Ants to Grasshopper: Buzz Off!

The fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper tells how the grasshopper watches the ants working hard collecting food in the summer sun, while he reclines singing on a blade of grass. He asks why they work so hard, and the ant replies that they are saving for winter. The grasshopper pooh-poohs this theory, reasoning that there will be plenty of time to save after enjoying the fine weather for a while longer.

Fast-forward to the blizzardy middle of winter, when the grasshopper knocks on the ants’ door, starving and shivering in the cold. The ants tell him to buzz off, and remind him of his indolence while the weather was fine. The grasshopper freezes to death and the ants laugh around the dinner table in the warm glow of companionship and full bellies.

2008 Version: The ants work hard all summer, and stockpile enough supplies to lend some to the grasshopper, who promises there will be even more to return to the ants after some deals with other insect groups. The ants keep working hard while the grasshopper makes such gains that he’s able to buy acres of sod and buckets of honey, and he starts lending the ants’ surplus to the earthworms, who don’t really have anything of their own to speak of, but who promise they’ll pay it back later. But when the grasshopper tries to collect from the earthworms when the contract comes due, the earthworms still don’t have any way to pay the grasshopper back. The grasshopper then proclaims that the whole system of barter and inter-insect collateral will collapse unless the ants pony up their remaining piles of hard-earned supplies.

The ants, after much deliberation, decide that while they are really angry about the foolish frittering of their food, they’ll scrape the bottom of the barrel to bail out the ridiculous gamble by the greedy grasshopper just to keep the whole insect food supply from collapsing. Meanwhile, the honeybees, who had expected further profits for their honey sales, see the value of their stockpiles collapsing in the wake of the ants’ troubles, and are forced into their own downturn. The whole garden suffers and tightens the belts around their thoraces in anticipation of the deprivations to come.

Until around mid-November, when the ants decide they’ve had enough, band together, kidnap the grasshopper, roast him over an open flame, send the legs to the earthworms and share the rest of the barbeque with the long-suffering honeybees, who contribute a lovely ’87-vintage mead to the festivities. Everyone vows not to speak to grasshoppers for all the summers to come.

I think I’ll see if anyone’s hungry for wings.