“Take another one.”
“We’re fine, thanks,” I said. “We already have three.”
“Oh, you need more than that.” Gabe’s science teacher scooped up
a couple more of the thin, green insects and dropped them into our jar.
Someone in the class had given Ms. W. a “Raise Your Own Asian Walking
Sticks” kit, and she seemed maybe a bit too eager to share her good
fortune.
By the time we got home, we had nine inch-long Walking Sticks in our
jar. At least we wouldn’t have trouble finding them food. Himalayan
blackberry vines--technically a noxious weed in our part of the
country--grew everywhere.
My husband Steve peered at them. “They’re cute little sticks. Look
at them eating those leaves.”
A quick check of the Internet revealed that Walking Sticks definitely
have their fans. Dozens of websites praised the wonders of these
fascinating insects, complete with photos and personal journals extolling
their virtues. Native to Asia, they lived up to a year in captivity, could
see color, and were quiet, well-behaved pets.
Gabe came home with regular reports about the classroom Walking Sticks.
“They’re brown now,” he said one evening at dinner. “And they have
wings.”
“Wings? Do they fly around?”
“Sometimes.”
“We’re going to need a bigger cage.”
The next day, we went to the local pet store and bought a plastic
terrarium. I filled two small jars with marbles, added water, and stuck in
fresh blackberry branches. We put the Walking Sticks in their new home and
set it on the kitchen table.
“They look happy,” said Steve.
“How can you tell?”
“They just do.”
The Walking Sticks grew quickly, leaving their old skins hanging like
ghost insects from the branches. Soon they were six inches long, counting
the antennae.
They spent most of the day hanging from the lid or gazing out from the
clear plastic sides. Sometimes they’d sway or flick their wings as if
they were dancing. If you let them out, they’d walk gently up your arm
and sit on your shoulder.
“There’s only one problem,” said Gabe. “You can’t really name
them because they all look the same.”
But they did seem to have their own personalities. When I cleaned the
cage, most of the Walking Sticks would stay on their branches. But one
more adventurous soul liked to walk around the table or fly over to the
refrigerator.
One day, I opened the lid and got a surprise. There on the underside of
the green plastic lid was a thin, green line, so small you could barely
see it. But it was shaped like a Walking Stick.
“Hey, guys, come look! We have a baby!”
A couple weeks later, we had three. Then six. Then 10. They quickly
made themselves at home, marching around the cage, munching blackberry
leaves, and hanging with their elders from the lid.
Last month we bought a second terrarium. I’m beginning to understand
how people whose homes are full of these critters end up that way.
Walking Sticks open a door to a world you don’t normally see on the
kitchen table. And yet, what better thing to adorn the table where we sit
down together to give thanks for all that God provides? The Walking Sticks
remind us that God’s creation is so varied, and the life God gives us is
so miraculous and rich, that there’s always something new to explore,
enjoy, and share.
And the next time we need a science fair project, we’ll be ready.
© 2006 Christine Dubois
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