Book Review: Underbug Will Unravel Your Mind, in a Good Way

Lisa Margonelli's Underbug: An Obsessive Tale of Termites and Technology (2018 Scientific American, 303 pp) offers a much bigger picture than a mere glimpse inside a termite mound. The book has a story arc as great as the universe, and as small as a microbe found in a termite's gut. It represents a metamorphosis of history, science, and the mind of the author herself. Part memoir, part journey, and all science and experience, it works brilliantly.

The only holes in Underbug are the ones in the dust jacket, a clever nod to the affinity of termites for all things cellulose and lignin, or derived from it. The irony that this work about termites will inevitably be consumed by them reflects a bit of the humor in Margonelli's approach, as well as the futility of expectations in scientific inquiry.

It came as a shock to this reader that the book was something of an afterthought that emerged from a....recreational(?)....fascination with scientific endeavors that Margonelli was pursuing at her own expense, without monetary advances and publisher deadlines. Who does that? Maybe the proper question should be why don't we (writers) all do that? I dare say this might have been a completely different book if the author had started with the intention of writing it instead of putting a wild horse before an organized cart.

If your brain is wired to go off on tangents while reading, Underbug will have your mind reeling, spinning off into the existential time and time again. Anticipating a dry-as-weathered-wood treatise on termites? Then you have another think coming; and another, and another after that. All your assumptions about insects, science, and even history and culture are in for a shake-up. This is exactly what our society needs to recognize: that while we may have a desire to compartmentalize our human activities, social groups, and our personal motivations and emotions, they all have impacts far beyond our habitual perceptions. Interconnectedness, distant consequences, ambivalence, and empathy are the major themes of Underbug, not termites.

Margonelli is one of the "new" league of women non-fiction writers who is able to insert herself into the story to the correct degree, conveying humility and struggle rather than bravado and arrogance as many male writers tend to do. She manages the perfect mix of participation and detachment, cultivating a bond with readers that only gets stronger as the story progresses. She shares your skepticism, but has relentless curiosity and a tenacious commitment to doing whatever she needs to in order to elevate her knowledge and broaden her horizons.

Termites, it turns out, are a nexus of ridiculously disparate scientific disciplines, and a metaphor for human societies. They span a scale that ranges from their miniscule bodies to continental landscapes. Well, smaller than that since termites rely on intestinal microbes to digest cellulose and lignin into compounds useful to the termite. Meanwhile, the mounds of many species utterly transform ecosystems. One can argue that termite colonies and their architectural masterpieces are ecosystems.

How such a "simple" organism can achieve such overwhelming success is one of the conundrums addressed in Underbug. Our failure (so far) to scale-up the termite's "engine" to produce "grassoline" and other biofuels is a testament to the complexity of insects and the limits of science and the human mind. Also, where does one termite end and the colony begin? Which of those two is the "brain?" What constitutes a "mind?" You may be left wondering if termites have it better than we do. The attraction of instinct, after all, is freedom from morality, freedom from responsibility for our actions, because we would not be cognizant of them.

We are nothing if not collectively selfish, being animals ourselves, able to execute our desires to eliminate competition from other species for scarce resources, minimize mortality factors such as predators and pathogens, reproduce freely with greater success thanks to advances in medicine, and to enhance our lives through technology. However, as Margonelli writes:

"We need to call technology what it is -- an abstraction of power, politics, and economics. And then -- if we are going to take ideas from the termites into our human realm -- we should use them to become more human, not less."

I cannot recommend this book highly enough, as a microcosm of concepts in critical need of addressing by the world community, and mulled over with regularity by us as individuals, families, and local communities. Oh, and to explorers looking for signs of intelligent life in other galaxies? You might be looking for interstellar termites.

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.

Rea Farm ("The Beanery")

I have to thank Abigail Parker for her intimate knowledge of all the best places to go for birds and insects in the Cape May region of New Jersey. One of my favorite stops was at the Rea Farm, where we visited on October 17 of this year.

Actually, I should also thank Abby for letting Heidi Genter and myself be her guests, since Rea Farm is only open to members of the New Jersey Audubon Society. The site was once a working lima bean farm, hence the local name of “The Beanery.” The idle remains of the huge lima been shucking machines are a landmark for the parking area at the entrance to the birding area. They look like covered bridges to nowhere.

Property owners Les and Diane Rea decided to lease visitation rights to the Cape May Bird Observatory (a project of New Jersey Audubon) beginning in 1999, in the wake of sharply falling demand for lima beans. They also grow flowers, and run a nearby farmstand where you can purchase local fruits and vegetables.

The Beanery comprises 82 acres and is located near the very center of Cape Island. It is consistently the warmest place on the isle in late autumn. Migrating birds may linger there longer, among the fields, hedgerows, and swampy woodlands. The three fields, ringed with tractor paths, are the centerpiece of the farm. Several species of sparrows frequent the tall grass and autumn aster flowers, providing a real challenge for birders.

Then there are the raptors. Hawks, vultures, and even eagles like the immature Bald Eagle above can be seen daily over the fields as they rise on thermals in the afternoon. The unobscured skies over the fields and parking area afford great views of the soaring birds.

There is no shortage of insects, either, particularly Buckeye butterflies, their caterpillars, and chrysalids. At least they were very abundant during our visit.

Dragonflies forage over the fields as well, including the Common Green Darner, and Carolina Saddlebags (below).

The crops that are still grown feed grasshoppers as well as people, and while this Carolina Grasshopper found them tasty, I’m sure that such insects are not welcomed!

Rea Farm is yet another gem among the seemingly endless jewels that are Cape May birding areas. I can hardly wait to go back and visit during another season, to see what else calls the area home.

Butterfly Time (Part 2)

This post takes up where Part 1, on my sister blog ”Bug Eric” leaves off. The seventh annual “Butterfly Magic” kicked off with the suave and swanky “Butterfly Affaire” fundraiser on Sunday night, October 10. Music, fine food and beverages were the order of the evening, but at least a few folks ventured into the hot and humid greenhouse in their gowns and suits (though most were dressed a little above “business casual”).

The butterflies had mostly settled down to roost for the night, making them difficult to spot. The lights were on in the tropical greenhouse, but insects are not easily fooled by the artificial extension of natural day length. Consequently, the hit of the night was a group of recently-emerged African Moon Moths, Argema mimosa.

These large, showy insects are very cooperative, sitting idly in the places we had put them earlier in the day. The moths live only two or three days, even in the wild. They do not feed, or even have functional mouthparts, living instead off the stored fat reserves they built up in the caterpillar stage. Females wait patiently for males to fly to them, attracting the opposite gender with a pheromone (like a perfume) that the males can follow from a mile or more away.

The males use their feathery antennae like satellite dishes, picking up the fragrant signals of a female and homing in on her. She may not even venture off of her cocoon, at least not in our captive setting where we usually take cocoon and moth out to the greenhouse and pin the cocoon perch to a tree trunk.

Longwing butterflies in the genus Heliconius are at the other end of the longevity spectrum. While most butterflies can last two or three weeks, maybe a month on flower nectar, longwings can go up to six months because they can also eat pollen. There is no end to the variability in color and pattern, even within one species of Heliconius. Some mimic milkweed butterflies that are toxic to some predators. All are neotropical in their distribution (that means they are native to Mexico, Central and South America). Colorful and seemingly fragile, they fly slowly, perching frequently. This Heliconius erato displays a typical pattern for its species.

Come evening, or during overcast days, the longwings seldom take flight, instead hanging from the underside of foliage, or perching on leaves like this Heliconius doris.

As diminutive as the longwings are, the swallowtails are large and powerful. This Magnificent Swallowtail, Papilio garamus, is the only specimen to emerge so far from the multiple chrysalids we have received in shipments. It ranges from central Mexico to Costa Rica.

A real success from the shipments were sulphur butterflies in the genus Catopsilia. They are commonly known as “immigrants,” which of course has been the source of many bad jokes among the staff and volunteers in the exhibit. Ironically, the “Orange Immigrant,” Catopsilia scylla, hails from northern Australia and neighboring islands of Indonesia, not from south of the U.S. border.

Wherever you call home, you might want to plan a trip to meet these wonderful insects while they are here in Tucson. Butterfly Magic runs through April 30, 2011, so reserve those tickets now.

Aravaipa Canyon

I am terribly behind in documenting places I have been this year. Way back on May 16, 2010, I had the pleasure of visiting Aravaipa Canyon in Pinal County, Arizona with my good friend Margarethe Brummermann and three visitors from elsewhere. Yen Saw was visiting from Texas, and Christian Ludwig came over from Germany. Mike McNichols came from next door: New Mexico. The heat was a bit too much for Yen and Mike, so they elected to depart in the early afternoon, but a good time was had by all before and after our party split.

A good portion of Aravaipa Canyon is a wilderness area managed by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) in the United States Department of the Interior. It is closed to motor vehicles, with hikers forced to wade in the creek through the narrower portions of the canyon. The remainder of the canyon is mostly privately-held land and one trespasses at their own risk.

Our party had barely entered the lower reaches of the canyon when our caravan came to a screeching halt in front of a large Gophersnake, Pituophis catenifer stretched across the road. It was a truly magnificent reptile, and we were able to get multiple images before and after it attempted its retreat.

Actually, it retreated a bit too far for my tastes, looping a coil up my pant leg. Having encountered a rattlesnake the week before, I was a little bit edgy; and a whole lot embarrassed by the serpent’s affection.

Yen and Mike were looking mostly for mantids, and at this time of the year in Arizona most of those predatory insects are in immature stages, quite small and difficult to detect. Ground mantids in the genus Litaneutria can be found as adults, however. Mike also knows ants quite well, and he helped Christian find several colonies of different species. Margarethe was literally beating the bushes for beetles, and I was seeking photo ops for anything I could find in the quickly withering landscape.

Mike and Yen headed back to their hotel in Tucson after finding a dead cow. Their discovery and departure had nothing to do with one another.

Margarethe, Christian and I then continued up the canyon, finally coming to shadier and cooler places by the creek. As we pulled into our final stop along the road, a Common Black-Hawk took off from a low perch in a tree, the black and white bands of its tail both startling and exciting us.

By now, in late afternoon, the wind had picked up and the gusty conditions made photography more difficult. So did the dim sunlight under the tall cottonwoods. Still, we enjoyed seeing creatures like bombardier beetles (Brachinus) and Rubyspot damselflies.

We turned around in the parking area at the entrance to the wilderness area, and were treated to spectacular rimrock views. I look forward to visiting again, and hopefully walking the wilderness area. Aravaipa Canyon is certainly a gem in a state full of truly magnificent landscapes and natural attractions.

Many thanks to Margarethe for the transportation, and to Yen, Christian, and Mike for sharing their own knowledge of insects. I’m already counting the days until they visit again.

NOTE: Special thanks to Yen Saw for letting me use the image of Margarethe, and the one of the group. We are, from left to right: Yen Saw, myself, Margarethe Brummermann, Mike McNichols, and Christian Ludwig.

In Praise of Shade

The city of Tucson, Arizona could use many things, like mid-level jobs to fill that void between rocket science and “Do you want fries with that?” Another crying need for people and wildlife alike is a Shade Initiative. During the searing heat of late spring and summer, there is nary a place to escape to. Sunscreen only does so much for Homo sapiens, and other animals take refuge where they can find it.

Many desert animals have simply become nocturnal, hiding in burrows or crevices in rocks by day. Even creatures that don’t actively dig will use the abandoned burrows of animals that do. Rattlesnakes will hole up in an old ground squirrel tunnel. Sometimes occupant and interloper will grudgingly share space, such as the many mammals, birds, other reptiles, and invertebrates that are frequently found cozying up to desert tortoises in their dens.

My own experience has showed that even insects will seek respite from the midday heat. One recent excursion to an artificial riparian area in Fort Lowell Park revealed an amazing spectrum of sheltering insects among the dense stands of cattails along the edge of the lower pond. Even butterflies like the Leda Ministreak, Great Purple Hairstreak, Empress Leilia, and Fiery Skipper work their way into the cool heart of the emergent vegetation.

Other insects present include an abundance of bees, wasps, and flies. You have to look closely. The wasps and bees are often tiny. On this day, June 21, 2010, I tallied wasps in the families Bethylidae, Chalcididae, Braconidae, Ichneumonidae, and Sphecidae. Sweat bees, especially males in the genus Lasioglossum (family Halictidae) were also common.

In the past I have observed fair numbers of “tarantula hawk” wasps, and even cicada killers in the ranks of roosting Hymenoptera.

The habit of seeking midday shelter does not escape the predators of these insects. Robber flies (family Asilidae) weave their way in and out of the cattails and pounce on unsuspecting prey of all kinds. Meanwhile, jumping spiders prowl each leaf and lynx spiders (Oxyopidae) lie in ambush to catch unsuspecting flies and other insects.

As I leave the park, I try and stay in the shade, but the mesquite, cottonwood, and ornamental pecan and eucalyptus trees are planted sparsely in the landscaped lawns. Once out of the park altogether, shade is even harder to find. There is no mandate to plant shade trees here, though Tucson Clean and Beautiful is perhaps slowly changing that through its ”Trees for Tucson” and Home Shade Tree programs.

The hot sidewalk, where there is a sidewalk, nearly melts the soles of my shoes. I grow hot and thirsty quickly. I pass by a sign in the flowerbeds warning not to drink the “reclaimed” water from the drip irrigation system. Fine, but then give me a public drinking fountain every few blocks. The bus stop is one of the few that do offer meager shelter. Most have no shelters, or the shelters are oriented such that “shelter” is rendered meaningless. I make a note to myself to consider leaving Tucson and relocating to a place with both shade and water.

(Living) Gem Show

This weekend is probably the peak of the annual Tucson Gem & Mineral Show, easily the largest, most economically important tourist event of the year in southern Arizona. There are so many rocks, minerals, fossils, meteorites, sculptures, and other merchandise here that I’m surprised it doesn’t tip the Earth’s axis. The scale of the exhibition defies easy comparisons and quantification. It is difficult to find any other display that rivals the gem show for color and spectacle, but perhaps the Tucson Botanical Gardens has it in the form of its annual “Butterfly Magic” exhibit of live Lepidoptera.

There are stones and tourists here at the Tucson Gem & Mineral Show from all over the globe, but there are also live butterflies and moths from all over the world at the TBG. Rocks may glitter and gleam, but they don’t fly, or land delicately on you like the insects in the live butterfly exhibit.

Among the wonders of the butterfly show are metallic blue Morpho butterflies from the Latin American tropics.

Like a living geode, they usually conceal their beauty while perched with wings closed. The underside of their wings are colored in earthtones with spots and stripes.

Sharing its name with a stone of similar color, the Malachite, Siproeta stelenes, also hails from Mexico and Central America, but can also be seen in extreme southern Florida and south Texas.

Glasswing butterflies in the family Nymphalidae, subfamily Ithomiinae, have wings as transparent as the windows of any building. No silica here, just an absence of the scales that normally give butterflies their vibrant color patterns. Only the veins and edges are pigmented here, creating artistic panes.

Not to be outdone by their day-active counterparts, some moths have a subtle beauty all their own. By any standards the African moon moth, Argema mimosae, is a glamorous animal, with tails that stream like a comet or shooting star.

No meteorite fall at the end, but an equally ephemeral life. With no mouthparts to feed, these giant moths live for no more than a few days, just long enough to reproduce.

My friends in the meteorite-hunting world have given me a new appreciation for both extra-terrestrial and earth-borne geology, but it is still difficult not to choose the living over the inanimate. Whatever your own predilection, be sure to share that passion with others. It is a great way to make new friends and expand each other’s horizons.

The Art of Insect Tracking

Last Saturday night, October 3, I joined friends from Athol, Massachusetts to travel to the town of Cummington for the opening reception of an art exhibit by Charley Eiseman and Noah Charney. The two friends collaborate to teach tracking workshops and other field courses, but have also worked to produce the forthcoming book Tracks and Sign of Insects and Other Invertebrates, published by Stackpole Books with an expected release date of March, 2010. The exhibit, which runs through the end of October at the Cummington Community House, 33 Main Street, features stunning images taken for the book.

Noach Charney has become so enthralled with the intricate designs produced by insects in the course of their life cycles that he intends to produce his own coffee table book that celebrates these signs and patterns as literal art. Noah has a real eye for this and is painstaking in his commitment to producing high quality images. He is not above fooling his audience, either, posing optical illusions while rendering portraits of what insects leave behind. This image of leafcutter bee “damage” is perhaps the representative picture for the entire project. Can you tell what is going on here (hint: this is not a studio shot, and only minor manipulation of the leaves was involved)?

Charley Eiseman (right)met Noah (left) years ago when they helped found the “Woodsy Club,” as Charley’s mom affectionately calls it. Together with other like-minded souls, they practiced tracking, outdoor survival skills, and other activities. The two might call themselves “slackers” and poke fun at each other’s shortcomings, but there is nothing about them that is unprofessional when it comes to scientific endeavors. Keen eyes and endless curiosity have helped them spot the most cryptic of arthropod-created objects and solve enduring mysteries of “what did that?”

Anyone who hangs out with Noah and Charley will learn what true friendship means, and will laugh a lot along the way. You can’t help but come away with an appreciation of all things insect- and spider-created, or learn the art of observation and patience, either.

This blog entry is not just to promote their book and photography skills. You have to read the wonderful story in the Boston Globe for that. I just like these guys and the fine qualities they exemplify. Do take in the exhibit if you find yourself in the vicinity of Cummington, and by all means visit their website, the Northern Naturalists to keep track of their latest activities (no pun intended).

Behe(moths)

Most moths are not terribly large. In fact, there are many which are so small that they are collectively referred to as “micros.” Then there is the other end of the spectrum which includes some species that have the largest wing surface of any insect. At the “Moth Ball” in Athol, Worcester County, Massachusetts on June 13, we had our share of behe-moths visit the lights.

Our giant moths were all in the family Sphingidae, known as sphinx moths or hawkmoths. They get the former name from someone who thought the pose of a disturbed larval sphingid resembled the pose of the Great Sphinx in Egypt. It was probably the same person who named the constellations. I sure don’t see any resemblance. “Hawkmoth” is more legitimate, as many of the sphingids fly rapidly, even hover in front of night-blooming plants to sip nectar from tubular flowers like Datura.

The first sphinx moth to show up was this waved sphinx, Ceratomia undulosa, a bit waterlogged in this shot after a night exposed to the elements. There are five North American species in the genus Ceratomia, and all of them look very similar to this one.

This pawpaw sphinx, Dolba hyloeus, is named after the larval food plant, though the caterpillars will also eat blueberry, holly, and sweetfern.

This northern pine sphinx, Lapara bombycoides, was downright diminutive compared to the other sphingids we saw, with a wingspan of only 4.5 to 6 cm compared to the 8-11 cm span of a waved sphinx. It looks all the more bedraggled because one of our party members rescued it from a puddle.

The only other sphinx moth I was able to get an image of was one of my favorites, a blinded sphinx, Paonias excaecatus. This large insect, no doubt a wilted leaf mimic at rest, is named for the striking blue eyespot on the hindwing, exposed if the moth feels threatened. Since it lacks a “pupil” in the center of the eyespot, it was christened with the handicapped moniker. It has a very wide distribution, too. I remember collecting this species in Oregon and Ohio, as well as seeing it here in western Massachusetts.

While serious entomologists might put out blacklights and mercury vapor lamps to draw in moths, simply turning on your own porchlight will lure many an exotic-looking lepidopteran to your doorstep. Consider making a project of recording the moths that visit your property. There are many wonderful online resources to help you identify them, including Bug Guide and the Moth Photographers Group to name just two. Above all, have fun just looking.

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Party-crashers at the "Moth Ball"

I suppose no social event is complete without the uninvited or unwelcome guests that take it upon themselves to crash the party. The “Moth Ball” was no exception. Held at the home of David and Shelley Small in Athol, Worcester County, Massachusetts on June 13, the primary attendees other than Homo sapiens were members of the insect order Lepidoptera (moths and butterflies). The lack of explicit invitations didn’t stop some other insects from making the scene anyway.

I have learned quickly that among the most abundant and annoying insects here are mosquitoes. These biting flies of the family Culicidae are not attracted to lights in large numbers, but the people looking at other insects, exhaling carbon dioxide, perspiring lactic acid, and otherwise filling the air with mosquito attractants, are sure to draw them in. This one did not come alone, either. The red spots on its “chest” are not drops of human blood, they are mites, tiny arachnids that may be parasitic, or simply hitching a ride to some unknown destination.

Mites do not restrict themselves to mosquitoes. Well, certain species of mites certainly do, but other mites ride on their version of jumbo jets, like this large burying beetle, genus Nicrophorus, in the family Silphidae. Burying beetles, also called “sexton beetles,” bury the carcasses of small animals like rodents, shrews, songbirds, and the like. They often work in male/female pairs to dig under the animal, sinking its body into the ground. There, the beetles excavate a chamber, and the female sets to work molding the corpse into a literal meatball, laying her eggs in a small crater atop the mass. She feeds the larvae that hatch until they can eat on their own, all the while grooming the food ball to keep it fungus-free, and fending off competing beetles that may sniff out her prize and try to kill her family to get it. Such parental care is rare in solitary insects. That these beetles are so boldly colored is a bonus to beetle aficionados.

Yet another intriguing beetle showed its face at the porch light as well. Maybe this male fire-colored beetle, Dendroides concolor used its “TV antennae” to home in on the action. This nocturnal insect of the family Pyrochroidae also has huge eyes, the better to see in the dark. All kidding aside, the antennae are probably used to detect the pheromones of females of his species, as she boasts much less elaborate fixtures on her own face.

At least one other group of insects was easily mistaken for moths: the caddisflies of the order Trichoptera. As larvae, they are aquatic, most living in flowing water such as streams and rivers, many of them building cases that are essentially “mobile homes” which help camouflage them and give them a place to retreat into should danger threaten. The adults are very moth-like and difficult for the casual observer to distinguish from Lepidoptera. This was one of many to join the soiree with the other insects.

Last but not least, were a few mayflies, order Ephemeroptera. They may have been fashionably late (the Moth Ball was in June, after all), but they literally showed up in coats and tails, their filamentous cerci streaming behind them from the tip of their abdomens.

Mayflies are unique among all insects in that they molt after reaching adulthood. A “subimago,” prounounced sub-im-ah-go, emerges from the last larval skin of these aquatic insects, and then molts into a full-blown “imago” shortly thereafter. Their appearance at the Moth Ball may have been their only fling. Mayfly adults can live as short as one day, and probably not much longer than 2-3 days, just long enough to reproduce. Their youth, however, can take years in the case of some species, living as aquatic larvae (aka “naiads”).

Hopefully all these diverse insects found the party as entertaining as we did just watching them milling about in the rain. There is certainly no boredom to be found in the world of entomology.

Moth Fashions

What does one wear to a “Moth Ball?” Their finest attire, of course. I was privileged to be one of the human attendees at an event hosted by David Small and his wife, Shelley at their home in Athol, Worcester County, Massachusetts, on the evening of Saturday, June 13, 2009. Details can be found at my companion blog, Bug Eric, but here is an introduction to some of the more striking Lepidoptera seen that evening.

Formal Attire

Amazingly, some moths showed up in their best black and white suits and gowns. Take this little “white-striped black,” Trichodezia albovittata, a member of the inchworm moth family Geometridae. Not to be outdone was a “common spring moth, Heliomata cycladata, another geometrid.

Dressed in an an all-white satin gown was this lovely species of Spilosoma, one of the tiger moths in the family Arctiidae. She(?) was one of at least two of her kind that came to party.

The Belle of the Ball

Perhaps the most elegant of all the moths to grace the gala was this gorgeous “rosy maple moth,” Dryocampa rubicunda, also an arctiid tiger moth. Others of her kind were there, too, but their dresses had faded with age and her splendor outshone them all.

There is more to come. Tune in again soon for more moths and other nocturnal marvels from the “Moth Ball,” here and at Bug Eric Blog.

It's too darn hot!

This past week we made it over 100 F in Tucson for the first time this year. The local meteorologists affectionately refer to the event as “breaking the ice.” The average first one hundred degree day is about May 28, so we were twenty-five degrees above average for at least a day or two. No matter, it doesn’t have to be even that hot before cold-blooded animals (scientists call them “ectotherms”) start feeling uncomfortable. You can often tell when an animal is heat-stressed by the body posture it adopts. It is all done in the name of “thermoregulation,” these behaviors designed for cooling off.

Lizards enjoy basking on large rocks in the morning, but before long the surface gets too warm for their liking. This eastern collared lizard is literally “back on her heals,” pushing her body as far away from the hot rock as she can, and lifting her hind toes to keep from singeing them. Male lizards will do “push-ups” as part of a territorial display, but will not stay propped up for as long as a lizard under heat stress.

Even insects will hot-foot it when need be. I spied this grasshopper, Psoloessa texana, on the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Notice how it has lifted its hind feet off the pavement entirely. I have seen other grasshopper species lift their feet alternately to cool them off briefly while enduring the heat with the opposite appendage. I just about scorched myself while capturing this image, lying on my belly on the hot concrete!

Dragonflies perform an even more contortionistic maneuver called “obelisking,” whereby they orient their abdomen to expose as little body surface to the direct sun as possible.
This gray sanddragon, Progomphus borealis, is pointing itself straight up in the air, at around noon on a hot day in Sabino Canyon. Quite the dramatic angle, literally.

There are endless ways in which reptiles and insects cope with both heat and cold. An excellent popular summary of insect behaviors can be found in the book The Thermal Warriors: Strategies of Insects Survival, by Bernd Heinrich (Harvard University Press, 1996). A slightly more technical reference is Biology of Desert Invertebrates, by Clifford S. Crawford (Springer-Verlag, Berlin, Heidelberg, and New York, 1981). Children might enjoy the article I did for Ranger Rick nature magazine, entitled “Dune ‘Buggies’ and Other Desert Survivors,” in the September, 2000 issue (vol. 34, no. 9, pp. 14-21).

All this talk about heat making you hot? Let’s go grab a cold one at an air-conditioned watering hole, whadda ya say?

Animals and Insects?

I’ve always been amused by the phrase “men, women, and children.” Are children a different gender? I can still vividly recall an exchange I had with a couple that revealed we are also collectively prone to consider insects outside the boundaries of the rest of the animal kingdom.

The Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden was hosting an evening gala to celebrate the Major League Baseball All-Star Game, held in the Queen City that year. The majority of guests were VIPs of one sort or another. During such events, the staff of the insectarium sometimes circulated with a “bouquet” of walkingstick insects acting as ambassadors of the arthropod fauna exhibited at the zoo. Other keepers paraded around with more cute and cuddly creatures. That evening was no exception.

One gentleman approached me wondering who the flowers were for. I pointed out the large, camouflaged insects, and he was incredulous.

”That’s an animal?” he asked in disbelief.

”Yes, sir” I replied. He beckoned his wife over.

”Honey, come take a look at this.” She dutifully inspected the floral arrangement as her husband gestured toward the walkingsticks.

”Oh, my!” she said, with more fascination than fear in her voice.

”That’s an insect?” she inquired.

”Yes, ma’am” I respectfully concurred. Her husband was taken aback.

”But you just told me that’s an animal!”

That night I learned the true depth of public ignorance about insects. It is not necessarily a failing of John or Jane Doe, either. This gentleman was obviously successful, probably wealthy, and no doubt well-educated, too. No, this kind of misunderstanding represents a failure of educators to properly communicate the very basics of the natural world. It also represents the abdication of responsibility of the media to balance truth with sensationalism and fear-mongering.

Educators need more informal platforms for interpreting the natural world for the public and promoting "nature literacy." We need professional educators, too, not just volunteers and docents. This continues to be a low priority at museums, zoos, nature centers, even national and state parks. Most naturalists I know are behind a desk pushing papers, and training docents to do the public relations.

Meanwhile, pest control services, and the manufacturers of pesticides, capitalize (quite literally) on the lack of public knowledge about insects and arachnids, and their place in the natural world. Truth in advertising appears to be nearly non-existent in most television commercials promoting the latest product or treatment.

Hm-m-m-m, maybe I’ll approach the Ad Council and ask for “equal time.”

Do You Believe in Metamorphosis?

The next time someone asks you whether you believe in evolution, you might ask them that question in reply. I know now that the phrase “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny,” which I learned in college biology, has been largely discredited. Still, what is metamorphosis if not evolution accelerated?

What alchemy is this that wrought frog from fish, and butterfly from worm? What kind of miracle results in such a drastic transformation over an easily observable span of time? Even the most basic understanding of metamorphosis does not lessen its magic. I am regretting that I did not take an insect physiology course while I was in college, but we no doubt know collectively more now than we did in the early 1980s.

At an informal gathering of local entomologists a few years ago, a graduate student made a presentation on metamorphosis that revealed to me some startling facts. Chief among them was the (obvious, in retrospect) idea that a butterfly starts to take shape well before the pupal stage. Inside the caterpillar, adult body parts begin their genesis as nodes called “imaginal discs.” How enchanting and appropriate is that term? Imaginal discs. The caterpillar cannot possibly imagine itself as a butterfly in the cognitive sense, but the idea that at a cellular level it most certainly does is truly fascinating. That the timing of each stage of development is regulated by “juvenile hormones” and other biochemicals is no less astonishing. The power of molecular-level chemistry is mind-boggling.

Given the complex, yet rapid process of metamorphosis, is it really a stretch to think that speciation through evolution cannot take place over an even longer span of time? It certainly seems plausible to me. The bottom line, however, is that we can no longer afford to waste time debating the merits of evolution versus creation theory. Extinction is most definitely not a theory, and unless we direct our collective scientific and theological efforts toward species salvation, it won’t matter how they came to be in the first place.