Growing up on a farm, I learned from an early age to avoid the dark and cool places under our barn and house: here there be dragons, or at least killer spiders. My parents both took great care in telling all three of us to avoid these places, and to avoid especially the spider webs woven there--for here there lived the infamous black widows, black as witches' hats and marked with the devil's own timepiece. We avoided these dark places as if our lives depended upon it--for these spiders are quite poisonous, especially to children.

Yet, in spite of this cautious fear which was instilled into us from an early age, I liked certain kinds of bugs--the harmless "rolly-polly" sow-bugs, the gentle daddy-longlegs, the graceful water-skaters, the brilliant dragonflies, the beautifully colored butterflies, and the ravenous wolf-spiders which helped to keep the fly population down. But above all in friendliness were the lady bugs, whose round-shape resembled many of the plump old ladies I knew, and whose black and red dresses contrasted so sharply with the scant if bright corsets worn by the black widows.

The lady bug is and has long been a friend not only to children, but to grown men, the farmers who fer for their crops. For the Lady bug preys upon the aphids which would otherwise consume both trees and shrub, indeed anything with a stem. She is a blessing to all who ask for the protection of their crops from these pests.

Seeing her black and red wings certainly brings to mind a sort of dress, and so it is easy to imagine that this is where their name originates. But how long have such types of dresses been around--maybe a hundred years or so? No, the origin of this Godsent bug's name is much older, for it is not named for the generic ladies but rather for Our Lady. And in from the heavens they come, sent as if by a blessing to combat the aphids, a plague upon the earth's farms, patiently and gently reminding us to looks to the heavens when in need.

And what of the black widow? A seducer is she, charming men before she devours them, a beast which hides in the dark places near the ground, waiting, lurking. She replaces the lady's gown with a thin corset, a corruption of the gown, yet one which practically shines and is pleasing to behold--but her touch is little better than death. Like the lady, she knows patience, but whilst the lady's patience is gentle, the widow's is more a biding, as she waits for the foolish to enter her den.

Both bugs will eat aphids, but at different prices. The ladybug's does so free of charge, for it is her duty and she accepts it, and then flies to the heavens. One never quite looks at here without next following her glance, a glance which is away from herself. As for the widow, one must focus all attention to her, for fear that she may strike the moment one's eyes turn away; she can point only to herself and her web, so soft and immaculate a bed which is the uneviable death of many a foolish mate. The widow's price may well be your life, or your child's--she rarely works for free.