With the Cabbage Come the Cabbage Moths

Not one day. Not twenty-four hours. Not a complete news cycle. The cabbage has not been in the ground for one day yet, and already the cabbage moths have found it. Hell, sometimes even I for get where it is. Not the little white pests. They’ve visited the transplants already, ovipositors at the ready.

There’s no fooling a bug, you will often heard said, and that was once again demonstrated outside today, in the middle of my fields. There is something vaguely comforting in the regularity and expectedness of it all. In the persistence and predictability of the little bastards. My last post mentioned a litany of spring symbols; I neglected to mention the sight of the cabbage moths. I also neglected to mention the smell of B.t., the preferred control of cabbage moths. I neglected to mention, because I wasn’t thinking of it, the annual ritual of breaking out the backpack sprayer, of mixing it with B.t. and trudging up to the fields to coat all the cabbage plants with the deadly mix that was sure to wash of with the next rain. And repeating the process the next day.

The appearance of the cabbage moth (they didn’t waste any time) brings me to the half-empty counterpoint of my last post. For, yes, there is a long list of spring rituals that don’t make us all cheerful and joyous. That don’t make us fill our lungs with warm air and greet the changing of the seasons. That don’t make us want to frolic through a meadow and give thanks to lush green life returning to the planet.

The pagans probably had some ceremony or dance to welcome the coming of the cabbage moths, but it had been forgotten by history. Instead, there’s the pumping action of a backpack sprayer. It may seem a bit awkward at first, but you get used to it. Just like the May pole dance.

Stay tuned for exciting news from the bee world!