A ladybug hunts for aphids on a bridal wreath bush in spring

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     An army of aphids clusters around the tender new growth of my bridal wreath bush. The menacing troops first began their assault a few years ago, and have returned each spring shortly after the bush finishes blooming on old wood and new growth emerges. I’ve watched passively as the sap-sucking assailants have slowly drained the graceful shrub of its vitality. After waiting a respectful amount of time for the natural order of things to right this wrong, I am determined to face them in combat. Little do I know: Mother Nature has her own plan. 

The bridal wreath bush (Spiraea prunifolia ‘Plena’) is one of the first shrubs I purchased as a new homeowner, a fond remembrance from my youth when the same species graced the side yard of my family home. It was the site where photos were taken to mark special occasions like communions, proms, and graduations. Here in zone seven, it blooms in a lacy display early each spring when arching canes are decorated with delicate pinhead-sized white balls that slowly unfurl to reveal double blooming saucer-shaped corollas. The stems are breathtaking in arrangements. 

     Shortly after the blooms fade, new stems shout up and leaves appear. That’s when the aphids appear in mass on the tips of stems where new growth is most tender. Feeding on phloem sap in the stems, they weaken the vascular tissue causing new leaves to curl up and turn brown. Though the bush survives this attack, for the remainder of the season it appears lackluster. 

     At first, I try a homemade combatant. Research tells me that spraying a solution of dish soap on the leaves every few days will alleviate the problem. I mix up a bottleful and diligently spray each branch of infestation, but with little result. In all honesty I must admit that I did not consistently spray every other day as directed. 

     Eager to rid the bush of these pests immediately, I purchase a toxic spray that claims to kill aphids. The directions call for several applications sprayed every few days to kill any emerging eggs. The first application delivers anticipated results: many of the aphids are destroyed. Unfortunately, I am busy with the details of life and forget the second application. A week later I return with spray in hand and am poised to release the malodorous liquid when I spy several ladybugs crawling on branches adjacent to the infestations. 

     Knowing that aphids are a favorite food of ladybugs, I halt the spraying and gently retrieve a ladybug, moving it to a sight of infestation. It appears indifferent to the feast I have just supplied, and quickly crawls away to another branch. I try again, this time clumsily knocking the poor creature to the ground. I pause to consider: perhaps there is some greater plan in the works here and my interference is not warranted. I leave the bush without spraying, curious to see if the ladybugs will find their way to the aphids. 

     To my utter astonishment, the next afternoon the few ladybugs have multiplied into a few dozen! There is a ladybug strategically positioned on each stem of infestation. I am surprised to see what voracious predators they are. They use their front two legs to grasp the pest and then lift it to their mouths. 

     Over the next few days, hundreds of ladybugs find their way to the bush—yes, hundreds! At first glance, it appears the arching shrub is covered in red berries. It is a ladybug picnic! As the number of aphids diminish, so too does the number of ladybugs. After several days, just a few ladybugs remain. There is no evidence of aphids anywhere. The next day, all of the ladybugs have departed and the bush rests, aphid-free! 

     I am curious to find out more about this beneficial insect and in particular their association with good luck. Research reveals that in the early Middle Ages, the ladybug was first referred to as the “Lady Bird,” recognizing both the insect’s ability to fly and its association with the Our Lady the Virgin Mary. In early paintings, Mary is portrayed wearing a red cloak, the same color of the ladybug’s forewings. (Near the end of the Middle Ages, as the blue pigment from lapis lazuli rises in prestige in the West, Mary is then painted wearing a blue cloak, with red clothing beneath.) The seven spots of the ladybug are said to symbolize the Virgin Mary’s seven joys and seven sorrows. 

     Historical accounts reveal why the ladybug is named in Mary’s honor and the genesis of its positive connotations. From a theological lens, the period sees a fascination with Mariology—the study of the Virgin Mary; doctrines touting Mary’s intercession are widespread. From an economic lens, the period is primarily agrarian; society is wholly dependent upon a robust harvest for survival. Seeking relief from pest invasions, Christian communities would gather with clasped hands and bowed heads, whispering supplications to the Virgin Mary for special protection in the fields. 

     According to legend, it is the strength of collaborative prayer that summons the ladybugs from heaven. The villagers had never before seen this bright red flying beetle when it suddenly appears in the fields in great multitudes making fast work of the aphids and then disappearing as quickly as it had come. The crops are saved, harvests reaped, and the community is positioned to survive another winter. Believing that it is Our Lady the Virgin Mary who sent the savior-bug down from heaven, they name the tiny red beetle in her honor. Thus, the association with ladybugs and blessings was born. 

     Several hundred years later, the notion is affirmed through a second tale. King Robert the Pious (972-1031) of France halts a beheading because of a pesky ladybug. A condemned man is about to be executed when a ladybug flies down from the heavens and lands on his neck. The executioner shoos it away, but the ladybug persistently returns to land on the condemned man’s neck. King Robert interprets the event as a sign of un bête à bon Dieu—a beast of the good God. He quickly pardons the condemned man. Later, it is proven that the man is innocent of the crime. 

     In the natural environment, ladybugs lay eggs on the undersides of umbrella-shaped wildflowers flowers such as Queen Anne’s lace and dandelion. In the garden, ladybugs like the undersides of yarrow, tansy, and dill. I have grown those plants near my vegetable garden for at least a decade; perhaps that’s where my loveliness of ladybugs originated. 

     The summer after my experience at the bridal wreath bush, I am out weeding the vegetable garden and it begins to rain. As I run about gathering tools, the heavens open to release a heavy downpour. Heading toward the house, I happen to pass by a row of tansy whose tight yellow clusters stand erect on tall stems, like umbrellas dancing in the wind. I wonder. I stoop to examine their undersides. Sure enough, there, beneath the canopy of blooms are ladybugs!           They are snug and dry, quite protected from the pelting rain. I will forever think of those flowers as ladybug umbrellas. 

     Although I have a number of insect problems in my vegetable garden, I’ve never had a problem with aphids or spider mites. I appreciate ladybugs and their special tastes for the tiny pests that attacked my bridal wreath. 

     Legends are one way communities pass knowledge between generations. Legend reveals the Lady Bird brings blessings, and I know this to be true. Whenever you see one, know that divine providence is watching over you and good fortune is on its way.