When The Worm’s In The Core, Let It Eat

by Mike Bendzela

By “worm” I mean not earthworm but larva of the infamous lepidopteran, Cydia pomonella, or codling moth. The pom in its species names comes from the Latin root “pomum,” meaning “fruit,” particularly the apple (which is why they’re called pome fruits), wherein you’ll find this worm. It’s the archetypal worm inside the archetypal apple, the one Eve ate. (Not. The Hebrew word in Genesis, something like peri, just means “fruit.” No apple is mentioned. And please, give the mother of all living a break.)

The imperative Let in the title is a bit rich, given that this worm does not need your permission to decimate the core: It will do so anyhow, once you have let it in. Short of destroying the apple, there is nothing you can do about it.

This worm is quite the animal. In spite of humanity’s scorched earth campaign against it in orchards worldwide, this worm persists. There is great irony in this: Persistence proceeds not just from chemical resistance but from the simple fact that, in addition to poisoning this worm, we continually feed it. It basks in our attentions, however antithetical. Plant an orchard, it is there. In the presence of so much fruit, the fruit-eater becomes, well, fruitful.

We’re quite chummy with this worm in our tiny northern New England grove. Decades (which seem centuries) ago, we planted a few dozen heritage seedlings and counted on our organic virtue to see us through seasons of pruning and growth, to autumns of cider and pies. We patrolled the orchard with backpack sprayers full of kaolin clay mix (basically diluted kitty litter) hoping to impede and disrupt the worm’s feeding. Seeing holes in fruit, we immediately zapped them. To no effect.

It took some time and training to learn that prophylaxis is key.

Now, we’re centuries ahead, and a rite of spring includes the application of tank mixes of insecticides and fungicides to greet the pests as they arrive, in order to shepherd our little fruits to fruition. It’s all in the timing. A host of species greets us in May and June — plum curculio, European sawfly, roundheaded borer — the treatment of which demotes the codling moth to being nearly a footnote of the season: When you target the other fliers, you target the moth, de facto.

But this worm is rugged. It can survive Maine winters (its predecessors hail from Europe) — sometimes cocooned on bark, sometimes in dropped apples, other times in soil — and begins pupating in spring. Moths, male and female, emerge from cocoons, find each other chemically, and mate. A plethora of eggs hatch, and the larvae begin their search for their Ark, the tender, spring fruitlets. Into these they burrow until they reach the core, their Mount Ararat, which contains the most nutritious food for caterpillars, seeds. They poop as they go, leaving a plug of “frass” poking out the blossom end of the apple. Then they pupate, reemerge as new adults, and start the cycle anew in late summer.

One must know, recognize, and anticipate this cycle to properly disrupt it with the most effective materials. I prefer organophosphates, because I hate spraying, and I end up spraying less when I spray the organophosphates on time. I could use organic materials — clay and botanical nerve poisons — but they are less effective, they wash off sooner, so you spray more and more, only to find this worm has gained admittance into your apples anyway. You can never be too cautious when confronting this worm.

So, let’s give this marvel of evolution her due. Her range spans multiple continents and plant varieties. Her larvae are able to shut down to near death in winter (called “diapause”) and revive in spring to renew their pupating. She endures the predations of hungry birds, wily spiders, ravenous ants, parasitic wasps, . . . and pesticidal apes. She goes on to multiply fruitfully, just as YHWH commanded. She cannot help herself. She is just doing what comes naturally — feeding and breeding. And the more we poison her, the more she persists.

With understanding comes awe, and with awe, vigilance. We are smart apes who can discern, anticipate, and disrupt. But we are also selfish, lazy, maladjusted apes who sometimes don’t know what the hell we’re doing. We must ever be on the lookout for this paradox of our nature.

The Moral: Prophylaxis means never having to say you’re sorry.

And so, when the crop shows signs of damage —

Look first within your heart, dear citizen; consider what you may have admitted into it to allow this damage to happen.

Look, dear America: Look at what you have ushered into your house. You have no choice but to accept the sequelae, however grim.

And look, dear ape: Look at what you have stuffed into your habitat. Behold your exponential appetites, your shriveling horizons, and the dwindling wilderness.

Look, and, like Jesus, weep (but realize you won’t be raising the dead).

Once you understand the damage you are seeing, you can’t help but recognize your own lack of vigilance.

I’m sorry for having to say that.

____________

Images

Photograph “Too Late in the Season,” by the author.

“Man is but a worm,” Public domain.

Enjoying the content on 3QD? Help keep us going by donating now.