Hunting the Lily Beetle

 

 Lilioceris lilii

The first time I saw a lily beetle was in a friend’s garden, and it was - of course - chomping on a lily. I drew her attention to it, as she’s a keen naturalist, always interested in and supportive of all the creatures that creep and crawl.

She identified it for me, and I remember thinking what a pretty little beast it was, with its glossy scarlet wing covers contrasting so nicely with its coal-black head, legs and underside.

But that was before I started growing lilies myself.

I was tempted by those glorious packs of lily bulbs. And after several futile attempts to grow them in a perennial bed (thanks to slugs), I finally had some success in an old aluminium cattle feeder.

Then, last year, my lilies were discovered by those ghastly lily beetles. They must have been there long before I noticed them, and they managed to do a lot of damage. I went to war immediately -picking off the adults and dealing with their disgusting, excrement-covered larvae. Fortunately, I managed to get the situation under control simply by removing them by hand.

My friend Vee’s lilies also came under attack, but she found the larvae too repulsive to deal with. Lily beetle grubs use their slimy black poo as a form of camouflage, but that doesn’t deter me. Vee’s lilies were devastated; mine are, so far, doing OK.

This year, I started early. I inspect the lilies every day - sometimes twice a day - and I’ve already found a few. Lily beetles have another cunning trick: if disturbed, they drop from the leaf or bud they’re chewing and contrive to land on their backs, hiding their shiny red wing covers from predators (me). So I creep up on them.

Picture it: the human predator tiptoeing across the yard to dispatch tiny beetles. A cruel practice, perhaps - but one I can justify, because lily beetles are not native to these islands. They began as a small, localised infestation in the south of England in the early 1900s, and were first reported in Northern Ireland in 2002.

My naturalist friend was quite unconcerned that her lilies were being attacked - she believes that invertebrates matter more than cultivated flowers. Perhaps she’s right. But that is gardening: always a balancing act between admiration and intervention. I still think lily beetles are lovely, in a villainous sort of way. But pretty or not, if they come for my lilies, I will find them and... you know the rest.  

A Week In Pictures

 

Above, are my latest purchases from our local Oxfam shop. To be added to the To Read pile. The Richard Flanagan is for Bert. Its subject matter might be too harrowing for me.

The two youngest members of our animal family. They have a peculiar relationship. One minute it's all lovey-dovey, the next... battle royal. Earlier today Chico was trailing Woody around the kitchen floor by the throat. Woody seemed to be taking masochistic delight in it. As I said, peculiar.

Thanks to a few pleasant blue sky days, I was enjoying the garden again. 

After a couple of years in the wilderness, things were taking shape. Even Bert was showing an interest. 

But today. Horrible. Wind, blustery rain, everything being blown about. What I'd give for even three pleasant days in a row.

Which doesn't put the snails off. I've just pulled five of them away from my newly planted nasturtiums. The two pictured are engaging in snail foreplay.  

I am literally experiencing empty nest syndrome. Since my last post the spotted flycatchers have flown away. They are still around, somewhere. I saw them a couple of times but oh how I miss hearing them cheeping and watching the parents fly to and fro answering their pleas for food.

They were not the only ones crying to be fed. A couple of nights ago, after I'd gone to bed, Bert strolled towards the lane. He heard the young owls calling and because he could hear them (he's pretty deaf) knew they were close. He must have disturbed them as they left their perch and flew over his head followed by a parent. I was so jealous when he told me this.

The next night I went to the same spot. I heard the young owls squeaking and then the answering call of the adult long-eared owl. That sounded like a gruff bark. Perhaps that call was meant as a warning. I didn't get to see the owls but was pleased to hear them.

Our snails weren't the only creatures caught in the sexual act.

Lilioceris lilii (Scarlet lily beetle) found fornicating on lilies. 

I've learned a lot about these little pests this past week. They're not native to these islands and have only been around since the 1990s. They have a high sex drive, and lay hundreds of eggs, they squeak when threatened and their grubs hide in squelchy blobs of their own black excrement. They also perform back flips when disturbed, land on their backs and hope not to be spotted as they present their black undersides.

The grubs which survive me will, when fully fed, hide in the soil and emerge next spring and so it begins for another year.

Nice sharp shadows on one of the sunnier days this past week. More of that, please.