A field guide to the grossest creatures in the Midwest

I’ve been on sort of a blogging maternity leave. You see, after my last “I’m sick of being pregnant” post, God was like, “Hold my beer!” Because within a few days of that I was hospitalized, had my baby 4 weeks early and apparently got closer to death than I would prefer from a little thing called HELLP Syndrome. My sweet baby girl was just fine (tiny, but she didn’t require a NICU stay), but I wasn’t for a while. Props to my amazing OB, nurses who did things for me I would never ask of another human being (two words: bed pan) and husband who held everything together while I was in the hospital for a week. Long story short, I’m fine now and got the cutest, sweetest baby out of the whole thing.

But this post is not about that. No, this about a scourge mostly unrelated to pregnancy complications: bugs. (I say “mostly unrelated” because of Zika virus and stuff like that.) I’m sure everywhere has their own unique insect biome, but I feel like the one in the Midwest is extra horrid, and summer is our bug prime time. We don’t have scorpions (I hate guns but would buy one to put a cap in a scorpion ass), but we got something worst last year: Oak mites.

Oak Mites

The Wall Street Journal pointed out that Kansas City was the epicenter of an oak mite crisis last fall. The headline: “The invisible itch mite will make you nostalgic for mosquitoes.” These little mo-fos are so small you can’t see them. They get on you if you stand by an oak tree (particularly pin oak trees). They just fall down and bite. Or they can blow on you from a nearby tree. And then you have unthinkably horrible itching for years. OK, well it was about two to three weeks. Insect repellent doesn’t work. The WSJ said it’s worse than poison ivy itch. Having had both, I can attest that this is true. The only thing that ends the misery is a hard freeze. The people of Kansas City never prayed so much for something to kill their flowers as they did last year. I shudder at what this fall might bring. I live in a neighborhood named The Oaks, so this does not bode well.

Chiggers

You can tell they’re awful because their name almost sounds like the most racist word there is. Like the oak mites, chiggers are microscopic devil mites that bite you and make you itch forever. Why do you itch so long? BECAUSE THEY ARE STILL IN YOUR SKIN, LIQUEFYING YOUR FLESH AND EATING IT. Chiggers live in grass. Like normal, everyday yard grass. While ankles are nice for them, they most prefer to get into your drawers and eat at your private parts. In my experience, they think labia are delicious. One time I made the mistake of going to Shakespeare in the Park and forgetting to bring a blanket or lawn chair. I just sat on the grass. The next day I woke up with a veritable bikini of chigger bites. I counted 63 in all, centered mostly around the cooter region.    

June Bugs

I once saw these referred to as “nature’s idiot dive-bombers.” They should officially be renamed this. Except that their current name is pretty accurate. They’re most populous in June. They’re these icky brown bugs about the size of an average lady thumbnail. If you are anywhere near a light outside in Kansas City on a June evening, these disgusting things will fling their grotesque, crunchy bodies at you. The only discernible purpose for doing so is that they’re morons.

House Centipedes

The most absolutely terrifying of all the bugs is the centipede. I’m not even including a picture here because just a pixelated image of one gives me the heebie-jeebies and makes me dry-heave. They’re like Satan’s multi-legged sperm, come to roost in your basement or bathtub. Many say you’re not supposed to kill them because they eat other icky pests like silverfish, spiders and ants. That’s great. They can do that outside. If one is in my house, I will run screaming from its presence and make my husband kill it. (That was part of our verbal marriage contract: he must kill insects.)

Katydids, aka Leaf Bugs

Look like big leaves and make a chirping sound. Almost as inoffensive as butterflies. 

Ticks

Pulling a tick off one of my cats remains one of the grossest things I ever have done. (And I have wiped a lot of messy baby/kid ass.) I don’t even know how she got it since she never goes outside. These little vampires can kill you. So prominent are they in the Midwest that a new tick-borne virus just got named after a county in neighboring Kansas. This is the reason I stay out of the woods. Also, I’m not what one would call “outdoorsy.” The last time someone tried to make me go camping was in college, and I slept in my car because it was far more civilized and bug-free than the tent. It was a 1986 Taurus and the back seat was about equivalent to a twin bed in size, so I was quite comfortable, thank you very much.  

Cicadas

A complicated creature that can live underground for as long as 17 years, cicadas come out every summer, hang out in trees in your yard and sound like a thousand bugs making noises all at once. They molt, leaving their disgusting exoskeletons just sitting around for curious 4-year-old boys everywhere to pick up and ask to bring inside.

Japanese Beetles

I get that the name would imply these things are not of Midwest origin, but they sure have settled here this summer. They ate up almost all the leaves on my apple tree and were all clumped together while doing so. It was a big, destructive beetle orgy. Their little green bodies filled my friend’s neighborhood pool when we swam there last week. They’re an invasive species, and now that they have invaded my little world, I’m super mad and will be unable to make apple crisp this year with my home-grown apples. 

Proper Midwestern Bug Vocabulary

Finally, I’ve heard some bugs referred to by different names in different parts of the U.S. I’d like to clarify the correct terminology for these insects should you happen to find yourself in the heartland:

Lightning bugs (not fireflies)

Roly-polies (if you say potato bug, you will get a blank stare)

Lady bugs (not lady beetles)

Wooly worm (the fuzzy caterpillar rumored to predict winter severity)

In conclusion, most bugs are gross and I hate them.