“Dad always said that we were the pests—always trampling the grass and picking the flowers. He would’ve sooner swatted a man than a fly.” She paused to scrub at an errant line with a rag that was as colorful as an opal. “Insects are pollinators and decomposers. Without them, the plants wouldn’t bear fruit, last year’s crops wouldn’t rot properly, and the soil would suffer. We’d starve to death in a world without insects. Of course, we try to keep certain things—like lice—out, but my father knew just how dependent we are upon all those so-called pests.”
