Where would the periwinkles go — those tiny, case-making caddisfly larvae — if it weren’t for our messy rivers?

These remarkable aquatic insects spin silk, just like butterflies and moths. But instead of building cocoons in trees, they use their silk to glue together pieces of the river: tiny twigs, grains of sand, bits of leaf litter. Their protective cases become moving fortresses, each one reflecting the stream it came from. Without leaf packs, without quiet eddies, without the complexity — there would be no place for caddisflies to live, hide, or grow.

And they’re just the beginning. Insects are foundational to river ecosystems. We might not notice them on a casual walk, but they are everywhere — swimming, clinging, hatching, feeding. They are the pulse beneath the surface.

You don’t have to be an entomologist to care.
The flyfisher(wo)man learns the hatching cycles by heart.
The gardener thanks pollinators while battling pests.
The child watches, wide-eyed, as a water strider skips like magic across a pool.
Even the honey lover, spooning golden sweetness onto morning toast, is connected to the quiet work of riverside insects.

Here in the Kettle River Watershed, our insects are not only active — they are remarkable. The shimmering River Jewelwing, a damselfly with black wings and metallic green body, is known from only three locations in British Columbia — one of them right here on Christina Creek. It flutters low along the streambanks in summer, catching sunlight and midges in equal measure. Then there’s the Giant Water Bug, which looks more like a creature from science fiction than something found under a rock in a roadside ditch. With piercing mouthparts and strong front legs, it is both predator and prey — a vital part of the aquatic food web. Add to that the hidden world of stoneflies, dragonflies, water boatmen, mayflies, and predaceous diving beetles, and you begin to glimpse into the sheer richness of insect life beneath our feet.

They feed birds. They feed fish. They break down leaf litter. They even help us gauge the health of our waterways. Certain species vanish when water quality declines — others can only live in intact riparian zones.

And what do they need from us? Mostly, to leave things messy.

Brushy banks. Slow pools. Logs in the water. Shade. Floodplains that breathe and shift with the seasons.

So next time you see a jumble of branches, a muddy side channel, or a ditch that hums with life in spring — resist the urge to tidy it.