Gypsy moths make a sort of music that doesn't sound anything like the great rhythms of gypsy guitarist Django Reinhardt.
More like heavy meddle — with the lives of our trees.
About a decade ago, we had an invasion of gypsy moths at our cottage in the Kawarthas. More than the burlap wraps around the trees, more than the beige egg masses all over the woodpile and more than the green contraptions that looked like demented party hats hanging from the tree limbs to catch the critters, you remember the sound of their munching little mandibles.
Heading out for an evening walk, you would hear the strange sound, like a distant waterfall or a trickle of a stream. It took us a while to figure out what it was: the sound of hundreds of caterpillars chowing down on the oak leaves above. A very scary sound it was.
The tree damage on our place wasn't as bad as on some others. On some of the heavily-treed lots, several trees were lost. There were transformations that just left you heartsick.
You don't realize how important the context of a cottage is until the nice leafy frame disappears.
There's no quick fix for the loss of a 100-year-old tree. They leave gaping holes in the landscape that simply can't be replaced.
Which brings us to today's press conference behind the Iceland Centre where City officials, sounding like generals giving a military debriefing, talked about this morning's aerial attack on the moths.
After hearing the details of the months of preparation for the spraying from low-flying helicopters, timed with a series of road closings, you almost expected Director of Recreation and Parks John Lohuis to declare, "I love the smell of Btk in the morning."
The spraying for gypsy moths is a classic dilemma for those who like to think themselves environmentalists.
No one embraces the thought of pesticides being sprayed on their neighbourhoods.
But the threat of destruction of thousands of the City's most mature trees, many of them already stressed from drought and disease, is a real one.
Try to imagine Gordon Woods or Lorne Park Estates with half of their trees gone. Or go down to Whiteoaks Park and look at how many oaks have already been removed because of disease.
Then give a big sigh and head indoors when the helicopters come over.