ISSUE IV

ISSUE IV 23
of my digestive system. Like a termite
relying on its protozoans and the bacteria
within those organisms to digest the
wood it eats into sugar, I need my own
bacteria for successful digestion. An infant’s
gut microbiome and immune system
development can be influenced by
whether they were born vaginally or by
Caesarean section, and what initial bacteria
they encountered during birth. As
soon as we enter the world, we are bombarded
with bacteria fighting to make us
home. And all those years later, we can
still see the early signs of worlds colliding.
Demodex mites live in a world different
from our own though. It is a scale of
giant hairs and deep pores. That is their
food, the dead skin and sebum coming off
our faces. And, I don’t know how to put
this poetically, but Demodex mites don’t
have an anus. They eat and eat these
pieces of you and then die full of you, full
of your cells and your being. Until they
explode and now your face is covered in
mite poop. Or I guess, parts of yourself
turned into mite poop.
To my microbiome, I am a great
home. I provide them food and shelter,
and the bacteria in return provide things
like digestion and protection from harmful
bacteria. The same goes for larger organisms,
like my Demodex mites. Some biologists
argue Demodex mites aren’t even
parasites since they hardly affect me or
my fitness, aside from being suspected
to occasionally cause skin conditions, like
rosacea. Perhaps it’s just commensalism,
a positive-neutral relationship. The Demodex
benefit, and I, the human, am unaffected.
Ecological relationships and terms
like parasitism are less clear cut than you
would think. Still, the Demodex mites are
always with me. When I crack open a new
book or when I lie down on my pillow for
a nap or when I snuggle against my cat
or when I put in a load of laundry or when
I reach up to scratch my face, they are
always there. (I bet you’re scratching your
face now.) The vastness of it all makes me
feel a bit powerful though. Suddenly, rather
than a small, lonely human on a vast
planet, I am the world for a small, lonely
mite.
As scientists, we are often taught
to remove loveliness from our work. This
is true in writing, especially. Though there
is creativity in the research process, the
written word must be bland, straightforward,
explicit. Loveliness can be distracting,
so get straight to the point. This
conflict between my two selves, one analytical
and one who wants more loveliness
in the world, constantly meets its
maker. Science is lovely though. And scientific
words can roll with pleasure off the
page and tongue: Pathogen; prehensile.
Osmosis; organelle. Gamete; guanine.
Deciduous; Demodex. Dēmós meaning
fat. Dēx meaning wood worm. In the Domain
Eukaryota. Kingdom: Animalia. Arthropoda,
Cheliceria, Arachnida, Acari,
Trombidiformes, Demodicidae, Demodex
folliculorum.
Science is lovely when I smell
freshly cut grass, or hear the buzz of a
honeybee. With cut grass, you are really
smelling airborne green leaf volatiles, a
carbon-based compound. It’s the individual
pieces of grass using pheromones to
communicate with blades and plants farther
away. Fortify yourself, danger is coming!
Though the messengers cannot run
away or save themselves, grass still try to
warn their compatriots. The mental image
of these floating pheromones is both
heroic and sad. The distant grass is only
expecting insects, and time to prepare a
defense, not an all too nearby gas lawnmower.
Their efforts are futile, and they