Mr. Write's Page

Last weekend, my granddaughters Maddie and Sarah — ages seven and four, respectively — spent the night at my place. They arrived Saturday morning, and I returned them to their parental units Sunday morning before church.

Their visit was quite eventful.

First, we had a lavish lunch at Salvador’s Italian Grill (formerly known as Salvador’s Sicilian Grill, but changed because people kept asking what kind of food they serve). We began with an appetizer of formaggio fritto and proceeded to spaghetti with marinara sauce and humongous meatballs.

Then we went to the State Botanical Garden of Georgia in Athens and spent the afternoon wandering the display gardens and trails. The girls were especially impressed by the Tropical Conservatory and by the small creek outside, where they took off their shoes and cooled their feet among the lily pads.

Saturday night, we joined the crowds in downtown Jefferson for the annual Fourth of July celebration — food, fireworks, face-painting, dunking booths, teeming masses, and more. After all of that, bedtime was an unheard-of 11:00 PM.

Sarah, bless her, is no longer an awkward toddler, but she hasn’t quite become a nimble kid yet. Most of the time, she is relatively sure-footed — except when she isn’t, trips on her own feet, and goes sprawling onto the concrete. In spite of everyone’s best efforts, her life is a constant series of oopses, bruises, and bumps.

That fact was foremost in my mind when the sleepover was arranged. I knew she might go home with a stubbed toe, skinned elbow, or bandaged knee. And she did.

However, looking back, it’s clear that the Memorable Emotional Event of the Day happened at the Botanical Garden, when a katydid flew into the car.

Katydids are fairly large, bright green insects related to crickets and grasshoppers. They are about an inch or two long and are essentially harmless. Although they thrive in warm climates, they are somewhat rare around here and thus qualify as weird.

After the girls and I left the Conservatory building, we walked back to the car, which was parked under the trees near the Shade Garden. The entire area is alive with flowering plants and the flying and crawling insects attracted to them.

As we approached the vehicle, I noticed a katydid perched on the glass of the driver’s window. “Hey, guys,” I said. “Have you ever seen a katydid?”

They had not. I drew them closer and pointed out the chubby, leaf-looking body, the grasshopper-type legs, and the long, thin antennae. The katydid posed for us without moving.

“Katydids are harmless,” I assured them.

(I learned later that katydids are quite capable of biting, but rarely do.)

“They’re really weird-looking,” said Maddie.

“Do they fly?” asked Sarah.

“I think so,” I said. To find out, I moved a forefinger close to the bug’s front end. The katydid looped crazily into the air and landed on the windshield.

“Shoo it away before we open the doors,” said Maddie apprehensively. I nudged the katydid with my forefinger. It launched itself into the air again and disappeared from view.

“It’s gone,” I announced with adult male certainty. I unlocked the car, opened the doors, and the girls climbed into their car seats.

After I helped them get buckled in, I fished out my car keys and turned to climb behind the wheel.

Before I got seated, Maddie and Sarah simultaneously let out piercing screams from the back seat.

The screams continued at full volume as both of them frantically unbuckled their seatbelts, threw open the doors, and scrambled out of the vehicle in world record time.

Seconds later, they were 20 yards away, hunched down behind a camellia, looking fearful and holding hands.

I rushed over. “What? What happened?” I asked in alarm. “What in the world is wrong?”

“The katydid!” said Maddie, eyes like saucers. “It’s in the car! It flew in through the sun roof!”

“It was on the seat! It was going to get me!” yelled Sarah in genuine fright. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

After consoling the two rattled girls the best I could, I went back to the car and peered inside. Yes, I had left the sun roof open for ventilation, and yes, perched on the back of the driver’s seat was a large green katydid.

I opened the driver’s side door, reached in the back window, and brushed the katydid toward daylight. It flitted into the air, bounced off the steering wheel, and landed on the floorboard.

After half a dozen attempts, I finally got the katydid out of the vehicle and onto the left front tire. In stages, I chased it to the curb, across the sidewalk, and into the undergrowth.

I turned to find Maddie and Sarah cowering behind the car door, waiting for my assurance that the beastly thing was gone.

“Did you kill it?” said Sarah. “Is it dead?”

“No, I chased it into the woods,” I told her. “This time, it’s really gone.”

“Rocky, hurry — close the sun roof,” ordered Maddie. “Sarah, roll up your window and get buckled in. Let’s go!”

Minutes later, as we drove slowly toward the front gate, I looked in the rear-view mirror. Both girls were red-faced, but composed. They stared out at the passing landscape, deep in their own thoughts.

Maddie caught my eye in the mirror. “Rocky, that thing scared the chicken out of me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It landed on the back of your seat, about a foot from Sarah’s nose.”

“I thought it was gonna get ON me!” said Sarah.

“I told you, katydids are harmless,” I said. “Even if it landed on you, it would be scared and jump away.”

Both of them made unpleasant faces and shuddered dramatically.

“I can’t believe you two are so afraid of a harmless bug,” I said.

Sarah’s eyes got big in the mirror. “I was really, really scared!” she said.

“Are you sure it’s gone?” asked Maddie.

Then, probably realizing this was an angle worth milking, she added, “Hey, maybe it followed us! Maybe it’s on the roof!”

“Nooooo!” said Sarah.

Sometimes, I have a lapse of reason, and I forget that Sarah is still an immature little kid, despite her flashes of great sophistication. This was one of those times.

To my discredit, without realizing how rattled she was by a bug encounter, I joked, “Sarah, what is that green thing over there?”

That did it. Sarah let out a scream of full-blown panic. She held it at maximum volume, eyes closed, feet kicking, tears streaming.

All three of us were yelling as I pulled over and put the car in park. It took a while to calm Sarah down and convince her we were kidding.

“Sarah, I’m really sorry,” I told her. “That was stupid to tease you like that. I didn’t realize how scared you were. I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah sniffled and whimpered, shifting in her seat and wiping her eyes. Then she glared up at me.

“Rocky!” she said angrily. “That was NOT NICE! You scared the CRAP out of me!”

A bush katydid (Phaneropterinae), classified in the long-horned grasshopper family.