Moth teaches human an important lesson

CRITTER TAIL /// Insect friend



 

 

If a piano had wings, it would be an elegant sphinx moth, Sphinx perelegans, a moth of great size whose body’s black-and-white pattern resembles a keyboard.

The female moth selects native manzanita and holly-leaf cherry, found in our local mountains, as host plants for its prospective caterpillars. The “sphinx” name is suggested by the caterpillar’s large uplifted head arising from its elongated body.

It was not easy getting a gander at the elegant sphinx moth’s beauteous markings. When first spotted resting on a street in my rural Agoura community, the moth’s wings were closed. At first glance it resembled a charred leaf, black on black, so it was hard to discern against the asphalt.

Something about the “charred leaf” piqued my interest, and I knelt for a closer look. A pair of startling white antennae protruded from one end, and the “leaf” began to take on a more specific form, that of a moth wearing an oversize black cloak.

“Wow,” I said, “I’m taking you home to study.”

I fumbled for a “specimen bag” in my backpack—a plastic sandwich bag. The moth was initially not perturbed about being handled.

Up close I could see variations in its wing color, from sooty black to ashy gray, sort of funereal but for the swirling ripple of silvery white. The antennae stood out stiff as wires.

It was a far different creature once I got the moth home and into a mayonnaise jar with a piece of mesh screening in place of the lid. The captive opened its dark wings—the wingspan must’ve been at least 4 inches. That’s when a glimpse its of black-and-white striped body became evident.

To say the moth became hysterical would be an understatement. As it thrashed about, the sound of its rapidly vibrating wings rivaled the hissing of a downed power line.

I rushed to locate a larger jar, thinking the moth would feel less trapped, and transferred it into this, but the moth’s anxiety only worsened. Its flailing wings buzzed even more intensely, despite my assurances that I just needed a few minutes of its time.

Though it was in distress, I could see how unique and beautiful the moth was, with those formidable, somber wings revealing the remarkable symmetry of its striped body. Frantically I tried to make notes to help me identify it. My world would be the poorer for not knowing what this special creature was.

Suddenly it felt monstrous to be so selfish and inhumane. I tugged off the screening and coaxed the moth out. When its large, dark form flew over my fence, the moth could’ve been mistaken for a bat. I tried to imprint on my memory every detail of our brief, tumultuous encounter.

All the answers would eventually be available at the click of a mouse, but it just wasn’t the same as being eye to eye with a wondrous wild creature.

Glasser is a writer fascinated by all manner of natural phenomena surrounding her home in the Santa Monica Mountains. Reach her at ranchomulholla@gmail.com.


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