Insecticiding, Disastrously

FOLKS WITH A FEW DECADES under their belts will recall then a two hour road trip along any of America's numerous scenic highways culminated with a mass massacre, and a windshield smeared from left to right, top to bottom with the remains of formerly flying insects. When one hit, another would, within seconds. You could count on it. We kids in the back seats had the option of counting cows, out of state license plates, or trying to outguess each other when and where on the glass the next victim would meet its automotive match. It was either that, or a board (bored) game. The prevailing joke at the time was: "What did the bug say when it hit the windshiled?...Oops, that's me, all over". We laughed every time. In all fairness, this was the mid nineteen sixties, a much simpler time in American pop culture. People would stop at the gas station to refill their tanks at fifteen miles and twenty five cents a gallon, and the young man would fill the tank (nobody filled their own gas tanks in those days, it was illegal, and still is, but only in New Jersey). Then, the teenaged boy would clean your windshield, bugs, or after short trips no bugs, with one of those long handled thingies with the long rubber thingie, which looked like a windshield wiper because it was, attached to it. (The service was automatic; nobody had to ask for it). No longer is this the case. Gone is good service at gas stations, now we must do our own labor, gone is twenty five cent gas, and gone are the insects, but not for good, if entomologist Oliver Milman and millions of enironmental activists have anything to say about it. It now takes a drive all the way across these United States of America to produce a windshield heavily stained by bug guts, and results are not even certain then. Someone told me that you can still get a good haul by driving at night; at my age, I try to avoid driving at night, so, wouldn't know. The intuitive conclusion is quite correct: insects on planet Earth are drastically diminished in numbers, and at their present rate of disappearance, are threatened with extinction. That is, all insects. All of the millions of species, all of the trillions upon trillions of countless individual bugs. This, due to climate change, the rampant, irresponsible use of pesticides, and, the usual villain, habitat destruction at the hands of sprawling human urban development. Deforestation for purposes of raising cattle play a role too. In his new book "Insect Crisis: The Fall of the Tiny Empires Which Run the World" Milman confirms that there are fewer and fewer splattered bugs on your windshiled, explains why, explaining that scientists in Europe have experimented by making the same drive along the same highway every day for decades, and have kept careful count of bug guts, and are finding them wanting, having gradually diminished in numbers with each...passing...year....and...decade...for decades. He also points out what is well known by the entomological community, as articulated repeatedly by the recently deceased famed Harvard entomologist E. O. Wilson; that if insects go extinct, so do we. In fact, Wilson is famous for his contention that if the red ant by itself goes extinct, so go we. Unlikely though that seems, general insect extinction seemd equally improbable; until just recently. But Milman is hopeful, and says so should we all be, because all over the world people are starting, albeit a bit belatedly, to do something about it. People are starting to cultivate colonies of bees world wide, as they too are greatly diminished in recent years. In Germany, one third of all agricultural land must now be set aside as insect habitat. The Germans mean business, and are leading the way in saving the insect kingdom. Skyscraper rooftops in major cities around the world are being turned into grassy, weedy, wild flowery mini pastures, where insects of all kinds prefer to hang. What can you, the average American suburban homeowner do to help? You can stop trying to make your lawn look like a putting surface, or like green carpet, with everything pulled out of the ground except your chosen type of grass neatly mown to the exact same length once every week. Cut your grass, but let it grow a bit before you do. Stop thinking of weeds and treating them as life's worst enemies. Maybe even let a few wildflowers grow, or set aside a space for them to flourish, amidst your rubbery looking green carpet of perfect grass. All this will mean much less work, time, and money for you, and your yard will begin to look like it is actually a living thing instead of a parking lot painted green, and when your neighbors ask about your suddenly imperfectly manicured, messy lawn, simply say: Hey, I'm just contributing to the survival of the human race. Want to join me?