It's never too late to learn a thing or two

At a certain advanced age, it becomes quite clear that you really don't know everything. You don't even know what you thought you knew when you were, say, a teenager. Or a young adult. Or a middle-aged man lusting for a red convertible.

Let me tell you about what I learned this week.

But first let me tell you a little bit about growing up in the Ozarks over yonder.

You are probably familiar with the way certain flying bugs are attracted to bright lights, especially the porch light. This is assuming, of course, that you have a porch. So many modern houses don't.

There they are. We tend to call these light-addicted creatures "moths." Many of them, indeed, are moths. Some others are not. For now, let's just focus on the moths.

In particular, let's consider the miller, a particular type of smallish moth that will spend hours fluttering around a porch light. Quite frankly, I'm no scientist, as you no doubt have already determined. I don't know if it's the light or the heat from the light that attracts miller moths. Maybe both.

In my wacky world of adolescence, I tended to be something of a literalist. I very often didn't catch the drift of someone's attempt at humor. So be it.

When it came to miller moths, I felt a special connection -- almost a familial bond. You see, my mother's maiden name was Miller. All of my aunts were Millers before they were married. My uncle was a Miller. Therefore, I somehow thought miller moths were Miller (with a capital M) moths.

I was not afraid of these plentiful Miller moths flittering around the porch light. By the way, the porch light had a yellow bulb in it. It was assumed to be fact that yellow light bulbs would not attract flying things. But I never saw much of a difference.

Of course, we didn't have a moth/porch-light problem for a lot of years. We didn't have a porch light. And for good reason: We didn't have electricity. But when Ark-Mo Power came to Killough Valley in 1953, we wired the old farmhouse and installed a proper porch light, seeing as how we had a proper front porch. And here came the Miller moths.

Occasionally, the Miller moths were joined by other flying critters, including the magnificent luna moth. This big, green moth reminded me of gauzy angels on the back of the paper fans put out by Gish Funeral Home. These plentiful fans shared the church's pew racks with hymnals, particularly during the summer. There was little air conditioning in my favorite hometown in those days. Toney's Rexall Drugstore was the only place guaranteed to be "Kool Inside," as the sign on the door promised.

But back to the luna moths.

These are docile moths in addition to having a certain grace and charm.

But here's what I learned this week, something I had, to the best of knowledge, never read or been told. This information comes from the respected Missouri Conservationist magazine, which I have read for as long as I have been able to read. The Conservationist magazine is only a few years older than I am.

Here goes: When a luna moth hatches from its cocoon, it has a life expectancy of just one week. Seven days, at best. Its only purpose, male or female, is to reproduce. Since it isn't expected to collect Medicare, it has no need to eat. So a luna moth does not eat during its short existence. As a matter of fact, luna moths do not have mouths.

Wow!

Who knew?

Well, a lot of folks who must have paid attention to what they were being taught or what they read knew about the mouthless lunas. But I didn't. And I mentioned it to a couple of friends this week, and they didn't know either. So I'm not entirely hanging from a limb of ignorance by myself while trimming the tree of knowledge.

A Google search of the Internet revealed other interesting facts about moths in general and luna moths in particular. I'll let you do your own roaming through the ether, because it can be a lot of fun.

One thing: None of the websites I found made any mention whatsoever that Miller moths were related, somehow, to my ancestors. Nor, I suppose, do luna moths have any familial connection to Mr. Luna at the hardware store.

I should have known that, too.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.