I remember last June—one of the rainiest Junes on record—when my basil plants grew out of control and those crazy orb-weaver spiders were spinning their erratic webs between plants and fence posts with abandon. If last year was The Year of the Spiders, I'm calling 2008 The Year of the Web Worms. Seems as though every pecan tree in my neighborhood is sporting at least a dozen cottony web worm nests; and if you look closely at what's going on inside, it's simultaneously fascinating and disgusting. After all, there's a writhing community inside those sticky, cottony webs'each pale yellow larva waiting to grow into a hungry, hairy caterpillar, and then, finally, a full-grown adult moth (Order Lepidotera—just like a butterfly, it turns out' but from the less-glamorous Family Arctiidae, if you want to get specific.)Those web worms might be gross to me, but they're succulent sausages of larval deliciousness to wasps'something I learned from Howard Garrett and Malcolm Beck's captivating (if you're into this sort of thing) Texas Bug Book: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, published by UT Press in 1999. (I consult this book often. What can I say? I collected beetles as a child, and people don't really change.)So you want to get rid of your web worms? Put down the Raid and embrace those wasps building honeycombed homes beneath your eaves. Turns out that if you can somehow manage to rip open one of the webs'with a stick or a rake, for example'the wasps attack the worms. I tried this last weekend, and watched'enthralled and horrified'as the worms met a violent, yet strangely poetic end. Who needs summer action movies? Much drama unfolds on the other side of your screen door.