Most everybody has seen a praying mantis. They’re as distinctive as any critter we’re likely to observe in garden, hedgerow, or meadow. There are 10 or so species of mantids in North America, but here in the southern mountains we’re likely to notice two: the native Carolina mantid, which is less than two inches long with pale green to brownish gray coloration; and the European mantid (introduced by accident on nursery stock at the beginning of the twentieth century) that is green to tan and two inches in length. One might also encounter the Chinese mantid (introduced at the same time as a beneficial garden insect) that can be over three inches in length and has tan wings with green margins.

Although a mantis will sometimes stalk, its preferred tactic is to remain motionless — sometimes for many hours — waiting for something to come along. If its true that “all things come to him who waits,” and if patience is a virtue, then the mantis is almost saintly; indeed, its characteristic posture, whereby the front legs are held uplifted under the chin like a human in prayer, is the source of the common name.

But once an unwary creature wanders within striking range its demeanor is anything but benevolent. This insect is one of the most ferocious, unrelenting, and gluttonous predators of its size in existence. Those uplifted front legs — equipped with a double row of spines that fit together like a zipper — dart out and seize prey in the blink of a eye. So fast is the attack that flies are routinely caught before they can react.

Once in this spiny grasp, the jig’s up for most mantid foes, includes everything from other insects to hummingbirds, lizards, mice, and small frogs and snakes. They aren’t choosy. Held steady in such an unforgiving embrace, victims are quickly devoured — quite literally torn apart — by sharp mandibles that slice like razors.

So far, so good; after all, survival of the fittest is one of the driving forces that makes the world go around, isn’t it? Mantids feed ravenously in fall, mate, and lay eggs in protected over-wintering cases on goldenrod, blackberry and other stems that yield tiny mantids the following spring. It’s a reproductive pattern common all up and down the chain of being.

But there’s a hair-raising wrinkle in the mantid mating cycle. A male mantid has to be very particular when initiating courtship. If a female detects his approach, she may just snatch him up and finish him off for lunch. If he stalks her carefully from behind and jumps onto her back without warning, copulation can occur.

During this act, a female will sometimes reach back and devour the head of her suitor. Amazingly, the remainder of the poor fellow’s headless body can still carry through with mating to its conclusion.

If a male is fortunate enough to finish up without losing his head, his survival is still iffy. As often as not, the female will grasp him to her bosom and leisurely enact her cannibalistic ritual limb by limb. One entomologist observed a single female consume eight suitors in rapid succession.

The males for their part show little inclination to escape. Seemingly they accept their fate with either stoic valor or foolish resignation, depending upon how one views the matter.

In trying to account for this scenario, biologists point out that the male is at any rate programmed to die now that his mission in life has been completed. So, they theorize, he may as well offer up his body and soul as sustenance to the female, whose primary job of developing and depositing eggs lies ahead.

George Ellison wrote the biographical introductions for the reissues of two Appalachian classics: Horace Kephart’s Our Southern Highlanders and James Mooney’s History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees. In June 2005, a selection of his Back Then columns was published by The History Press in Charleston as Mountain Passages: Natural and Cultural History of Western North Carolina and the Great Smoky Mountains. Readers can contact him at P.O. Box 1262, Bryson City, N.C., 28713, or at info@georgeellison.com.