A browntail moth caterpillar is shown June 2 after falling from a tree near Head of Falls in Waterville and onto a notepad. The caterpillar, which has two distinctive reddish dots, has poisonous hairs that can cause a rash if exposed to skin. Rich Abrahamson/Morning Sentinel Buy this Photo
BREAKING NEWS: Large populations of browntail moth caterpillars detected in many Waterville-area towns. Waterville officials seek expert HELP.
She’s moving slowly away.
I’m keeping an eye on her. Don’t worry, I won’t touch her. My mama didn’t raise no fool.
My neighbors watch me from behind closed windows, as they wait for someone to come and rid them of their infected oak, apple, crabapple, hawthorn and rugosa rose trees. Oh, no, not the rugosa rose.
I think she senses my presence, because when I move, she turns her little head toward me, and I can see the two tiny red eyes watching me.
I saw one of her ilk a few days ago at the bottom of the driveway, as I was bringing down the trash cans.
It was clearly a browntail moth caterpillar. Oh, yes, it was, probably from your rugosa rose.
Journalist Amy Calder provided details in her Sunday piece. You would be wise to check it out before you keep thinking that your garden is a safe place.
Why, you ask, do I choose to sexualize a caterpillar? To lighten the darkness of this madness, of course. It’s what I do.
I came upon this saucy creature who moves with a kind of seductive, tango roll, as I was sweeping the garage out, which leads me to think it’s a woman like Carmen.
Carmen Diaz, the third swan from the left in the chorus line of Swan Lake, was a girl back in my dancing/drinking days who moved like that.
Carmen moved just like that when she danced with me in “Blood Wedding.” Ah, Carmen.
OK, enough salacious humor. Let’s cut to the horror.
Here I stand, broom in hand, waiting for Carmen Caterpillar to make it down to the curb, so I can sweep her into the drain.
Oh, I know it’s futile. Amy’s reporting tells me Carmen’s sisters are everywhere, and my research deepens the darkness.
They’re on the tree limbs, they say, in the bushes and tall grass, watching us stand in the yard at night with our powerful telescopes, hoping to spot one of those alien spacecrafts zipping across the sky.
As we scan the skies, Carmen and her satanic sisters are creeping toward us, ready to slither up our legs and cover our skin with a hideous rash.
Google tells me that the toxic hairs can ride the winds and penetrate my window screens, bringing rashes and coughs.
This Sunday ends with only the promise of rain, while the pernicious kiss of the red-eyed browntail caterpillar waits in the rose bush.
Ah, the fortunes, foibles and fiascos of those who seek answers.
Nobody gets out of here alive.
J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.
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