I cringe every year when the first television Christmas commercial comes out.  This year I found myself cringing about Nov. 1.  I’m not a curmudgeon (at least by my own definition), but I still believe that anything relating to the Christmas season shouldn’t make itself known until after turkey time. I believe that these ultra-early ads are somehow breaking some law of decency and that those breaking that law should be boiled in scented oil “with a stake of holly through their heart.” Bah Humbug.  We are all keenly aware that the season of joy and credit is just around the corner and don’t need Target to tell us so.  We have calendars. Admittedly, my reaction stems from the fact that I am unprepared, and will be, until Christmas Eve day.

  Mulling over such thoughts, I took a morning walk at Crosswinds Marsh to get in touch with the current season while it lasts.  According to my calendar, this is early November and I expect to see autumn leaves, large flocks of waterfowl, and a little frost.  With the air temperatures warming slowly into the upper thirties, I didn’t expect to see any active insects.  There was ample evidence of insect activity, however, and I encountered three examples that illustrate how some have prepared for the coming season.

  How is it that these minor beings are ready for something which they have never before experienced?  Instinct, that hard wiring which bypasses the learning mode, leads them through the necessary steps towards species survival.  It is patently untrue that insects start to prepare for winter when the weather gets cold.  They begin preparations months before while things are still warm and balmy.

  The Viceroy butterfly is a good example of this pre-preparedness. The first insect related thing I encountered was a tiny hibernaculum attached to a willow branch.  Take a look here and inspect the third leaf on the left.  Note that it is rolled into a tiny tube and attached to the branch via a silken safety harness. This structure was constructed by the Viceroy caterpillar while the leaves were still green and hearty.  The late summer brood of caterpillars start out as hungry as ever but they soon stop eating altogether.  Instead, they channel their chewing efforts into cutting out a leaf pattern for their winter home- like a tailor cutting cloth.  Most of the chosen leaf is cut away from the central vein and a stout layer of silk is laid down to secure it to the stem.  The remaining edges are bound together to form a tube.  The little architect then backs into his newly made capsule and remains there until summoned out the following spring. It enters into a resting state called diapause (a fancy name for the special kind of hibernation used by cold blooded animals) and survives with the aide of antifreeze chemicals in its blood.

  While the Viceroys survive winter as tiny larvae, the bagworm moths choose to overwinter as eggs.  About a quarter mile down the trail, I found this distinctive structure which gives the bagworm its name.  Take a look and you’ll see a suspended gray silk bag that looks, appropriately enough, like a Christmas ornament. Tiny bits of leaves and twigs are incorporated into the neatly crafted sack. Bagworm ornaments differ greatly in appearance depending on how the caterpillar makes use of the host plants (just for the heck of it, take a look here and here at a few more of these unique little constructions).

   Bagworms weave their protective sacs as soon as they hatch out in early summer and drag them about wherever they go. By August the larva are mature and they attach their mobile home to a twig with silk. They close up the front door and turn around inside, so as to point headfirst towards the ground, and they pupate.  When the adults emerge four weeks later in late September or early October, their lot in life has already been decided.  The males punch their way out and fly off in search of females.  The females enter the world without any wings and are little more than egg filled sacs of femininity. These desperate housewives will remain trapped within their bag house until an amorous male forces his way in and mates with her.  Once mated, she deposits the fertilized eggs inside the case and dies. Her eggs are well protected from the winter within the confines of the bag.

  My final encounter of the insect kind was only a tree over from the bagworm.  A very cold looking Damselfly was clinging to an Ash twig.  This female (see here) looked to be of a type known as a Familiar Bluet.  The males are the blue ones; although this brown female was turning a bit blue herself from the effects of the cold.  Her chosen technique of winter survival is to lay hundreds of eggs in the nearby marsh and allow the hatched nymphs to live in relative comfort under the ice. They will emerge next year to carry the torch of life. This individual is literally hanging on to her dwindling flame, but by doing so exhibits a remarkable ability to withstand freezing weather. Warmed by the rising sun, she will summon up her reserves and fly about until the next killing freeze ends her brief career.

  The damselfly, bagworm, and viceroy have prepared well for the inevitable.  Likewise, we too must brace ourselves for the Macy’s parade.