Kristina wanted an ant farm. The Uncle Milton Ant Farm was something most kids were hearing about back then, along with Pet Rock and Chia Pet and Sea-Monkeys. She was 8 or maybe 9 at the time. For her birthday that winter, her obliging grandparents went to Webster’s Department Store and bought the biggest ant farm they had Not an Uncle Milton’s, but a Natural Science Industries Ant City.

It was impressive. Clear sides for viewing the sand packed against the plastic “glass” so you could watch the ants going about their daily business, a magnifying lens on each module, tiny holes at the top for fresh air, and flexible tubes that allowed the connection of more Ant City modules, little ant houses like condominiums. It was certified to keep you occupied for hours.

There was a voucher in the box, was to be mailed to the manufacturer, and a week later fresh happy eager ants would arrive in the mail in a little box, eager to move into their new Ant City. The trouble was that the ants, those big red ones that came separately packaged, were dead on arrival.

Kristina, ever resourceful, went looking for ants. She found some outside, smaller, little black ants, less ambitious but very lively, what we sometimes call house ants or kitchen ants, and she collected some and put them in the ant farm where they could lead productive lives. She included sugar water as recommended so they could eat well.

She watched them scurry through the tubes and begin to dig their tunnels, which they tentatively thought of extending, and then she went to bed for the night.

In the morning the ants were all gone. The aborted tunnels and viewing chambers were empty.

But there were ants all over the room. They were small enough to fit through the air holes that were designed to keep in the larger red ants.

It wasn’t until later in the year, in the heat of a Southern California summer, that some red ants came out from wherever they had been in the backyard, and she collected some and put them in the empty ant farm.

The new tenants did ant things and worked on the tunnels without much motivation. They had no Queen to give them direction or hope or purpose. They meandered listlessly, and sooner or later, they all died.

Kristina felt bad for the ants, took the ant farm apart, cleaned it out, and gave it away.