National Geographic: The Savage Garden Page #3

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Or you can have this eye closed

and this eye open.

Or you can have this eye closed

and this eye open.

And either way it gets you... nowhere.

As I was saying, respect your garden.

Watch it closely.

I wish I had learned

these lessons sooner myself.

At the time, some lessons were too

elevated for me to learn.

Even above my garden,

trouble was brewing.

The acorn weevil was back.

Sure enough, she found my oak tree.

She's looking for a good meal.

And when it comes to acorns,

she knows the drill.

What a "schnoz"!

It's longer than her body

and tipped with tiny jaws.

Reminds me of my first agent.

After a three-year fast,

she's eating my acorns.

Kind of like my second agent.

There goes the next generation

of oak trees, I mean.

Her little jaws are smaller

than a printed period.

Helvetica twelve point.

Through her strawlike proboscis,

she sucks up liquid fat from the acorn.

It's a perfect diet for a weevil,

but don't even think about it

if you're on Jenny Craig.

Next she'll lay her egg inside,

but only if this is the one kind

of oak tree that suits her.

Finicky, this little pest.

Ah, evening was coming.

A heron approached my pond.

Don't even think about fishing here!

Sometimes even the darker side

had a gentleness about it

unless you're a slug.

Dusk was the time for creatures

large and small to rest

and enjoy the harmony of our domain.

Especially the lucky few

that had escaped my iron-fist policy.

What a piece of work is man-tis!

One of the so-called "good" insects,

he excels at inactivity:

he spends two-thirds

of his time motionless

much like my third agent.

Still, he's an alert animal,

with two big goggle eyes

and three extra gemlike eyes.

He spends over an hour a day grooming

every part of his spiny body.

Why?

Because he can.

This evening, my garden was about to

disappoint me as it never had before.

I heard a strange new sound.

It was a hungry bat,

and she was about to

shatter my peace of mind.

The mantis takes flight

at just the wrong time.

The bat hunts with a kind of sonar.

From her nose, she

beams a high-pitched sound.

Listening to the echoes tells

her the position, speed,

and direction of the mantis.

Some sanctuary!

It was Top Gun in my own backyard.

Where's Tom Cruise

when you really need him?

The mantis has a single ear

right in the middle of his belly,

much like Aunt Mildred.

It's tuned exactly to the bat channel.

The mantis hears the bat

throws his legs forward... power dive!

Narrow escape.

But not for long.

The bat is gaining.

She sounds louder than ever.

Desperately, the mantis flies

straight into the ground.

I cheered for the underdog.

The mantis escaped again!

All right!

But there's no deus

in this machina, buddy.

Death and destruction everywhere.

I'd set out to build a paradise,

and here, I had a

ringside seat at Armageddon.

I thought this was my darkest hour.

But that was yet to come.

At night.

After the sun went down,

some of my backyard's most unsavory

creatures appeared.

To find them, all you have to do is

follow your nose to the herb patch.

There are eight million

shrews in the naked garden.

This had been one of them.

It was my little shrew.

No need to suspect foul play.

Shrews run like mad for a couple

of years and just keel over.

But the dearly departed seemed

to be coming back to life!

Nope, still dead.

The burying beetles have come.

For them, the late shrew is a windfall

It will be food and more.

But hungry competitors are all about,

like other beetles,

maggots, and raccoons.

It isn't first come,

first serve in the savage garden.

So to secure their prize,

the beetles conduct a kind of funeral.

Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh.

Lying on their backs,

they walk the shrew forward.

I hope this doesn't catch

on in my aerobic class.

Literally excited

by the smell of death,

the pall-bearers take time out to mate

Couldn't they find a roach motel?

The beetles drag the shrew

several feet to an abandoned burrow.

And just in time.

Because the maggots are frisky tonight

They're turning a dead mouse

into an area rug.

The burying beetles are settling

into their underground home.

And it's not from the pages

of House and Garden.

It's more like Morticians' Monthly.

The beetles now have a major

home improvement project.

Call it "This old shrew."

The carcass will be converted

into a nursery, an edible nursery.

As at better funeral homes,

the body is shaved.

Next, to seal in freshness,

the beetles embalm

the shrew with secretions.

My shrew, may he rest in peace,

is finally prepared.

The female will soon

lay her egg near his remains.

Just above, raccoons patrol the garden

After a few pull-ups

and a cool drink of water,

they search for food.

The grass is definitely

greener on the other side.

An earthworm tries to escape

from the raccoon by burrowing.

Poor choice.

But, as Charles Darwin wrote

of the worm's mental abilities,

There is little to be said.

A mole, cousin of the shrew,

eats the earthworm by squeezing

it out like a tube of toothpaste.

I think I'll stick to baking soda.

Of all the things Aunt Mildred

brought with her from Europe,

why did she have to bring a mole?

I'll never forgive her.

The mole barrels thru her tunnels

with catcher's-mitt paws.

But when she comes up to an obstacle,

she won't be stopped.

Now she's poking my parsnips.

I hate when that happens.

I'd had enough trouble

in the herb garden.

My whole idea of the backyard

was decomposing,

much like my poor little shrew.

I wanted to forget

about the gruesome burial,

but just one week later,

I paid an accidental

visit to the grave.

What a change had taken place!

Babies!

The morgue had become

a daycare center!

Burying beetles have hatched

and scrambled on top of the shrew.

And here the young beetles live

like so many chicks in a nest.

They even beg for food!

Mom's on her way.

First she'll eat what's

left of the shrew.

Looks like Aunt Mildred's

shepherd's pie.

Next she calls to

get her babies' attention.

And now she regurgitates

to feed her young.

She offers one

a succulent shrew slurpy!

And I thought I had a rough childhood.

Burying beetles make some of the

best parents of any insect.

That's not saying much:

the mother will happily eat some of

her young if the dead shrew

is too small to support the brood.

Home sweet home.

As the shrew dwindles,

the grubs grow fat.

In a way, burying beetles

practice reincarnation... con carne.

High up in my oak tree,

an acorn has gone bad.

The tree senses the damage

and can cut its losses.

By now, I was expecting

something weird and wonderful.

Okay, just plain weird.

Inside, the old acorn weevil's baby

has grown up

and eaten itself out of house and home

Good riddance!

The grub can feel the

impact with the ground.

That's the signal to move on.

But it's no easy matter

to get out of an acorn.

The young weevil more or less

has to perform its own C-section.

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