The End—the Gypsy Moth plague—arrived suddenly and without much advanced warning. Oh, I had seen a few dead caterpillars, with the slain divided about equally between those hanging from their feet with their heads straight down, a sign of the Lymantria-dispar-killing-fungus known as Entomophaga maimaiga, or those departing this life in a Vee and hanging down from an attachment point in their midsections, the calling card of the Nuclear Polyhedrosis Virus. But mostly what I was bearing witness to was an almost ceaseless rain of "frass"—caterpillar poop—as hordes of, alas, healthy caterpillars defoliated an ever-increasing amount of leafy real estate. Today, however, as I did a quick walk around the back yard, I noticed something unexpected and chilling: an enormous number of dead and dying caterpillars, in various end-of-life positions, suddenly "decorating" our Beech trees. The weather conditions I'd prayed for to curb Gypsy Moth enthusiasm had been in place all spring, and they'd clearly begun to work their grim reaper magic. The frass rains have slowed. Now, we'll just have to wait to see how efficient the epidemic will be—and whether there'll be a measurable absence of adult moths... and their egg masses... next month.