![]() ![]() They swayed deliriously, testing the air. The worms were chubby and firm, with the springiness of clementine segments. My job was to separate the worms from the shavings, picking out the black ones (blackness is a sign of necrosis) and dismantling the cocoons of the ones that had started to pupate, while making sure none got away. “They’re going to want to wander as they get warm.” She opened a plastic container secured with red tape that read “ WORMS ALIVE” and dumped the worms-the larvae of the wax moth, which were plump and white and had come from a bait shop in Minnesota-onto a brown plate. They were for “land shrimp cocktail,” which Dunkel would serve to her Insects and Human Society class the next day, accompanied by cocktail sauce made by Bob, using horseradish from their garden. “Meanwhile, we need to get the wax worms separated,” she said. In the margin, in a loopy hand-the penmanship of a girl who grew up on a farm in Wisconsin in the nineteen-fifties-Dunkel had suggested a substitution: “or fresh roasted crickets.” Betty Crocker called for half a cup of chopped walnuts. Like many cooks, Dunkel likes to make a recipe her own. She opened it to a page, yellow with use, for chocolate-chip Toll House cookies. She pulled out her old Betty Crocker recipe binder-she has had it since 1962-and put on her glasses. One freezing night at the end of February, Dunkel, who is petite, with fluffy gray curls and rosebud lips, was puttering around her kitchen, a large pair of glasses suspended from a sparkly chain around her neck and an apron tied at her waist. In a bay window overlooking a vegetable garden, dried flowers hang next to a stained-glass dragonfly. The walls of her kitchen are covered with pictures of her eight grandchildren, who call her Oma, or, in the case of one grandson, the Beetle Oma. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.įlorence Dunkel, an entomologist at Montana State University, lives in a red saltbox house at the edge of the woods outside Bozeman, with her husband, Bob, whose nickname for her is Ladybug, and, until recently, with Gertrude, a fine-limbed grass-green katydid she rescued from an airplane. ![]()
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