Caught in a Web of Consumption

Not long ago, I believed the massive web formations I saw in trees were the work of some industrious spider. As time passed and I learned a little more about the natural world, I realized that the spiders around here weren’t responsible for such feats. Eventually, I got to see the true manufacturers of those awe-inducing clouds of silk.

They are called Hyphantria cunea, or fall webworms. These native caterpillars metamorphose into modest white moths, boasting furry manes and the occasional peppering of black spots. There are two generations of moths per season. Once the overwintered eggs hatch, the larvae immediately get to work constructing silk nests with the goal of enshrouding nearby foliage.

After the leaves have been bundled like mummies, the caterpillars begin to feast. Their insatiable appetites leave little room for hesitation. They will gladly skeletonize the leaves of a wide variety of tree species. As their demand for more food increases, so do the borders of their threadlike nests. By autumn, the second generation of caterpillars has helped the nests reach their peak size, easily dominating entire branches of leaves.

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The consumption habits of these larvae are surprisingly similar to our own. Humans, too, inhabit a metaphorical and cultural web of consumerism. Money is the material used to spin it. The leaves are our possessions—some necessary, most not. The more moments of our waking lives we devote to spinning our webs, the more leaves we can reach and devour in the hope of fulfilling our desires.

There is always one leaf in the distance, gently blowing in the wind. It appears greater, greener, than the rest. And it lies just out of our reach. The thought, If I could just reach that leaf, I would finally feel satisfied, motivates us to spin harder and faster toward temptation, despite the devastation we leave in our wake. But arriving at the leaf only reveals more on the horizon.

The fall webworms consume just what is necessary for them to grow and transform. They are guided by instinct, not greed. The tree they occupy is left unharmed by their hunger. Their own bodies serve as food for numerous predators and parasites. There is harmony amid the chaos of webs and worms. This is one notable difference between their web and ours.

Our sticky network provides us with a sense of comfort, community, and success. To some degree, we all must walk upon, interact with, and contribute to it. Many will become critically entangled, victims of their own gluttony. Fortunately, the positive feelings we seek are not inseparable from this wicked web. Although we need a few leaves to survive, it is important to learn to find contentment where we stand, to spend our time enjoying the taste, the view, the slow journey to the next leaf, and to know when to stop when we feel full.