Book Review: Never Home Alone Embraces the Wild Indoors

The New York Times review of Rob Dunn's new book Never Home Alone: From Microbes to Millipedes, Camel Crickets, and Honey Bees, the Natrual History of Where We Live (2018, New York: Basic Books, 307 pp.), calls it "a book that will make you terrified of your own house." To the contrary, it is a celebration of the biodiversity of the indoors. Presented here are solid scientific arguments for re-thinking how we approach our daily lives.

Dunn is among the most prolific science writer of our time, but the rigor and research he applies to each book is beyond reproach. He is also captivating in his delivery, a master at never talking down to the reader, but instead elevating the reader into a participant role in the storytelling. Indeed, my reaction to some passages was "why didn't I get invited to help with that study?" or "how do I get to help in the next research project?" Dunn's enthusiasm and sense of wonder are far more contagious than any of the pathogenic microbes he discusses in Never Home Alone.

About those bacteria, yeasts, molds, fungi, and viruses. Turns out that there is untold diversity among them, and the overwhelming majority are beneficial to us rather than malignant. In the course of surveying homes around the world, from his own neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina to Russia, and even the international space station, Dunn and his minions discovered new species of microbes. Probably new genera and families, too. How is it that we still have so much to learn about the places we spend ninety percent of our lives? He has a theory, but you will find no spoilers here.

Dunn puts the "history" in "natural history" in all of his books, and it is often a history we do not learn of in school, certainly not to the depths that various historical figures and episodes deserve. Here, that history demonstrates where science has been confronted with choices, and how civilization has progressed, or potentially strayed, as a result of the paths we have taken.

The overall message of Never Home Alone is a positive and encouraging one. It is always the disasters and exceptions that make the headlines. How black mold turns homes into lethal chambers for the human residents. The latest epidemic of Staphylococcus bacteria in the local hospital. Not publicized are the numerous microbes, insects, fungi, and other organisms found in the average home or workplace that are essential to our human lives. We are overzealous in our efforts to rid our homes of harmful creatures, eradicating the helpful and inert species with far greater success, albeit inadvertently. The dangerous critters prosper through evolved resistance to chemical treatment, and the absence of the good creatures that would outcompete them if we did little or nothing to intervene.

Dunn stops short of stating the ultimately obvious: "Product" and "service" are rarely the answer to any problem, especially an ailing household. Something is already out of balance, and applying chemical treatments is only going to exacerbate the situation rather than solve it. Your home, workplace, and even your body are ecosystems, mostly at a microscopic scale, and failure to treat them as such, to cultivate the beneficial species, is asking for trouble.

Never Home Alone concludes with a chapter about bread, specifically sourdough, which results from fermentation processes conducted by yeasts in concert with other microbes. Bread is a living thing, or more properly a collection of living things, like an orchestra, bread being the musical product. It is an apt metaphor for how we should approach every aspect of our lives. We should be striving to be a complement to other species, fostering diversity at every level. When we seek to understand, ask questions first, and hesitate before reaching for the cleansing fluid, we begin to truly flourish. Our potential as stewards of the planet begins, literally, at home. Stop with the apologies, the "excuse the mess" greeting you give your guests. You are not a messy housekeeper, you are promoting biodiversity. Read this book and free yourself.

Children's Book Review: The World Never Sleeps

It might sound odd to recommend a book entitled The World Never Sleeps (Tilbury House Publishers, 2018) as bedtime reading, but parents will find this book to be both enthralling and calming to their children. The story arc is a natural one, covering the rhythms of life through an entire twenty-four hour cycle; and the creatures found from the sky to subterranean burrows.

The artwork, by Carol Schwartz, and text by author Natalie Rompella, complement each other perfectly, weaving a captivating story of the life of an average home, garden, and pond as explored by a cat. The feline serves as the perfect bridge between the familiar and comforting and the unknown and adventurous. It gives children permission to explore, with the promise of security that home provides. It ignites imagination and no doubt sparks dreams of what lies beyond the doorstep.

I can speak to Rompella's near obsession with accuracy, as she recruited myself and several other entomologists I know to check facts and rigorously analyze her words for faults in the narrative. Hopefully, she did not lose sleep herself in this agonizing attention to detail. One of the recurring problems with children's books is failure of agreement between text and artwork, as the author is almost never permitted (by publishers) to illustrate his or her own book. Rompella worked tirelessly to insure this would not be an issue in The World Never Sleeps.

The back of the book includes more matter-of-fact prose about the many insects and other invertebrates spotlighted in the story. This helps illuminate aspects of their behavior and biology that could not otherwise be covered, and serves to further inspire the reader, or listener, to make further inquiry online and in other books.

The world needs more books like those that Rompella writes, for children of all ages. Conservation of biodiversity begins at home, with an appreciation and understanding of wildlife of all kinds, even those we might regard as pests at first glance. It is my honor and conflict-of-interest-free delight to recommend The World Never Sleeps. What an appropriate holiday gift this would make, especially in light of "The Night Before Christmas." There most certainly are more creatures stirring.

Spider Sunday (via "Bug Eric"): Stovetop Spider

Talk about a sense of misplaced. I was making a sandwich for lunch the other day when I was abruptly distracted by an arachnid on the stove. It was mildly startling, but my first thought was “What is that?” My first suspect was a running crab spider in the genus Thanatus, but something wasn’t quite right. I didn’t have my reading glasses handy, so naturally I reached for my camera.

I snapped an image, zoomed in on it, and knew immediately that this was a lynx spider in the family Oxyopidae, genus Oxyopes. The battery of long spines on each leg helps differentiate lynx spiders from similar-looking spiders in other families. So does the arrangement of the eyes. How this one got inside I have no idea, though I remember seeing one right outside the back door last fall….

Unless this specimen represents a new species, or a significant range extension for a known one, then it must be the Western Lynx Spider, Oxyopes scalaris. They very grizzled (mottled gray) appearance is one in a dizzying array of color patterns exhibited by this species, which ranges from southern Canada to Mexico, and coast to coast. It is most common in the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific coast states. It is downright scarce in the Great Plains, perhaps owing to its preference for woody shrubs and trees.

The Western Lynx Spider is not terribly large, mature females measuring 5.8-9.6 millimeters in body length. Males range from 4.7-6.1 millimeters.

In some parts of its range, O. scalaris can be found principally in pine trees in pinyon-juniper woodlands. Elsewhere, it is associated with sagebrush habitat, chaparral, or deciduous forests. Mine may be the first specimen recorded on a burner, and it was kind of scary how well it blended in with the rust spots.

The Western Lynx Spider is an ambush hunter, sitting patiently on stems or leaves and waiting for potential prey to come within striking range. Despite their small size, the spider’s eyes are very adept at detecting motion, and most insects that venture near don’t stand a chance against the arachnid’s lightning-fast reflexes. The hapless victim is quickly seized by the spider’s first two pairs of legs. Those long spines help ensure there is no escape. At night, the spiders protect themselves from their own predators by suspending themselves from foliage on a silken line, snoozing in mid-air.

The life cycle of this species is fairly well known, but there is little about it that is spectacular. Mating is a brief affair lasting only a few seconds. Records of egg cases are uncommon, but one sac contained 45 embryos. The egg sac is produced in early to mid-summer, securely fastened to a plant, and is guarded by the female until the spiderlings hatch. This species overwinters in older immature stages.

Clearly, my kitchen-inhabiting spider was outside of its comfort zone, not at home, home on the (Radar) range. I bottled it in a vial and released it a day later in a nearby field filled with grasses, yucca, and scattered elm trees. I sincerely hope it feels more comfortable there, secures regular meals, and reproduces.

Sources: Brady, Allen R. 1964. “The Lynx Spiders of North America North of Mexico (Araneae; Oxyopidae),” Bull. Mus. Comp. Zool. 131(13): 429-518.
Cutler, B., D.T. Jennings, and M.J. Moody. 1977. “Biology and Habitats of the Lynx Spider Oxyopes scalaris (Araneae: Oxyopidae),” Ent. News 88: 87-97.

Garlands

We decorate
Our Christmas trees
And defend such frivolities
As festive.
But it is no accident
That Yuletide cheer
Falls near winter solstice
Each and every year.
Impatient for Spring
We string the lights
Like flowers bright
To guide us through long winter nights.

Color, color,
We need more color.
Break out the holly
And the evergreens
To spruce up the snowy holiday scenes.
Autumn leaves have all dispersed
And flower blooms
Are still far off.
So why pretend?
Why not admit?
We need Nature all year long
To keep our hearts merry
And our spirits strong.

Eric R. Eaton, circa 1988

Repeat "Offender"

Remember the bat that had flown into the house next door a few weeks ago? Well, I now live in that house, and the landlady was just beginning to breathe easier, thinking the bat had found its way out when….The evening of Monday, August 17 I came home from work and noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Turns out the bat had been roosting on a window shade at the top of another entry door.

Fortunately, the shade was easily detached from the door, so I simply took the shade and the bat outside, much to the relief of my landlady. The bat flopped off the shade and into some plants along the edge of the back deck. It must have been exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry, at least if it had been in the house the whole time.

After snapping a few pictures of the creature, I decided I should probably try to hang it up on a tree trunk so it could eventually manage a take-off. The bat had other ideas. It was none to eager to receive my “help” and actually flew off from ground level, much to my amazement and relief. I was an instant hero to my landlady, but oh how things can change….

The next night, Tuesday, August 18, I arrived home to find my landlady utterly beside herself on the front porch steps. There were literally two of her there. No, I’m joking. Her mental state was not a laughing matter at all, actually. I did not know what was wrong, and the first words out of her mouth were “I’m going to have to sell my house.” Having just moved in, I was now in total shock myself.

It turns out that the bat was back, in the exact same place from which I had removed it the evening before. I reassured my landlady that this was an easy problem to deal with, but we should probably try and find out where the bat was entering the premises. After once again removing the bat (I attempted no “flight aid” this time), I set about looking for possible entry points.

This home was built in 1913, and trying to find one little crack or crevice where a bat could enter was futile. There are just too many possibilities. The chimney was an obvious choice, but the bottom was blocked by a layer of insulation. A bat would not have an easy time getting through, but it could be done. I decided that the bat must be a descendant of Houdini and let it go at that. My new plan was to simply remove the bat every time it showed up until it learned that it was going to be sent packing every time. I began the paperwork, but then remembered bats can’t read eviction notices.

Fortunately, we have not seen the bat since. I wish it were as easy to convince my landlady that bats are pretty harmless to people, and nothing to be afraid of. Not many people get a chance to see a wild bat up close, and I am sorry that this experience was an unpleasant one for her. Maybe someday I will show her the portrait I took of her uninvited houseguest before it left for the last time. I think it is rather cute, don’t you agree?

Holy Chiroptera, Batman!

I am quite certain that I like bats more than the average person. Still, there are some places I would rather not encounter them. Like inside my house. That is exactly where I found one flitting about in South Deerfield on Tuesday night, August fourth.

It was around eleven PM and I decided I would go out and see if I could find any insects around the lights in town. I opened the door to exit my room to be greeted by an airborne blur and the breeze and sound of wingbeats. I recognized the animal immediately, if only because the next door neighbor had a bat in her own home the week before and the situation was still fresh in my mind.

The bat was doing the flying equivalent of pacing up and down the dark hallway, looping through the kitchen at the other end, and coming back toward my room. Naturally, my first thought was to get my camera and see if I could take some pictures. I chose the kitchen as my vantage point, and got many, many fine shots of the empty room along with three appropriately ghostly images of the bat zipping by the fridge.

At times it seemed the bat had left the area entirely, but it turns out it was still making the rounds, just skimming two to three inches off the floor on occasion. I was incredibly impressed by the aerial skills of this little insectivore. Ok, it really wasn’t that little. Surprisingly large in fact, so I surmised it was probably a “big brown bat,” Eptesicus fuscus, perhaps the most common and widespread species in North America.

Once I had my fill of photography frustration, I simply opened the kitchen door and away it went, presumably to hunt moths and beetles, just like me. It turns out I did exactly the right thing when confronted with a bat in one’s residence. In the weekly e-mail newsletter from the Athol Bird and Nature Club came this tidbit from Mass Wildlife:

BATS IN THE BELFRY
“With summer's hot, humid weather finally here, some Bay State homeowners may discover bats residing in their homes! Attics are the most common portion of a house in which bats roost and raise their young. After a few hot summer days, an attic may become too warm for the bats, forcing them out and sometimes into people's living quarters as they search for cooler places to roost. What's a homeowner to do? Fortunately, a single bat flying in a room can usually be dealt with quite easily. Open an outside window or door in the room containing the bat and close off the rest of the room from the house. It's usually only a matter of a few minutes of circling before the bat locates the open window and leaves the house. Bats do not attack people or fly into people's hair.
If a bat has landed, it can be assisted out of a house in several ways. For a bat on a curtain, place a jar, coffee can or small box over the bat, carefully working the animal into the container, and cover it. A bat on the floor can be covered with a towel. Another method is to put on leather gloves and simply pick up the bat and release it outdoors --don't use cotton gloves or handle a bat with bare hands. Whatever method is used, don't worry when the bat squeaks loudly when handled. Take the bat outdoors and release it. If anyone has had direct contact with a bat or if a bat is found in a room with a sleeping person, the bat should be safely captured but not released. Contact local health officials for assistance in evaluating potential rabies risk and submitting the bat to the Department of Public Health for rabies testing.
Little Brown Bats and Big Brown Bats are the most likely species to be found in buildings. In some cases, with small numbers of bats, people don't mind their presence and concentrate on blocking holes and cracks leading into the human living quarters. Where there is a large colony in house walls, biologists recommend that homeowners wait to initiate eviction proceedings until the first week of August through November. Waiting to evict the colony allows time for young bats to mature and leave the house on their own.
Because Massachusetts and other northeastern states are experiencing a sudden and unexpected decline of bat populations due to a white powdery fungus on bat faces called White Nose Syndrome, the Division of Fisheries and Wildlife (MassWildlife) reminds all property owners with a summer colony of ten or more bats to report report the colony's location, type of structure where the bats reside, and how many bats are in the colony, by calling….”

This is good information. You can learn even more about bats, and what you can do to help foster a better understanding of these maligned creatures, at Bat Conservation International, the world’s leading organization devoted to bat welfare.

The Dust Bunny National Wildlife Refuge

I am not a messy housekeeper. Instead, I am promoting biodiversity. Hey, where will all those molds and mildews go when disinfectants have scoured everywhere else? Why not spare the dust mites the vacuum, at least for awhile? We are helpless to exclude nature completely from our lives anyway, so acceptance may be in our best mental and philosophical interest.

Obsessive-compulsive personalities need no help in exaggerating the threat of “germs” and other health hazards, real or imagined, but the rest of us need substantial coaxing. The commercial media are only too happy to oblige, bombarding us with advertisements for all manner of caustic chemicals, air filters, and disposable cleaning gadgets. Since by themselves microbes are relatively innocuous, they must be digitally morphed into something more menacing, anthropomorphosized into growling, English-speaking monsters that make overt threats to life and limb. It would be comical were it not so crass.

Perhaps I am blessed with a good immune system, but I have decided that the threat from bacteria in the bath and kitchen is grossly overrated. As an entomologist, I have known for a long time that cockroaches are, at least at normal population levels, little more than a cosmetic nuisance, a reminder that you are leaving too many crumbs about, and not doing the dishes frequently enough. I approach fast food restaurants with far more trepidation than I do my own crusty basin and range. At my present apartment in Tucson, Arizona, a Mediterranean house gecko once happily devoured the German cockroaches. How cool is that, having a food chain on the premises that does not involve you and the refrigerator?

Mind you, I am not one to live in total filth. When the opportunity to entertain others presents itself, I do make an effort to cull the herds of dust bunnies that normally roam freely. As stewards of real estate indoors and out, we do have an obligation to “wildlife management.”

It is not a stretch to consider a dust bunny a living creature. They seem to reproduce quickly, lending a serious argument to the theory of “spontaneous generation.” They even come with their own parasites, as it were: dust mites. There are at least two types. One feeds primarily on the tiny flakes of dead skin cells that we humans (and our pets, also) shed constantly. The other dust mite preys on the former dust mite.

My bathroom tends to breed its own flora and fauna. Molds and mildews are rather problematic, even in an ostensibly dry climate like Tucson’s. Still more astounding, I have found that tiny creatures called springtails regularly appear in my shower. These are certifiably moisture-loving organisms. I would not have thought that even daily showers would create such a hospitable habitat for something so dependent on water. Oddly, I rarely see moth flies, those ubiquitous little flying furballs usually seen perched on the side of the bathroom sink, or a wall. Their larvae develop in the residue of the drain trap, and probably do a better job of preventing clogs than any dose of Draino. Now and then I see root gnats, little black flies that inevitably commit suicide by diving into the soapdish.

The kitchen must be domestic ecosystem central. After all, it is where the food is prepared. I am constantly astonished by the ability of mold to overtake refrigerated bread, invade the last dregs of the sour cream and salsa, and almost instantaneously rot a tomato. I love bananas, but must share them with the pomace flies (“fruit flies” to most folks, but a different creature entirely) that hover around the bunch. Knowing that these flies have contributed greatly to our fundamental understanding of genetics makes it easier to tolerate their appearance at breakfast.

As my rent goes up annually, and my wages stagnate, it occurs to me that it may be time to seek public assistance. Considering the menagerie of organisms I sustain and manage, it seems that compensation is due. Perhaps it is time to apply for federal recognition of my apartment as a wildlife refuge. Depending on your definition of “dependent,” I could probably take a tax write-off already.

I am convinced that if more people felt honored to host a diversity of living things in their own homes, sheds, yards, gardens and garages, then there would be a collectively different attitude towards biodiversity in general, one that embraced all manner of creatures. A true reverence for life does not exclude things that are ugly, or mischievous, or that are simply products of our own fears and biases. Removing the stigma of an untidy abode, a weedy lawn, or a yard planted with mundane but native flora would go a long way to improving the health of the Earth as a whole.