When I think of the word gypsy, two images come to mind.
One is ca. 1972 and features the stage at Wheaton’s Longfellow School—my alma mater. I was auditioning for the school play, of a title I can’t remember, and I had to read the line, “I can dance the tarantella.”
My acting skills being what they were—and are, which is to say, not great–and given my preference for creepy crawlies, the line came out, “I can dance the tarantula.” I accompanied this pronouncement with a few clumsy steps, the way I imagined a spider might express itself if given the chance.
The girl who got the part, Sue Griffiths, not only read the line correctly but also backed her strong acting skills with a talent for dance. She whirled around the stage dressed like—here it is: a gypsy. Flowing blouse and skirt; colorful scarf knotted on one side of her head; and large, dangling earrings.
I don’t know why, to this day, that image is so vivid. Maybe it was because it was the first time I’d seen a gypsy—albeit a pretend, sixth grade one. Or, it may have something to do with the way I even now dance when I get to handle very large spiders. At any rate, that memory is in no way related to the other thing that comes to mind when I hear the word gypsy: Lymantria dispar, the gypsy moth.
These nonnative insects, which have a penchant for eating the leaves of many types of trees–especially oaks–have been feasting on forests here in the U.S. since the late 1860s. The gypsies we see today are descendants of a group brought here from Europe as part of a well-intentioned but misguided mission to breed a hardier silkworm. Those moths escaped their confines in Medford, Mass., and have been munching leaves and marching west ever since.
Their arrival in northeastern Illinois several years back was greeted with monitoring efforts, quarantines and control programs – namely low-flying helicopters dropping the caterpillar-killing bacterium Bacillus thuringiensis ‘Kurstaki’ or BtK. Another program called Slow-The-Spread (STS) uses integrated pest management to help keep the moths in check. Here in the Prairie State, such efforts are aided by our large expanses of farmland. These “corn deserts” provide little in the way of host plants for the gypsies and might help control their advancement.
I’ve had gypsy moths on my mind for over a week now, ever since coworker Lisa O’Brien and I paid a visit to Haines Middle School in St. Charles. We were there to work with Mrs. Franklin’s seventh-grade science classes on, interestingly enough, invasive species, and were enjoying lunch outdoors at a picnic table under an oak tree when we spotted them: four gypsy moth egg cases in a shallow tree cavity.
They were situated very near some empty pupal cases of their forebears—probably their moms, as the cases were quite large, and female gypsy moths are big and flightless. The eggs were starting to hatch, and tiny little gypsies—caterpillars less than ¼-in. long—were writhing about.
Eager to see if there were more, Lisa and I finished our sandwiches and starting poking around the tree trunk. We found several more egg cases, 10 total, and sat back down to review our findings.
We thought back to a year ago, when we’d also visited the seventh grade science classes and taken our lunch break underneath that same oak tree. We’d noticed gypsies then too, but recalled seeing only three egg cases.
In a year’s time, the moths of that tree had tripled their reproductive output.
Faced with that sobering fact, we figured maybe we should come up with some sort of plan for intervention. Scrape the eggs and caterpillars into a cup of soapy water? A good plan, except that we had neither cups nor soap nor water. Smoosh them against the tree bark? Messy, but not a bad idea.
We also Googled the IL Department of Agriculture’s web site to see if any BtK applications or other STS efforts were planned. Last year, several local municipalities were treated, but we didn’t see any news pertaining to plans for this year. However, the IDA, as in years past, does ask that anyone spotting gypsy moths in any life stage report them by calling 1-866-296-MOTH (6684).
As we pondered what our next step should be, a flash of white on the tree caught my eye. A white-breasted nuthatch had flown in to peck at the newly emerged caterpillars. It flew away after a few minutes but then another bird arrived—a female English house sparrow. She fluttered in front of an egg case and pecked away too. Maybe, just maybe, we thought, the problem will take care of itself.
Ultimately we opted to leave the egg cases there, at least for the time being. We made sure we showed Mrs. Franklin, and her science students, so there are at least 80 or so Haines seventh graders now capable of identifying signs of gypsy moths. We also called the IDA number and left a message describing what we’d found.
As Haines isn’t far from my house, I plan to keep an eye on the gypsies in the coming months. If the infestation increases, I’ll do what I can to help Slow-The-Spread. I’m also crossing my fingers that the predation we witnessed will continue, to the point where no further treatment is necessary. That would make me happy indeed. Maybe even happy enough to dance the tarantella. I mean, tarantula.
Pam Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services at the Hickory Knolls Discovery Center, a facility of the St. Charles Park District. She can be reached at 630-513-4346 or potto@stcparks.org.