I really didn’t think I’d end up killing anything that day. It was hot, I remember that. I was wearing the same pair of shorts I always end up regretting, the ones with the slightly crooked zipper. I went out to water the maple tree—because I’m that person now, apparently—and there it was. This bug. Lanternfly. Just sitting there like it paid rent.
At first I thought it was kind of cute. Gray wings, tiny dots, and then it fluttered and there was this red underneath, like a magic trick. Flashy little punk. I got closer. Took a pic. Googled it. And that’s when things went from “ooh pretty” to “BURN IT.”
This Bug Is a Problem
They call it a lanternfly, but that’s misleading. It doesn’t light up and glow. It does suck, though. Literally.
Turns out this thing is from China, and it came here uninvited—probably clung to some rock in a shipping container. First showed up in Pennsylvania back in 2014. Since then? Chaos. Creeping through the East Coast like it’s on vacation with no plans to leave.
And before you say “but bugs are part of nature,” yeah okay, but this one? It ruins stuff. Fruit trees. Vines. Even backyards like mine. It’s like a bug that hates joy.
What It Does to Your Plants (Spoiler: It’s Gross)
So get this: the lanternfly doesn’t nibble or chomp or even chew. No, it pierces. It’s got this long straw-mouth thing, and it jabs it into trees to suck the sap out. Then it leaks out this sweet goop called honeydew. You’d think honeydew would be a good thing. It’s not. It’s bug barf.
That stuff attracts mold—black, sticky, suffocating. The leaves on my maple? Looked like someone ran them through a charcoal grill and forgot to flip them. It doesn’t take long either. A few weeks, maybe less.
How to Know It’s That Bug
Alright, so adults are around an inch long. Gray wings with black dots, and that insane red underneath that shows up when they fly. Which they do. Suddenly. With no warning.
The babies—sorry, “nymphs”—start out black with white polka dots. Later they go red and black. Still tiny jerks, just angrier looking.
I’ve seen all the stages. At one point I had adults on the tree trunk, nymphs hopping around the ground, and eggs? Oh. Yeah. We’ll get to that.
Watching Them Feed Is Disturbing
They don’t move a lot when they eat. That’s the worst part. They just latch on. And then they sit there. Like they’re waiting for something. It’s not like bees or butterflies. It’s like if a gas pump had legs.
I stood there one morning, coffee in hand, just watching one of them do its thing. For five minutes. It didn’t budge. It was like seeing a tapeworm in real life. If I hadn’t squashed it, I might’ve cried.
Where They’re Coming From (And How They’re Not Stopping)
China. Then Pennsylvania. Now? Everywhere east of, I don’t know, Ohio? They’re spreading faster than I can keep track of. And nobody seems to agree on how to stop them. They like warm weather, they love trees, and they’re not picky about where they lay eggs. They’re like Airbnb tourists with no checkout date.