Eggs of a lady beetle. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)

Have you ever heard anyone say that when they see the larva of a lady beetle (aka ladybug, family Coccinellidae)?

Unfortunately, it's quite common among non-gardeners and non-insect enthusiasts.

The larvae of lady beetle are mostly black and look like tiny, spiny  alligators, but they're beneficial insects just like the adult lady beetles. In the adult and larval stage, they're both predators that prey mainly on aphids, but they'll also eat thrips, spider mites, scale insects, and other soft-bodied insects.

An adult lady beetle can eat as many as 5000 aphids in its lifetime, scientists say. Who knows how many a larva can eat! Who's counting?

"Young lady beetle larvae usually pierce and suck the contents from their prey," according to the UC Statewide Integrated Pest Management Program's website. "Older larvae and adults chew and consume their entire prey. Larvae are active, elongate, have long legs, and resemble tiny alligators."

You've seen lady beetle jewelry and t-shirts and the like (check out the gift shop at the Bohart Museum of Entomology at UC Davis, located in Room 1124 of the Academic Surge Building on Crocker Lane), but the larvae? They aren't represented.

They're well represented in many gardens, however. In our garden, the adults and larvae are polishing off the oleander aphids on our milkweed plants.

You're heard these idioms:

• The early bird gets the worm
• First come, first served.
• Johnny-on-the-spot.
• The second mouse gets the cheese.

But have you ever seen a Gulf Fritillary (Agraulis vanillae) eclose and then see her...well...engaged?

Such was the case on Labor Day, Sept. 3 in our little pollinator garden in Vacaville, Calif.

The female (we'll call her "Bride-to-Be") finishes eclosing and is hanging from her empty chrysalis, just drying her wings on the passionflower vine (aptly named) and getting acquainted with her new life stage and leafy surroundings.

Then, whoosh. A suitor (we'll call him "Groom-to-Be") appears out of nowhere. Well, from somewhere, but somewhere quite threatening. He looks tired and worn out, too fragile to fly. (As a colleague said: "He's accumulated a lot of frequent flier miles.") His ragged wings indicate a recent encounter with one or more predators, maybe a bird or a praying mantis.  But he lucked out in the Predator-Prey tally: the final score, Butterfly, 1: Predator 0.

He lucks out again. He's the first to arrive at the altar. Our camera catches the action.

 "In some Heliconius, the males locate female pupae and may even copulate with the female before she ecloses!" commented butterfly guru Art Shapiro, UC Davis distinguished professor of evolution and ecology. "They are related."

Labor Day, 2018.

Any day's a good day when you find the ootheca (egg case) of a praying mantis in your yard. It's much better than finding an Easter egg.

Ootheca comes from the Greek word "oo," meaning egg and the Latin word, "theca," meaning a cover or container.

A few weeks ago, we spotted an ootheca (below) on our lavender bush. It's sturdily attached to a stem about a foot off the ground. Note the small hole on the right near the top, the exit hole of a parasitoid, perhaps a wasp or fly, according to Lynn Kimsey, director of the Bohart Museum of Entomology and professor of entomology at UC Davis.

We're not counting our eggs until they hatch but we saw another ootheca on our lantana. And another one on a thin branch of an olive tree. Mama Mantis knows the best spots.

When springlike temperatures greet us, we expect some 100 to 200 praying mantids to hatch or emerge from each egg case. The nymphs will be hungry and will eat everything in sight, including their siblings. They do that, you know. No love lost. No brotherly love or sisterly love here. Bon appétit!

Then the young mantids will nab a few aphids and flies and other small critters until they are able to ambush and snag much larger prey, including honey bees, sweat bees, bumble bees, syprhid flies, and butterflies. And sometimes, a hummingbird...

If you see them hanging around your hummingbird feeder, they're not there for the sugar. They're not vegetarians; they're  carnivores.

A newly eclosed male monarch. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)

It apparently originated during World War II. Remember the 1942 film,  "The Flying Tigers," starring John Wayne as Capt. Jim Gordon?

John Wayne, aka Jim Gordon, asks a Rangoon hotel clerk about a missing plane: "Any word on that flight yet?"

The hotel clerk replies that Japanese aircraft attacked the plane, but "She's coming in on one wing and a prayer."

Then there's the 1944 film, "Wing and a Prayer," about "the heroic crew of an American carrier in the desperate early days of World War II in the Pacific theater" (Wikipedia).

Fast forward to today, but this time with migratory monarchs. It seems that, they, too, fly on a "a wing and a prayer."

Over the last two months, we've seen dozens of migratory monarchs-often four or five at a time--stop for flight fuel in our 600-square foot pollinator garden in Vacaville, Calif.  Many arrive in poor condition, their wings gouged, shredded and tattered. Still, they manage to sip nectar from Mexican sunflowers (Tithonia), butterfly bush (Buddleia) and Lantana, and continue their hazardous journey.

Imagine how incredibly difficult it is for these tiny, fluttering insects to weather the elements, not to mention evading birds, praying mantids and other predators.

Not all will make it. But look for some to arrive in the overwintering spots along coastal California "on a wing and a prayer."