Jonas Salk, the American virologist who made the Polio vaccine, famously said, “If all insects disappeared, all life on earth would perish. If all humans disappeared, all life on earth would flourish.” Food for thought as we enter spring and summer and the local insect populations unearth to make their annual appearances after a long, harsh winter. Given that (hopefully) humans and insects are going to be around for a long time, it is up to us to find the means to coexist in ways that respect a symbiotic dynamic rather than one of domination and destruction. One person that has a better grasp than most about how to best do that is Blake Dinius -entomologist for the Plymouth County Extension.
Dinius was hired by the Plymouth County Extension to help curb tick and insect-born illnesses in Plymouth County as well as educate the public on prevention, awareness, and responsible environmental stewardship. After nine years with the county, Dinius is well-known in the community through his many public outreach and education programs and for going out of his way to be accessible for questions, learning, and curiosity about the natural world. With a degree from UMass Boston in biology and previously working at Smithers Viscient, an ecotoxicology testing facility in Wareham, as a biologist/study director of the Insect Department, Dinius is committed to helping the public navigate prevention and preservation with our tiny cohabitants.
“I work to provide science-based information and make it practical to the public through education and exposure to the natural world around them,” Dinius explains. With over 150 outreach programs a year through the Plymouth County Extension, Dinius is going to great lengths to accomplish just that. In addition to traveling all over the South Shore to give talks, Dinius also hosts free educational walks in forests, trails, wildland trust areas, and preserves. Dinius insists that the best and only real way to learn about our natural world and the insects in it, is to have first hand experiences. “The best way for people to come to understand insects is to get to know them”, Dinius explains, “People are not going to protect what they don’t care about, and they aren’t going to care about something they don’t see or understand.”
In addition to tick and mosquito education, Dinius specializes in pollinators. Anyone can easily catch wind of this topic via discussions and topic-presence on the news, social media, in our schools, and anywhere people are chatting about the outdoors. “Save the Bees” is a very basic and broadly applied sentiment, but how can we actually materialize this goal and who/what, exactly, are we trying to save?
In case a reminder is needed, pollinators do us the favor of assuring our survival and existence as a species. Roughly 85% of the worlds flowering plants, including a great deal of our edible food crops, rely on pollination. Pollinators also promote genetic diversity -which is mandatory to survive and adapt to a changing climate and shifting environments. The United States spends over $10 billion a year on pollination services for edible crops and over $3 trillion is spent on pollinator services globally. Our entire food system is dependent on the existence and health of pollinators -we simply can’t have food security or biodiversity without them.
But what about the pollinators at home? Dinius explains, “Our local pollinators are basically following the same trends as the national and some global trends. There are changes happening, but not all of them are the same or considered a decline in the way we think of it. In some areas, there is an overall decline of pollinators, but in others areas there is a decline in the variety of pollinators, but not their overall numbers. It is very complicated and there are many factors that contribute to these changes. The drought, for instance, is a large part of pollinator decline locally. If the flowers are in drought, they produce less nectar which affects the pollinators. It isn’t all about chemicals and loss of habitat. There are many contributing factors.”
When it comes to geography, pollinator populations are faring differently depending on the country and continent. “It is interesting to see that pollinator populations in some countries are actually increasing in spite of drastic decreases in others. One idea being studied is that countries who use pollinators as part of their agriculture systems, meaning to pollinate their crops by hiring out for hives to come sit in their fields, are showing a decrease in pollinators and increase in their diseases, whereas countries who are mostly using the products of the pollinators -honey and honeycomb, are showing increases in populations. Something interesting to think about in terms of what they are being exposed and subjected to and how it is different even in Canada for a pollinator compared to the United States.”
One of the most beneficial things humans can do to care for, protect, and enhance their local pollinator populations is to plant things that are found in our native habitats. The honeybee is not a native insect to North America (it originated in Asia and Africa), and many native bees and wasps are not catered to or noticed in comparison to the ambiguous honeybee.
With a loss of natural habitat as humans over-develop without replenishing or renewing, native pollinators are in a constant struggle to find the food sources their bodies are designed to break down and use. Plants that are not native to the area do not offer the same floral-traits or nutrition to the insects of that area that spent thousands of years evolving to subsist on those specific plants and flora. One of the worst offenders each spring, for countless reasons including its detriment to local pollinators, is the horticultural horror, the invasive Bradford Pear tree. That said, we all love our roses and vegetables, so it would be unrealistic and ineffective to ask people to only plant native species.
Dinius offers a more balanced perspective. “Mix the native plants into your existing and beloved plants. You can have your tomatoes, but perhaps add some spice bush or annual fleabane to your yard amidst the things that are there for ornamental or enjoyment purposes.” Dinius says that once you are aware of the need for native plants and cognizant of the local insect health and populations, other wise and sound environmental choices will fall into place. “Other focuses that help pollinators, like using less or no toxic chemicals in your yard, will usually naturally follow because that is just what happens when you learn to care -you learn to be careful and responsible for how you affect your environment.”
It is one thing to want to protect and promote local insects, but what happens when you want to avoid or hinder them? Dinius spends his days focusing on this public health-centered endeavor. Plymouth County’s tick-disease prevention initiative is largely modeled after Barnstable County’s, where entomologist Larry Dapsis had great success in decreasing infections during the start of the tick epidemic.
Plymouth County also has a financial incentive in pursuing the tick and insect issue. Plymouth County residents spend around $2.3 million per year on tick-related medical expenses, according to data released by County Administrator Frank Basler. It may be tempting to call your local spraying company with the goal of “killing them all” as a large thread on a local social media page recently suggested, but even with the most potent of poisons, ticks will not be eradicated at a level high enough to justify the damage to your local environment.
“The most effective way to deal with ticks and tick bites is through personal protection -meaning on your clothes and body,” Dinius explains. “According to the CDC data the last few years, even the strongest chemicals allowed for spraying for ticks only has about a 60% tick reduction rate,” says Dinius, “A single tick can lay about 3,000 eggs in its lifetime, so it is truly impossible to ‘eradicate’ them -nor do we want to as they are native insects and have a purpose in the ecosystems for other animals and insects as a major food source.”
Dinius points out that personal protection via body sprays and clothing cover and treatment, as well as tick checks when you go inside, provide closer to 100% prevention of tick bites and tick-born illness. “I grew up on 13 acres, I live near wetlands where sprays are illegal, and I am outside in tick-rich environments every day and I have not had a tick bite in 30 years,” Dinius points out, “I make sure I treat my family’s shoes and clothes with EPA Regulated repellants every single time we go outside.” As for the all-natural sprays Dinius says, “They can work in terms of the ingredients they use -they are effective ingredients, the issue is that because they are not regulated by the EPA, the amounts of the ingredients used is often off or not enough to provide adequate protection. It is best to use EPA approved tick and mosquito repellants to have your best chances of avoiding bites.”
In addition to personal protection, it is important to use jurisdiction about yard management. Dinius explains, “Leave the leaves and No-Mow May are great, and they can absolutely benefit insects, but it also benefits ticks. They love leaf mulch. My suggestion is to designate an area of your yard to allow leaf mulch to sit until the weather warms and the insect eggs using the leaves hatch, but you should avoid letting it accumulate where your kids and animals play or go often. I have a specific area that I give to nature -where I keep the grass long and leave the leaves, and I have a great display of fireflies and a healthy pollinator population in my yard, but I make sure it is not the same area my kids play.”
When it comes to the other hot-topic pest of the area, mosquitoes, Dinius explains the need for and administration of large-scale sprays. “The Mosquito Control Project of Plymouth County is a state agency overseen by the Reclamation and Mosquito Control Board of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. They use a spray made of BTI – Bacillus thuringiensis israelensis -a naturally occurring bacterium found in soil that produces toxins specifically targeting the larvae of mosquitoes, blackflies, fungus gnats, and related flies. This spray impacts mosquitoes and midges, but largely leaves other insect populations unharmed. It also dissipates in sunlight and is sprayed at night so that by the time the pollinators are up for the day, the spray is gone and there is no effect on them.”
Dinius also explains that the late summer spraying via planes are only used by the state if there is a credible threat to the public via mosquito transmitted illnesses like EEE. “The late summer sprays are meant to kill mosquitoes on a non-targeted, larger scale, but even with these large applications, studies have shown that insect populations pre and post spray are not different. The spray also does not bind well to soil, so there is no evidence that is gets into groundwater systems long-term and has little to no effect on soil health.”
In spite of the overwhelming presence and talk of tick and mosquito-born illnesses, and pollinator and insect crises around the world, it is imperative to not feel powerless or fearful. “We risk getting hit by a car every time we go across the street,” says Dinius, “But we are not afraid to cross the street -we are careful. We need to apply this to our being out in nature. Now it is more important than ever to be outside -to get to know our surroundings and learn about our local environment so that we care about it, and we can’t do that if we are all avoiding it.” The best way to stop fearing or disrespecting anything is to come to understand it. Dinius hopes we can realize our place in our local ecosystems and thereby enjoy them much more. “It is absolutely great outside. There are so many incredible things to see and learn right out in the woods or in your neighborhood. You just have to make the effort to go look and watch and then learn a bit about what you are seeing. It enriches your life.” This summer I, for one, will be making more of an effort to get to know and be good to my neighbors -not the ones ringing doorbells or driving down the street, but the ones flitting from flower to flower in the garden or burrowing under a dead log. There is a tiny little complex world of creatures co-existing right in your yard, and the neighborly thing to do is to look out for them.
For more information or any questions, contact Blake Dinius at:
bdinius@plymouthcountyma.gov or call 774-773-3404 via the Plymouth County Extension.
Visit the Plymouth County Extension Facebook page for a schedule of free, guided walks, public lectures, and events.

“This is really why I made my daughters learn to garden – so they would always have a mother to love them, long after I am gone.” — Robin Wall Kimmerer

“Mothering” is a word with boundless connotations. It’s most primal definition only scratches the surface of its variant uses and meanings. “Mothering” is synonymous with “teaching” and can be done by more than biological mothers. It can be a solo or group endeavor. Whatever amalgamation of actions, sentiments, endeavors, and hopes comprise “mothering”, the world needs more of it. Some of us came into this life with mothers who were able to be what we needed in many ways. Others have not been so fortunate. In my life there have been many mothers, and mothering has come in countless forms and from handfuls of people and life experiences.
One of my core memories of someone who has mothered me is via my horticulture boss/mentor turned dear friend. While planting out thousands of seedlings on a chilly, late March day for the May plant sale at Plimoth Patuxet Museums, she noticed I was unusually quiet. When she asked what was wrong, I confided in her concerning a serious trial I was going through which was largely being endured in silence and isolation.
She didn’t say much, but she immediately went to the calendar on the wall and scheduled me to come in every day that week at dawn to open and work the greenhouse alone for a few hours until she arrived. I had previously only been scheduled for two other days. I asked her why the sudden schedule change. She replied, “It is impossible to be alone when you are working with plants. You can’t engage in the act without seeing how you are a part of things -not separate from them. Basically, you need the company.” She was right.
In my twenty plus years of gardening, I have many-a-time been a child kneeling at the feet of the mother -taking in all the stories, lessons, and inspiration the natural world has graciously offered me. I have seen others mothered, as I have been, by the earth and the act of becoming a partner with her through gardening to create, sustain, and flourish. This symbiotic relationship is not only natural, it is our birthright as human beings -to engage respectfully and sustainably with the planet and environment we are a biologically a part of. Our ancestors understood this connection in ways we are becoming unfamiliar with in modern times.
Linda Hogan wrote in her poem, Old Ways:
“Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”
The love of thousands -the mothering energy of centuries, resulted in us, here and now, in this moment. When we connect with the old ways and let them “mother” us, when we honor and learn for ourselves the passed-down truths, wisdoms, lessons, remedies, hopes, and methods that spanned generations of tongues and minds to end up on our mental doorsteps, it is impossible not to feel cared for -bolstered, brave.
The miracle of mothering is that the recipe for doing it successfully, by any means or person, has not really changed across the ages. The mothering I have received from the garden has taught/is teaching me a few life lessons that I might not have learned as blatantly had I not been involved with the earth. Mothering, bestowed by the garden, has shown me that experiences gained by living life connected to the cycles of the earth prove the tried-and-true knowledge that every “take” requires a “give” in an existence of interdependence, that life is entirely seasonal and our peace is dependent upon us relenting to that, and that control is an illusion where nature is concerned, but hope is a compost and is as enriching and mandatory to us now as it was long ago. More so, in fact.
Mothering from the garden has shown me that existence requires interdependence. No one thing or person is so sufficient, flawless, or rational that it/they can find peace and fulfilment or function at full capacity in isolation. I encountered this lesson when learning about companion planting. This is a garden practice where you place two plants that have a symbiotic relationship next to each other and each of them benefits in ways that surpass their potential being planted on their own. In my gardens, I learned to interplant my beloved English rose collection with nepeta (catmint).
Nepeta benefits the roses by providing volatile masking. This is when aromatic plants emit compounds that physically interfere with pests such as aphids’ host-location ability. Aphids identify target plants via chemical signals; companion volatiles mask those signals. Nepeta also provides neighboring flowers to supply pollen and nectar that sustain populations of hoverflies, parasitic wasps, and ladybugs. This means the nepeta calls in a sustained presence of protective predators for the rose’s enemy pest populations. In turn, a more prolific rose bush enhances scent trails that lead pollinators to the nepeta and the rose roots leach nutrients into the soil that feed the nepeta.
As far as humans are concerned, we can easily see this relating to our communal nature and the way our societies were built over time. Each with our varying talents, interests, abilities, and insights offers a unique blueprint of life for others to observe and learn from -be it as inspiration or warning. Our interdependence filters from our personal lives into our communities and even nations. Resources, geographic locations, crops, and technologies from one nation are not found in the other and vice versa and trade is established. In our local governments, voters are needed to choose representation who, in turn, advocate for their bolstering voters for funds and resources. In our relationships, we find the most fulfillment when we are in a pattern of fellowship with each other -where we take turns saving one another through our energy and abilities when another person is in need of sustenance or support. There is no independence in nature -there is interdependence that is founded upon the collection of each participants’ unique abilities combining into a kaleidoscope of harmonious purpose.
When lost in gardening tasks, such as seed starting, composting, weeding, harvesting, and planting, you subconsciously become an active participant in the rhythm of the earth -in its seasons. Rachel Carlson said, “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature -the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” In my own personal chaos, I find the mandatory and reliable demands nature places upon anyone who wishes to interact with it, in a meaningful and prolific manner, a great constant and comfort. No matter the complexities of my day-to-day existence, the peony buds still form in late April and the garlic still needs to be planted in the fall under mulch to grow the winter long.
Living on a flower farm in the forest, I am at the mercy of the earth and her seasons. In the spring, the needed clean-up pulls me from my indoor focus to bask in the vitamin D and birdsong -a counter symphony to any remaining winter seasonal blues. The sound of the first peepers is as important an announcement from my youngest as his latest video game high score, and the started seedlings are fussed over like extra, temperature-sensitive, sun-hungry children.
Summer brings the dance of flood and drought, of paced exertion and perseverance in the wet New England heat. The respite of enjoying a chilled drink around the firepit at the end of a day of summer intensity, while surrounded by little galaxies of fireflies and a symphony of crickets, makes any strains of the day obsolete. In the fall, it is hard to focus on any tasks because just looking upward at the jeweled canopies is the finest distraction of the year. Still, harvest time requires anything but rest. There is an underlying panic -primeval in force, that urges us to hurry, preserve, save, and savor. When winter casts its first blankets upon us, we learn to slow down, listen to the paused frenzy of the year, and hibernate.
Our lives have seasons far more complex and unpredictable. Some have many harvests, others few. Some have a lifetime of dependable rain, others relentless drought. Some have stretches where the dark winter in their soul carries on for years, while others glow in long stretches of sunny days. Many have an equilibrium of seasons of ease and strife. While nobly striving to make the best of the season we are in, and making our own sunshine when there is none, the most detrimental thing we can do is fight against the seasons that are naturally occurring. Seasons of growth can be terrifying and taxing, but stunting ourselves in the comfort of unwavering consistency is like keeping a vibrant plant in a tiny pot to become root-bound. Equally, constantly focusing on “bigger, better, more” comes at a cost of draining our souls of contentment and the ability to see the harvests we do have in our lives -in a world where the very definition of “bounty” is at odds with the earth and inner peace.
In the midst of learning how to give and take respectfully, and how to ebb and flow with life’s seasons, the garden has shown me the one thing that matters more than anything and that I am still striving to learn: To hope. Audrey Hepburn famously said, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” There is another adage that sits in my mind: “Plant pears for your heirs” referring to the slow nature of a pear tree maturing to produce an abundant harvest. Gardening is, in itself, a game of chance. You can’t tell a seed’s germination rate by looking at it. You can’t predict the weather that will hinder or help its growth. You can’t foresee most pests or diseases once its grown, or stop every animal that nibbles, or storm wind that bends.
Each seed or plant put into the earth is placed there with the hope that it will become what we need and want it to be -but with no guarantees. Certainly, particular patterns and practices increase your odds every time, but even the most seasoned of gardeners will lose an “invincible” zucchini plant sometimes. Regardless of the outcome, the intent is always hoping for the best. The most prolific gardens are the ones in January, when the snow is still on the ground because they are the gardens in your mind -the ones cultivated entirely from imagination and hope and they are just as important as their physical manifestations in the growing season because there is nothing more tantalizing than potential.
Hope is the food that also feeds the human spirit. We sing about it, write about it, preach and speak about it, and make art about it. We live and die by it. Hope is the one thing that can be so fragile, but also impossible to kill. If we have it, no matter how many seasons or experiences in our lives prove it to be futile, we are kept in motion. We keep trying. We keep dreaming and adjusting and trialing and, eventually once in a while, triumphing. Hope is the compost of our souls -made up of life’s micro and macro observations and experiences. Ironically, unlike gardening, the best way to add to your hope is to give it to others.
Perhaps this article has been a rambling, over-the-top sentiment and full of sop. Perhaps I am presumptuous in assuming the things I am learning will apply to anyone else. The point of my ramblings is that on Mother’s Day this year I see a world, a society, that is in desperate need of a bit of mothering. It is also spring in New England, and we just came through a long, hard winter, and my goodness, are we in need of some blooming things in our lives and souls. I am hard pressed to take advice from humans these days, but every time I take it from the garden it seems to be just what I need, when I need it. I hope you can get outside this spring and let the earth, nature, gardens, and any good, loving force you can find in this world mother you a little bit. After all, mother knows best.