I would imagine most of us, if asked, would admit to owning something we deem lucky. It might be a classic good-luck charm, like a horseshoe, a rabbit’s foot or a four-leaf clover.
Me? I have a lucky shirt.
When I bought it, over 15 years ago at an Eddie Bauer store in Rockford, I was attracted to the many features touted in the display: a roomy cut, a vented back and a knot-tying guide printed on the inside of the front left panel.
But over the years I’ve come to appreciate its other fine qualities. It’s made of a magical cotton blend that’s soft and comfortable. It packs well. And it dries out quickly, which is great because it gets wet–a lot.
Perhaps best of all, though, are the bugs. This shirt attracts them like no other.
At first I thought the sightings were just coincidence. For instance, on a steamy evening in August 2001, as the shirt and I presented a program on bats, we were joined–not by our target species, which shunned us completely that night, but by a wonderfully large and unusual-for-our-area moth called a Black Witch, Ascalapha odorata. At the time I thought the big guy had been blown off course by recent storms, but in retrospect his appearance was probably the first display of the shirt’s magical powers.
After that incident, I began paying more attention to how my fashion sense affected my luck with bugs. Dark-colored, short-sleeve polo shirts, not so much. But the wondrous khaki creation, combined with warm, windless weather, time and again lured caterpillars and butterflies, bees and wasps, beetles, dragonflies and more to my shoulders, sleeves and pocket flaps.
Remember 2007, the year of the periodical, or 17-year, cicada emergence? Despite the media hype, Magicicada was hard to find in eastern Kane County. This girl looked long and hard that sultry June before finally hearing a small number of males calling along the Fox River Trail in Batavia. I was about to give up hope of seeing one when, plop! One landed on my damp but lucky shirt.
I was again reminded of how great this clothing item is just last week, when I accompanied our Go 4 It teen campers on a series of adventures that included canoeing on the Fox River and an overnight expedition to White Pines State Park in Oregon, IL.
As if that in itself wasn’t enough good fortune, we–the campers, the counselors, my shirt and I–enjoyed three days of great weather, near-perfect paddling conditions, a scenic creek walk, awesome food cooked over an open fire…
And bugs.
Some, like the multicolored Asian lady beetle larvae, landed on my shirt’s left sleeve as I sat under a young oak tree at Ferson Creek Park in St. Charles–the destination for our canoe outing. The slight breeze that day was just enough to not only cool me off after the upstream paddle, but also blow an MALB larva down onto my arm.
If you’ve never seen a young lady beetle, Asian or not, you really ought to try and seek one out. Elongated and bumpy, they look more like a teensy alligator than a baby beetle. Make that a teensy, colorful alligator. Just as adult lady beetles sport varying combinations of orange and black, so too do their juvenile forms. A sight to behold, especially on one’s own clothing.
Later, as we made our way back to Pottawatomie Park, I stopped paddling for a short time to take in the sights and sounds: A green heron skulking in the shadows along the west bank. A kingfisher rattling its delight, or displeasure–I’m never sure with those guys. And a blue damselfly, species unknown, perched on the folds of my right sleeve.
He stuck around for maybe 30 seconds or so, long enough for me to appreciate his phenomenally large eyes, his intricately veined wings and his shimmering blue back, but not long enough for him to exit his closely guarded territory. When he took off he made a beeline (damselfly-line?) for another damsel that had dared come too close.
The bug fun continued the next day, at White Pines, when a juvenile assassin bug chose to spend part of the noon hour walking across the back of my shirt. Not one but two of the Go 4 It kids took pictures for me so I could identify it later.
Then a portly, egg-laden jumping spider made her appearance, hopping about the stitching on my left cuff. When she skipped away to the dark reaches of the picnic table her spot was quickly taken by a metallic green bee of the family Halictidae. These bees, solitary ground nesters, are native pollinators that play an important role in the life cycle of many local wildflowers.
Some Halictids are known generically as sweat bees, a fact that made me wonder, briefly, if it was time to exchange the shirt for something a little fresher. But before I could act on that hunch, another insect happened along: a hackberry emperor butterfly, Asterocampa celtis.
We would see many of these fluttery but fast-flying beauties during our stay at White Pines, thanks to the number of hackberry trees growing along the moist floodplain. They flew singly and in groups, showing special interest in our watermelon and strawberries–and my shirt.
The kids were fascinated by the insect’s long proboscis, and its determined lapping of my sleeve. I thought it was pretty cool too, until I did some reading and learned more about hackberry butterfly’s feeding preferences. They avoid flowers and instead gather nutrients from rotting fruit, carrion, animal droppings and sweat.
Today, camp is over. The canoes have been trailered away, the tents have been stowed, and my lucky shirt is in the laundry basket. A wash, a rinse, a few tumbles in the dryer and it will be ready for its next excursion.
Fingers crossed, the weather will be hot and muggy. And my shirt will be as lucky as ever.
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.