Ya know, I really loved both of today’s topics (already posted my comment on Lady Marmalade); that ol’ Cecil bite and irreverence just scrathes my itch (and I can get pretty sweaty and itchy in the dog days of August too).
BUT…I don’t understand about the holes in the unbeans. If the larva has to bore into the pod, doesn’t it leave a “perfectly round” hole behind on its way in? If the larva bored out (and into Cecil’s mom’s house–eek!), shouldn’t there then have been two holes? The moth itself can’t make a hole, can it? Does it exit out the original hole? Why didn’t I ever see any holes in the unbeans I’ve had over the years?
I remember seeing that scene as a child too, along with the overwhleming stech of overbuttered popcorn I was seriously freaked out in the theater. Man, some folks did not know how to make movies for kids. back then.
Why, Mr. Miskatonic, one would think that you have a problem with being creeped out!
The mamma moth does presumably make a hole when implanting the larvae, but the plant continues to grow. Presumably, the original hole gets healed over. At least, that’s what happens with worms in apples: If it has a wormhole in it, it’s fine, because the worm has already left.
It’s kind of ironic that Disney has a reputation today for making safe, sanitized, happy-happy-joy-joy movies for kids, because some of their old stuff is all about psychological trauma, and Pinocchio is probably the most traumatic of them all…
I had some Mexican jumping beans as a kid. They came with a little booklet (written for kids) explaining how there’s a worm inside them that makes them jump.
What it did not explain was that the worms metamorphose inside the bean and then make their own exit. So I assumed the larvae only got into the beans when the mama made a mistake, and so the larvae in jumping beans just die in there.
I was so horrified by this (the same way I was horrified years later by ending of the movie The Vanishing that I cut a hole into one of the beans and tried to shake out the larva and free it.
Nothing came out of the bean and it was too small for me to see inside, so I put it on a shelf for a couple of days. The next time I looked at it, the hole had been sealed with material that looked like silk from a caterpillar’s cocoon, which I guess it was.
I shrugged and left them alone from then on. Eventually all the beans stopped jumping. Nothing ever emerged from any of them.
Nothing ever emerged from any of mine, either. They just stopped jumping.
I figured out in college that if the beans stopped jumping,
they’d start again if I spotlighted them with my desk lamp.
Why did I have Mexican Jumping Beans in college, you ask?
Well, they had a display of them next to the register at
the liquor store. Most entertaining 50 cents we ever spent!
From this I would conclude that the immature pod continues to develop after the larva bores into it; perhaps the entry hole heals, accounting for its absence in your jumping beans.
Thanks for telling me to read the link, Fear Itself. It did answer my questions about which hole the moth gets out.
But now I have two more questions. Since the larva only bores a flap hole (doesn’t bore itself out), Cecil need not have feared the larva boring out and into his house, right? What I’m asking is whether the larvae genetically “know” to bore a flap hole 100% of the time, or whether this is just the usual result given the thickness of the pod and the strength of the larva, so that sometimes the larva is unsuccessful in boring the hole and sometimes does bore itself out by accident.
Next question: since the moth’s life cycle seems pretty tied into the unbeans, what happens if a moth manages to hatch and get out of its pod which has been transported by humans with no sensitivity to the moth’s needs to, say, Chicago? Does it die disoriented and sexually frustrated because it can’t find any other moths or pods? Or does it give it the old college try on some other plant?
