The Very Hungry Caterpillar Killer
Week 19 of 2024 brings conflict on multiple levels for a vegetarian children’s author...
To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.
It looks around with a face as colourless as a night without stars – no chin, just jaws that jut out like a razor. Its body is a vibrant, ironic green – ironic, because it steals the vibrance from its surroundings…
Green is a sign of life. As a vegetarian, most of my nutrition comes from green foods. When we moved into Pepys House last August, one of the draws had been the gardens, their greenness calling us as if to say, “Don’t be put off by our size! Wallow in our green and great grandeur!”
I’m sure I recall the box hedges having that allure too, though frustratingly we didn’t take many photos of them. The only one I’ve found is a shot of the circle round the rose garden, seen through a window from when we recorded our inventory.
Some hedges there seem a little dark. But you could be forgiven for thinking that’s because they’ve been overshadowed by overgrown roses. Trim the roses, the hedges will revitalise. Right?
It was in September that we were first introduced to the box tree caterpillar – or Cydalima perspectalis, to give it a more conscience-friendly non-descript name. An appropriate name, too, being one letter short of an anagram for chlamydia: a disease that goes largely unnoticed, but can end in infertility.
We’d invited a gardener to advise us on how to tame the Pepys gardens. This was one of the matters he highlighted. Those silken webs all over the box leaves? Not spiders helping to control the mosquitos and flies, oh no; an invasive species of caterpillar.
I remember our gardener saying, somewhat casually, that the caterpillar could kill the hedges if ignored. The solution was simple, though. We didn’t need nasty pesticides. The most environmentally-friendly option was to spray them with nematodes – mini parasitic worms, for whom Cydalima is their sole diet.
Since my vegetarianism is largely born of a desire not to willingly and unavoidably harm creatures that express fear, the gardener’s suggestion was saddening but justifiable. These mini worms needed these caterpillars to survive, so we’d effectively be feeding them in the same way we feed our kittens.
But wait: this was a caterpillar! Like the star in one of the most famous picture books in the country, that my mum loves so much she now wears as a tattoo! Surely it was just a hungry little mite, waiting to emerge as a glorious butterfly?
Not quite. These caterpillars would emerge as moths, blithering about in battering swarms. And their hunger put the wider ecosystem at risk, shattering an otherwise sheltered habitat for other insects, snails, and small mammals. We’d even found a bird nest tucked into one here at Pepys House.
So we didn’t ignore it. Enough worms to cover the entire area set us back £100, but that cost included a moth trap to lure the males into an inescapable cage. There they would eventually drown, reducing future generations by leaving the females unfertilised.
The trap was less comforting to a veggie, but again: sacrificing one species to save several. This is what God had meant when They told us to “cultivate and take care of” the world, right?
What our gardener didn’t emphasise was that, since their arrival in 2008, these insatiable caterpillars have gradually but gluttonously robbed Britain of its most populous hedge – and they’re damn hardy.
They’ve plagued other historic gardens too, such as Ham House. There, however, the National Trust proudly praised their jackdaws for helping with caterpillar removal.
Our jackdaws, alas, have been too busy getting trapped in the 17th century parlour.
Then, at the start of this month, we learned from local news that entire hedgerows were being removed from Peterborough parks – including memorials for the armed forces – having been eaten beyond recovery.
Come last week, walking around our hedges, the damage was plain.
In some areas, the only greenery to be seen was the infestation itself.
Green. A sign of putrefaction, of sickness. And so many! Like the £100-worth of microscopic worms had been a whopping waste! These caterpillars now goaded us with their greenness, as if to say, “You hedged your bets – and lost.”
Ermma and I had been saving for a weekend break. Now, we had to save the hedges. That meant investing in multiple months’ worth of more parasitic worms, new moth lures, and even thousands of mini wasps known for seeking out and feeding solely on Cydalima eggs.
We also bought several bottles of plant food especially formulated for box hedges, desperate to help them recover.
Battling this moth had now multiplied our rent by a factor of 1.5.
That was last week. This week, as I watered the hedges with their feed, I looked up at the branches barely millimetres from my head – and jumped back.
It was as if we’d done nothing. Everywhere I looked, silky critters slithered across branches, rasping at the leaves with their razor-like jaws.
I snapped. The natural option, working with worms and wasps, had failed. The feminist option, keeping the men away from the women, had also proved useless. There was only one thing for it.
After nipping back to the kitchen, I returned to the hedgerows with a refilled watering can… and a pair of scissors.
I snipped.
The blades cut through their silky bodies so cleanly that, for a while, they’d look unaffected. Spasming maybe, but then still.
And, gradually, a dark but glistening green globule of goo would appear at the division, and each side would slip apart. Eventually they lost their purchase on the branch, and began a bumpy descent into the hedgerow shadows.
It was grotesquely beautiful, unnervingly satisfying… and eerily addictive. Before I knew it, I was seeking them out, standing still beside the hedgerow till my eyes flitted to focus on any flicker of movement – and then snip! A very hungry caterpillar became SNIP! Two garish halves of a caterpillar.
SNIP! How could I call myself a SNIP! vegetarian and SNIP! be doing this? SNIP!
To make matters worse, I had an unexpected phone call from my youngest sister, letting me know that she and her boyfriend would soon be travelling by, and should they pop in? “Of course!” we’d said. We rarely got to see her; it would be lovely.
They only stayed the evening, but it was the best moment of the week. We strolled to the lake known as Leonberger Beach, and skimmed pebbles for a bit. The Northern Lights didn’t show for us, despite the clear skies, but the company and the catch-up was warmly welcomed.
It was on my mind, though. I had to admit to my sister what I’d done.
Admit to my vegan sister that I was a serial caterpillar scissor-killer.
At first, she looked like she might cry. But then she shrugged and said, “To be fair, that’s what I want to do to the caterpillars that eat my lettuces…”
Well, if my vegan sister could see the unfortunate necessity of my actions to preserve the surrounding wildlife, my conscience could rest a little easier.
Not completely, though. Even as I type this, I suspect the Cydalima have enlisted the local ant mercenaries to go on the offensive, since they seem to be pouring out from my keyboard…
As the week drew to a close, I believed we were winning the battle. Take a look at this photo of the most afflicted hedge. You can see some new leaves pushing through, can’t you. That’s the green that means, Go! You can do this…!
Look a little closer, though, and you might just see a member of the enemy lurking within…
Weekly Productivity Score: 68%
Quarterly Best: 68%
Annual Best: 68%
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