My friend Sheila posted this photo of ladybug beetles carpeting a signpost in a densely wooded park this weekend. That got got me to thinking about these appealing insects, as shiny as a polished fingernail, believed to bring us good luck. (Maybe I'll send some ladybugs to the California legislature in hopes it'll get our state parks open again...need some luck for that.)
But I digress. Ladybugs have an odd way of clumping together in winter, often in damp redwood forests like Muir Woods National Monument near Mill Valley, or Roy's Redwoods in the San Geronimo Valley. Dull and slow in winter, the beetles go through the bug version of hibernation called "dispause," often hanging out in gently quivering beetle-mats on logs, rocks, or old wooden fences. I remember wanting to cross a Marin creek one winter, with nowhere to step on a dry stone without squishing a whole bunch of ladybugs. I couldn't do it.
When the air begins to warm this spring, they'll open their hard shells, unfold their translucent wings, and lift off, hop-scotching inland. Some ride currents all the way to the Gold Country and beyond. We like them to land for a bit in our gardens and eat up our aphids, especially if the ladybugs are in fact ladies and lay eggs. Then their orange-spotted babies (technically called larvae, photo above--clearly only a mother could love that critter) will hang around and chow down even more nectar-sucking pests. Get the impression I'm not fond of aphids? Bingo. Love those ladybugs though.
So just remember when you plunk down cash or send away for ladybug beetles, thinking they'll hang out in your gardens all season, attacking aphids. More like a stopover, with wind and warm currents forever making these little buggers fly away home.
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