Pop 89: Are You Willing?

By Madonna Hamel

Today, I'm returning from a quick train trip to Ottawa to visit my eldest sister, her husband and my nephew Dave. Antsy, after a five-hour train ride and eager to explore the city, Cecile, Dave, and I went for a walk along Bank Street. It was a hot and humid evening, so our first stop was a tiny, packed ice cream parlour featuring a diversity of inventive and daring flavours like cherry-cookie-croissant and onion-gruyere-hazelnut. We stood patiently in a line that trailed down the street. No one was in a hurry, and everyone looked beautiful to me. There were women in African dresses, young men in brush cuts and tailored suits, young folks in sweats and old folks in jeans. This is what I love about cities: the convergence of characters, colours, and languages, especially when gathered for the sole purpose of refreshment. 

One of the young, smart-suited men in line was willing to order the onion ice cream, so a handful of us stood outside and waited for him to emerge with his cone and report. We stood with bated breath as he gingerly sampled his ice cream. "Hmmmm. Curious," he said. "Hey, you gotta be willing to try new things."

We walked past the Nature Museum, where, as luck would have it, there was a bug exhibit. The next day, we found ourselves amongst enormous 3D models of honey bees, dragonflies and Bombardier beetles. The African Bombardier, I learned, has the ability to create a hot peroxide brew in its belly and send it exploding out its rear end at encroaching enemies. I also read, "Worldwide, there are more than 400,000 species of beetles, making them the most abundant, diverse group of animals on the planet." Hmmm, I wonder how many people consider the beetle when they call for "diversity" in our approach to inhabiting and sharing the planet?

The bug exhibit took my thoughts back to the long drives we took as a family when we were young and lived up north in BC. Every summer we'd drive from Prince George to Kelowna, leaving the stink of the pulp mills for the intoxicating scent of sun, sage, sand and orchards. The trip was long, with the eight of us packed into the station wagon. Mom would let us sleep in our pyjamas the night before so we could pile directly into the car in the morning. After lunch at a roadside restaurant, where we all ordered cheeseburgers, something we rarely ate, mom dispensed Gravol, and we slept until she'd jostle us awake to see The Lake from the top of the hill descending into what we perceived as paradise. One image that still sticks in my mind as we unloaded our bags at the motel was how plastered and smeared the windshield was with the carcasses and broken wings of dead bugs. 

Apparently, the smeared bug experience is less vivid for young people today than it was in the years of my youth. According to a panel in the museum, there is such a thing as "The Windshield Phenomenon," which refers to an observed decline in insect populations globally, made evident by the reduced number of insects splattered on car windshields as compared to previous decades. "Globally, insect populations and diversity have gone down by as much as 40% over the last 30 years because of human impact." Gulp.  

As a rural Canadian, I can't say I feel like there is a lack of bugs in my world. In fact, bugs and critters of all kinds rule in Saskatchewan. On a June night, returning from a supply run to Swift Current, bug carnage occurs with shocking consistency. While it's a relief to know the numbers are high, the method of data collection is brutal. What must it be like to be buzzing along, minding one's bug business in the dark and suddenly be smote by a hurtling plate of glass? I'll never know. But I will make a point of asking the ranchers and farmers if they've noticed the windshield phenom on their tractors and 4x4 windshields.

I don't know when I became fascinated by bugs. I know as a girl-child, I was expected to be scared of them, to squeal and squeak at the sight of them. I know Daddy long legs unnerved me, but it had more to do with the shock of them crawling along my arms and legs. I do recall thinking it was unbelievably cruel of a neighbourhood boy to systematically pull the legs from the spider and laugh at the poor bug's attempt at escape using only its desecrated bulb of a torso. I also recall my mom's black toe, testimony of the power of a black widow spider bite as a child.

But I also recall a time when curiosity won out over fear. And I thank my parents - as well as the teachers and friends along the way - whose sense of wonder, including a healthy dose of religious awe, trumped worry and preconceived notions and was as sacred as their sense of duty and fairness. Without wonder, we can easily condemn, dismiss and even show contempt for subjects, people, and creatures we do not bother to investigate. While wonder provokes investigation, awe keeps us humble in the face of Mystery, suggesting we might want to listen and learn before passing judgment. 

Near the end of the bug tour, we came to the Weta bug. The giant, long-torsoed, bright orange bug is the world's heaviest insect. In Maori, it is described as "the offspring of Punga, god of ugly things." Well, I thought, that seems kinda harsh. But, asks the panel, can you see beyond the initial judgement of "creepy" or "frightful"? "Can you move beyond appearances and your fears of the beastly and the unknown?" Are you willing "to find wonder and understanding? This is our challenge to you."