Pantry Moths

Last week my topic revolved around lilacs. This week a different topic is flying around: Pantry Moths. Encountering these fluttering nightmares evokes no beautiful poetry or songs, nor can I find paintings that portray them in all their glory.

Instead, I am mired in the methodical process of eliminating Pantry Moths. If you have ever had this invasion, you know what I am about to write. First, the defendant has to cull everything vulnerable from all cabinets. Out goes the ½-used-up boxes of Cream of Wheat, the containers of oatmeal and grits, even if sealed, the open bags of confectionary and brown sugar, and definitely anything that resembles nuts, no matter how packaged (I decline to describe what I found inside one bag of shelled walnut halves).

But those steps, of course, are not enough. In fact, I recently did these steps and thought I had the problem solved. Pantry Moths come in seasonal waves, as it turns out. My previous sense of victory was the calm before the storm.

Now I’ve entered the actual fray. Everything comes out of the cabinets, canned goods, bottles of whatever, containers of whatever else. Anything washable needs to be doused with soap and water; boxes holding those little bottles of tabasco, vanilla extract, and tubes of anchovy paste must be tossed. So too must be tossed the boxes of sealed packs of saltines and Ritz crackers. For that matter, the crackers had better be tossed too.

Then, every shelf and surface has to be vacuumed and cleaned with a strong detergent. After that, the next stage of attack involves a toothpick to get into the crevices where board meets board. Finally, the rear guard had better show up with a solution of ½ vinegar, ½ water to soak everything.

Let’s calculate how long this campaign is going to take! Admittedly, E = MC² goes only so far. Better would be an area-to-effort-divided-by-time formula, if that exists.

The worst part is the condition of my kitchen: it resembles a home where someone is under political pressure to move in the middle of the night, frantically has taken the first steps, and then flees the premises. And I’m only at the vacuum stage.

I preach the efficacy and power of the Arts to uplift many a difficult situation. But trying to put an artistic spin on this mess has been hard. First, I looked for a poem about Pantry Moths. The closest I could come was an 1829 poem The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt (a favorite around here):

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly,
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to shew when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

This beloved poem ends with a delightful quatrain that has much to say in some dilemmas:

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly. 

Hear, hear! Alas, applying this poem to my present quandary does not help.

My search of visual art yielded the rather charming Julien Hudson painting above, although that definitely is not a Pantry Moth the boy is holding. But music yielded little. Who, after all, would write a song about a Pantry Moth (especially since an appropriate Pantry-Moth poem would be required)? I considered turning to Modest Mussorgsky’s classic song The Beetle. It tells of a little boy, astonished by a big beetle who plops in front of him. The boy runs and brings his astonishment to his nanny. These Pantry Moths astonish me, too, but not in a song-worthy way.

At last, I found the obvious answer:

20 [L]ay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

21 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Matthew 6:20-21

With that inspiration, I can probably get all the way through the vinegar-wash stage tonight, or at least by tomorrow. Happily, in the morning, a pack of nicely decorated “male-Pantry-Moth- lures” will arrive on my doorstep. If the enthusiastic testimony of hundreds of reviewers is to be believed, these cardboard tents will reduce the likelihood of future generations.

If all of this does not work, I will put the house up for sale.