Welcome to Insects are Fairies, a summer entomology series. Together, we’ll study the mysteries of the wild world and ourselves through the lens of our co-evolutionary history with insects.
The smallest insect on Earth can seat four within the space of the period at the end of this sentence. It lives where you live - which is almost anywhere in the world. And it’s been on Earth since the Cretaceous period, 100 million years ago.
It’s not an ant, though it is related. Not an aphid, nor a beetle.
That’s right, it’s a wasp. A member of the taxonomic family of chalcidoid wasps called fairy wasps. It was aptly named in 1833 by Irish entomologist Alexander Henry Haliday. Ancient Celtic oral and written traditions (indeed, fairy tales) no doubt played in his mind as he studied these nearly invisible insects under a microscope - small enough to land on the tip of a human hair. Their wings are more like dandelion seeds than what you would normally think of as a wing. They use blades of grass like a ladder between worlds to move from underwater to the open air - so small, that they can’t break the surface tension of the water alone.
The fairy wasp family is well-established, diverse, and common, with representing members native to both tropical and temperate climates. The most diverse populations live in tropical areas, but North America is home to about 120 fairy wasp species. All are small, most ranging from .5-1 millimeter. But the smallest of these miniscule insects comes from the very place were I grew up, and ran away from - Illinois. The hundreds of square miles of corn, soy, and concentrated animal feeding operations was once a wonderland of mega-diverse prairies. Before colonization and the monoculturization of agriculture, it was the deepest topsoil on Earth. It was, and is, the home of Dicopomorpha echmepterygis, which is so nearly invisible that it hasn’t even earned a common name. Males measure in at only .139 mm long, smaller than the single-celled Paramecium.
Unlike Mr. Haliday, most of us don’t think of fairies when we see wasps. We think of stings. I would argue, based on traditional folk tales of fairies, that the duality of wasps is as good an argument for their fairyhood as anything.
While there are common threads, fairies are a concept that belongs to the world, with roots in many different cultures. There are the Aziza of West Africa, who are said to have taught humans how to use fire and become better hunters. They are usually shy and kind, but may punish those who don’t respect nature. The Menehune of Hawaii are forest creatures who love to party. They sing, dance, and practice archery. They aim for angry hearts, which when struck by their arrow, transform rage into love. The Yaksha, of Hindu and Buddist tradition, are small ambivalent creatures that may or may not capture and eat a wary traveler or two. The Peri and Daeva of Persia are winged creatures that battle each other as opposing forces of good and evil. The Asrai of England are water-dwelling creatures that only appear once every 100 years, under cover of the moon.
In the tradition I am most familiar with, Celtic paganism, they are creatures of the underworld. They go by “Sidhe” (pronounced SHE), or “the shining ones”, or “the other crowd”, or “the good neighbors”. They can take the shape of elvish-like humans, super-natural animals, or other-worldly creatures. The Sidhe mounds (or fairy mounds) that mark the landscape of Ireland are ancestral burial grounds. Those mounds, as well as caves and lakes, are believed to serve as the gateway between their world and ours. While it’s clear that the Sidhe are to be revered and respected, as reflected by the nomenclature above, they are not simply benevolent beings. Much like our common yellow jackets, they contain multitudes, and respect is given in hopes of avoiding their ire. There is also always the possibility of gaining their favor, to one’s great advantage. However, at the end of the day, the reality of human life is quite inconsequential to them. Sometimes, it’s better to go unnoticed. Also like the wasps, they were here before us, and they’ll be here after us. Theologically speaking, fairies are no angels.
As you can see, engaging with the fairies is not for the thin-skinned of us. Like a soft caterpillar egg sac punctured by the ovipositor of a fairy wasp, the things that eat us from the inside out - hurt feelings, resentment, distrust, even cruelty - are easy to ignore until they’re not. Like fairies, and wasps, all of us contain multitudes. We all have the capacity for good, evil, and ambivalence towards each other and ourselves. Therefore, we have much to learn from the fairy myths and legends that can serve us in our relationships. We can be reminded of those lessons, by sometimes literal and often elegant metaphor, when members of the Hymenoptera order appear in our lives.
Recently, I was stung by a wasp right under my left eye. It was sudden, without any warning. It should have been too early in the season for them to have a lot of brood to protect. I was standing in a group of my farmmates and one person who was there to pick up plants when it bee-lined right underneath my sunglasses and planted its sharp kiss. In shock and pain, a slew of obscenities flew out of my mouth as I ran out of the line of fire, dropped to the ground, and found a plantain leaf with my good eye. I chewed it furiously, and applied the poultice to my eye immediately. Thankfully, no one else got attacked, nor even harassed. But I have to admit, that fact made it difficult not to take it personally.
In tears, I sat with the poultice and ice on my eye, texting my best friend (who happens to have a wasp tatted on her back): “What did I do to anger the fairies?”
Then, I went back out to water the greenhouse. And I answered my own question.
Earlier that morning, I was watering when I saw a yellow jacket perched on a flat of plants. I figured it would move once it realized the water was hitting it. Instead of flying off, it fell onto its back on the table. Impulsively, I shot it with a stream of water to keep it from getting up and going after me. It probably wasn’t necessary to do that, and it obviously stuck out in my mind. I hadn’t done that before, not on purpose anyway.
Of course it would be that same day that I got stung. I was disrespectful. And I’m not saying that fairy retribution is always so swift, cut, and dry. It couldn’t be. But it made some cosmic common sense. It’s like when you get impatient with a friend, and say something offhand that’s honest, but without compassion. Their feelings get hurt, and you let them have their feelings. Then, on another day, you’re on the other end of it. Feeling raw, down, or vulnerable, when someone says something to you that’s honest but sharp, it stings like the wasp that came right back around for you.
Like a wasp or bee sting, in the immediate moment, you need to step away. Don’t drip the whole box of bees over one sting. Put it down, grab some plantain, ice the wound so that the venom doesn’t spread deeper into the tissue than need be. Cry. Write. Work it out. Use your EpiPen if you have to. Remember, the pain doesn’t last. Don’t go chasing the wasp down to explain and over-explain why you didn’t deserve it. Don’t come back with a canister of raid that deletes their whole existence from your life, either. Slow down, tend to yourself, take responsibility for what you’re responsible for. Remember the fact that wasps, hornets, and bees are pollinators, too. They are a part of the biodiverse system that feeds you. They can even be an asset against other pests that would devour and poop all over your harvest like big hungry cabbage worms. Just because something stings doesn’t make it your enemy. There is a difference between fairies and demons, and it is the difference between healthy conflict and abuse.
In my 3 years of keeping bees, and over 10 years working in the outdoors, I’ve had my fair share of stings. I’ve had my share of conflict, too. But repair, responsibility, and compassion can transform conflict into sweet, golden honey, if you and they are willing to persevere.
On the darker side, when it’s more than conflict, and it’s beyond repair - when the hornets’ nest is hanging in your doorway, and it needs to be removed in order to move about your day without you or your loved ones getting stung over and over; it may be time to be okay with being the villain in someone else’s story. I leave you with a poem I found by a young writer named Juno (@c0rv1d.b0n3s on instagram) that felt as if it were written by the fairies themselves:
If I disgust you, then be disgusted.
The sun still kisses my skin, the wind
still caresses my face, the grass
still tickles my ankles.
Be disgusted if you must, while the creek
gurgles to me secrets you’ll never hear,
while the bugs whisper to me
the tale of times past
that your disgust deems unworthy of listening,
while the sparrows sing to me
of a freedom that you couldn’t conceptualize.
So be disgusted if you’d like,
for to be disgusting
is to be free.
Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. Until next time, may the fairies be with you, or at least, not against you.
Sources:
HEROS OF THE DAWN: Celtic Myth (Time Life Books) by Fergus Flemming, Shahrukj Husain, C. Scott Littleton, and Linda A. Malcor
The Irish Pagan School Podcast by Lorin O’Brien and Jon O’Sullivan
THE BOOK OF MYTHICAL BEASTS AND MAGICAL CREATURES By Stephen Krensky
EXTRODINARY INSECTS: The fabulous, Indispensable Creatures Who Run Our World by Ann Sverdrup-Thygeson
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH INSECTS AND SPIDERS with James B. Nardi