug populations. Though they are individually harmless, and though they were brought here for a purpose, it seems we need to have a conversation with ourselves about this little pest before things get even worse.
Think kudzu. When we import species, we tend to screw ourselves over pretty bad. Do we really know what’s going to happen as a result of bringing this bug into our valley? The practice of introducing species to make our lives easier, our ecosystems tastier and our leisure time more bearable is an old one. The worst kind is often a product of imperialist attitudes. Take the cane toad, for example. Cane toads were brought to Australia by speculative farmers to fight bugs in sugar cane crops (also introduced) in the 1930s. Of course, nobody thought to ask the ornery, obese cane toad if he felt like jumping to the top of those big, tall sugar canes to eat pests. He did not. There’s plenty to eat on the ground, and cane toads are not big jumpers. Now, 80 years later, Oz is overrun with an inestimably damaging legion of lazy, overfed, poisonous mini-Jabba-the-Hutts who keep everyone up at night with their croaking and kill off millions of local animals. They are reviled, and like most biblical plagues, little can be done to stop them.
That’s just one story; there are thousands of similar nuisances, and millions of murders, attributed to invasive species and their human proponents every year.
In other words, I’m not the only one who hates this idea. I am also not alone in my disgust for Harmonia axyridis. I’m not even talking about my political concerns here; most of the time, I don’t think about the grander environmental scheme. Like most Americans, I just think about myself. In late summer, these bugs run my life, as they do for many folks around these parts.
I live in a farmhouse, and I am not a squeamish girl. On any given day at our place, I have to suffer the nastier habits of cows, turkeys, hornets, ants, and rednecks on ATVs. I can deal with pests. Of all the inconvenient smells and buzzes, the ladybugs are what get to me. Perhaps it’s because they refuse to be banished; pesticides don’t work, and if you shoo them away, they just giggle and sit right back down on your favorite chair, occasionally squirting some of that noxious yellow bilge onto it. The best suggestion anyone can give me for dealing with their corpses and juices is to catch them inside and release them outside, which means I must put a pair of pantyhose on the end of my vacuum’s filter and, quite literally, suck it up. This can take hours, and seems far too generous a practice. Someone else suggested caulking everything to keep them out, but ladybugs are so persistent I’d probably wind up sealing myself into my own bathroom.
I have a neighbor who refuses to enter several rooms of her home because of the overpowering stench of ladybugs. A colleague has what she describes as “major childhood memories” of school movies with close-ups of introduced ladybugs eating local insects, complete with disturbing, crunchy sound effects. I have yet to meet a neighbor, friend, authority figure, or child in WNC who does not experience a range of negative emotions about ladybugs. They are at best a pain in the ass, and at worst a source of despair, both personal and ecological. The more I learn, the more I despise them.
I hate that they are brown and ugly, not red and friendly like the ladybugs of my youth. I despise them the way some intolerant humans despise illegal immigrants; you let one in, and there goes the neighborhood. My bile rises at the thought of them covering my house, taking food out of the mouths of cuter bugs. I could scream at my local government for not anticipating what a scourge they could become, for not reading up on what happens when we start trying to “correct” a problem in our environment.
All my fervent revulsion, my deep, primal loathing really comes down to two problems. First and foremost, Harmonia axyridis insists on being—and doing so in places where I am forced to deal with them. They are unstoppable, unbeatable because they even refuse to acknowledge my war with them. And though largely benign, their number and habits force me to recognize their presence all the time. This tests the limits of even the most liberal tolerance. I don’t know about you, but no matter how much I listen to National Public Radio and preach to my students about diversity, I really, really hate it when I have to play second banana. To a bug.
Second, and building upon the first problem, the Asian ladybug is foreign. Most people don’t care about the problems of introduced species, and all too few of us bother to question the practice of altering local ecosystems. But Asian ladybugs are an exception, which means the problem feels bigger. No matter your ideology, no matter how red or blue your state, Harmonia axyridis is everybody’s hassle, because she’s literally In. Your. Face.
As my neighbors and I battle this impossible foe together, caulking up our windows and filling up old pantyhose like crazed idiots, this weird little beast is forcing me to admit a deep flaw in how we run this community. We introduced them. We started this party, which could (and I think will) very quickly go all to hell. When it does, the ladybug problem will be our own damn fault, growing ever more invasive, a daily reminder of how we are permanently changing our mountains. And folks, there’s just nothing worse than a beetle who says I told you so.
Tags: Cullowhee
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