CONWAY — Chomp, chomp, chomp. That’s what I imagine I hear as I walk into my yard on a warm summer night. The sound is somewhere between the crackle of a distant campfire and the dripping of gentle rain on spring leaves.

It is neither of those things. It is the sound of falling frass hitting leaves on its way to the ground, along with bits of the leaves themselves, which are systematically being removed, tree by tree, by the gypsy moth caterpillars that have infested my neighborhood.

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