Monuments and Megachile: Lessons from the Insect Graveyard

Abstract

The silhouettes of expired houseflies (Musca domestica) formed an unlikely constellation in thelight fixture hanging over my bed. I gazed up at the tiny corpses and counted them—fourteen—conjuring images from imaginary lines articulated at arthropodal joints. It was winter in Toronto and my apartment was shut up tight, insulated from the cold and the (non-human) animals that might seek refuge from it. Where did these insects come from? Are there entomological flight paths crisscrossing the airspace of my home? Reaching up to the ceiling from the shaky mattress underfoot, I unhinged the fixture’s frosted glass reservoir and peered into it; fourteen broken and battered bodies, strewn across a dusty graveyard stared lifelessly back at me.