Dr. Penny hung around the Dumpsters behind Cornpone Grocery all day every day that long simmering summer of 1971, recording the scissoring sounds made by the wings of dragonflies as they whizzed past her precise, scientifically-calibrated microphones.
She was attempting to test her hypothesis that dragonflies communicate using their wings—composed of sensitive veins and membranes—to talk amongst themselves. She was determined to crack that code and eavesdrop on their whizzing aerial discussions and gossip.
This exciting idea was the reason she’d devoted her life to science.
She kept her rigorous inquiry a secret. Her family already thought she was crazy. But science required audacity. It was a heedless pursuit in the face of skepticism and ridicule. They laughed at Watson and Crick (mostly Crick). They laughed at van Leeuwenhoek (and his funny Dutch name).
But they wouldn’t laugh at Dr. Penny Tittsworth. No sir.
She chose the Dumpsters behind Cornpone Grocery because Lake Kasabian was nearby and flies and mosquitoes (the dragonfly diet) were plentiful. The flies especially tended to congregate around locations that offered an endless supply of hot garbage.
She just had to get used to the smell.
Dragonflies—specifically the California darner or rhionaeschna californica—have short lifespans, adding the pressure of a three-month deadline to her already grueling schedule.
By summer’s end she’d recorded 50,000 dragonfly “sentences” (as she called them). They were varied and nuanced, indicating an actual language. When dragonflies engaged in messy aerodynamic sex, their wing-sounds turned emphatic and orgasmic.
She started there.
She holed-up in her dank lab to analyze the recordings.
She lost weight and sleep. She lost her family. She was determined.
It took her three long painstaking years to translate the winged, linguistic set.
Each dragonfly “sentence” was unique but they all mentioned Vincent Bugliosi.
Crumbling Asphalt 