Let’s take some time off from the relentless, 24-hour news cycle and enjoy a few bug stories. 

MOSQUITOES – The BugLady always snickers at the obligatory TV news spot in mid-spring in which someone earnestly tries to predict what kind of mosquito season is on the horizon (“Well, Pete, if we get a lot of rain, we could have a lot of mosquitoes this year…”). Whatever the summer brings, how do mosquitoes find you, and do they find you delectable? .

(The BugLady also snickers at the weather folks who report that visibility is limited to only five miles or two miles instead of ten. Most people don’t live where they can actually see five miles, and most of us aren’t flying an airplane. All we need is enough visibility – maybe a quarter mile in each direction – to be able to pull through an intersection safely. But that’s a different soapbox).

INSECT SPECIES – There are about 100,000 species of insects in the US, and almost one-fifth of those species can be found in Wisconsin! Most live out their whole lives without producing a single blip on our collective radars, and formal insect surveys are a recent phenomenon, so it’s hard to say what the population trends are for many species. .

SPIDERS: – Spiders would appreciate a little peace and quiet .

LADY GAGA TREEHOPPER – Ever wonder how newly described insects get their names

WALKING STICK – Our Northern walking sticks max out at about 3” long (counting their antennae, maybe 5”) (and what cute nymphs they have ). They’re dwarfed by this newly-discovered Australian stick insect .

BUMBLE BEES – Turns out that extreme heat can have an unexpected impact on bumble bees .

EXTRAFLORAL NECTARIES – Some insects protect the plants they live on, and the plants reward them for it . BOTW explored EFNs a while back Ants in My Plants Rerun – Field Station.

INVASIVE SPECIES ALERT – be on the lookout for a new alien species, the Elm zigzag sawfly – .  Here’s some info from the Wisconsin DNR .

The BugLady saw a fly sitting on the outside of her cottage the other morning. 

The BugLady

The post Bugs in the News XVI appeared first on Field Station.

Long-time BugFans know that the BugLady is infatuated with the lovely, sedentary Flower Crab spiders (family Thomisidae) that she , and she recently posted a BOTW about the chunkier Ground crab spiders (also Thomisidae).

Running crab spiders, in a separate family (Philodromidae) have been mentioned briefly throughout the years – here’s their story. 

They are “running” by both name and by inclination – they move along smartly, and Philodromidae comes from the Greek “philodromos,” meaning “lover of the race/course.” There are 92 species of spiders in this widespread family in North America, and they’re usually found on the stems and leaves of plants. Philodromuis and Tibellus are common genera.

These are not flashy spiders – most are small (measuring less than ½” long), flat-bodied, and drab. Many (but not all) are crab-shaped like the Thomisids, but in Philodromids, the second pair of legs is noticeably longer than the first. Eye arrangement is an important tool in spider ID – here’s what it looks like to stare .

Philodromids don’t spin trap webs, but they do generate silk to make egg sacs and to form drag lines that catch them if they catapult off of a leaf in pursuit of prey or if they have to bail in order to avoid capture themselves. They are, of course, carnivores that eat any small invertebrate that they can ambush and subdue, including other spiders, and they are small enough to become prey of larger spiders, themselves.

Most sources said that their venom (should they even be able to puncture your skin) might result in some pain and swelling, but is not considered dangerous. 

Males encounter females as they wander the landscape. She leaves a trail in the form of a pheromone-laden silk dragline; he catches up with her and romance ensues. She conceals her egg sac and guards it (like the female Philodromus guarding eggs that she had stashed in an empty beech nut shell) until her young hatch toward the end of summer, which markedly enhances the spiderlings chances of survival. The almost-mature spiderlings overwinter sheltered in leaf litter and under tree bark and mature the next year. A bitterly cold winter takes a toll on overwintering Philodromids. 

The most common Philodromid genus is PHILODROMUS, flat spiders that look similar to the Thomisid crab spiders. There are 55 species in North America and about 200 more elsewhere. They’re found on vegetation, but also on the ground or on walls. Larry Weber, in Spiders of the North Woods, writes that Philodromus spiders are often found in trees (and sometimes inside the house, high on the wall), and that he has collected immature Philodromus spiders on the snow in early winter.

Philodromus spiders don’t spin a web but they may create a silken shelter.

With their cylindrical abdomens, spiders in the genus TIBELLUS (tib-EL’-us), the Slender crab spiders, are un-crab-like crab spiders. There are seven species in North America and two (or three) in Wisconsin, and some are striped and others are not. Based on the presence on the abdomen of both stripes and of two spots toward the end, the BugLady thinks she’s photographed Tibellus oblongus, the Oblong running spider, which has a  and is also widespread in the northern half of the Old World.

When a male Oblong running spider encounters a female, he taps her rapidly with legs and palps, and if she’s agreeable, she remains motionless. He spins a “bridal veil” that covers her and fixes her to the substrate. When the show is over, he leaves (in a rush) and she releases herself from the veil.

Today’s Science Word – the Oblong running spider is referred to as an “epigeal” organism, which means that it’s found on/above the soil surface and does not tunnel, swim, or fly. Oblong running spiders are often seen stretched out on grass leaves – the first two pairs of legs forward, the third pair hanging on, and the fourth pair extended back. 

Like other spiders, Philodromids have superpowers, and one is their ability to walk on smooth, vertical surfaces without sliding off. How do they do it? Scopulae (scopulas). Alert BugFans will recall that many bees have clumps of hairs – scopa/scopae – on their legs or abdomens that allow them to collect and carry pollen. Same root word – the Latin “scopa” means “broom,” “twig,” or “brush” but scopula is the diminutive form (mini-brush). Scopulae are dense tufts of hairs that are found below the claws and at their tips on the feet of walking or wandering (non-web-spinning) spiders. The ends of those hairs are further fragmented, forming many, microscopic contact points for the spider’s foot. This creates a natural adhesion that is sometimes enhanced by liquid excreted from adhesive pads (alternately, one source suggested that the scopulae respond to a super-thin layer of water that covers most surfaces).

HEADS-UP! CICADAS ARE COMING!! –��

The BugLady

The post Running Crab Spiders appeared first on Field Station.

Greetings, BugFans,

The Holidays are hurtling toward us at an astonishing speed, so the BugLady figured that a Christmas green and red dragonfly would be fitting. It’s one that she’s seen, all too briefly, but not photographed – thanks to Guest Photographer BugFan Freda, aka the Dragonfly Whisperer, for the pictures (the BugLady took the one of the darner in the grass).

Comet Darners (Anax longipes) are in the dragonfly family Aeshnidae, the darners, and in the genus Anax, a group of large and sometimes migratory darners (Anax comes from an Ancient Greek word meaning “lord,” “master,” or “king”). Bugguide.net shows four other genus members in the US, a couple of them just barely here:

• ; and the
• .   

Comet Darners mostly live east of the Great Plains, from Florida to Ontario, though they are distributed randomly, and even though they aren’t officially considered migratory, they are strong flyers that can end up just about anywhere. They prefer relatively shallow ponds with forested edges, lots of floating, submerged, and emergent vegetation, and few/no fish. The water level of many of their chosen ponds fluctuates annually. 

Comet Darners are fast and impressive, and with a wingspread of up to 3 ½” (females are slightly larger than males) they are among our largest dragonflies, And at 2 ½” long, their naiads are pretty big, too – Freda’s photograph of the empty shells of a Comet Darner (left) and Common Green Darner (right) show the size difference. They have , and males have a constriction on the third abdominal segment that gives them a “narrow waisted” appearance (females are stockier). The as he flashes by. Females have . They seldom perch and are hard both to catch and hard to photograph. ( has a surprisingly small collection of pictures for a dragonfly this flashy, with this large a range.) Some observers report that these darners are most active in the beginning and ending parts of the day. 

Most sources say that the only dragonfly you might mistake the uncommon Comet Darner for is the smaller Common Green Darner (which is, as its name suggests, common). The BugLady got pretty excited when she spotted the colorful darner perched in the grass, but despite the red abdomen, she could see the Cyclops eye on the top of its head when she photographed it – an especially colorful female Common Green Darner. Comet darners lack that . 

Like all Odonates, Comet Darners are carnivores, both during their aquatic youth as naiads and as aerial adults. The naiads are big enough to tackle not only the usual aquatic invertebrates but also small vertebrates like minnows, tadpoles, and frogs, and they’re top predators in their habitats. Adults cruise about 8 feet above the water, grabbing insects out of the air, and their super-long legs allow them to go after larger prey, including their fellow dragonflies. On the Comet Darner page of his great “Dragonflies of Northern Virginia” website, Kevin Munroe writes “I saw one flying off to feed in the trees with two Black Saddlebags (decent-sized insects themselves), clutched tightly in those long, red, black-hooked legs. I guess he was hungry, and one dragonfly just wasn’t enough.”

Males are territorial, patrolling all around the shoreline of their pond, just above the level of the vegetation, looking for food, intruders, and mates. Neither males nor females are monogamous. Females slice into the stems of plants just below the . Eggs hatch within a month, but the naiad/immature stage may last for several years.

According to the Comer Darner page on the Massachusetts Natural Heritage and Endangered Species website, , “Immature dragonflies may spend a week or more feeding and maturing away from water, often some distance from the breeding site. Comet Darners are rarely seen during this stage. It is possible that they spend their time in the tree tops, where they are difficult to observe.  …….  When at rest, they hang from the vegetation in a vertical position, often high in the trees.”&�Բ�����;&�Բ�����;

What’s their status in Wisconsin? Are there unchecked ponds out there that are graced by Comet Darner flyovers every summer?  Are there Comet Darner naiads under the ice in Wisconsin right now, awaiting the warming waters of spring?

Comet Darners are listed on the Wisconsin Odonata Survey website as a “Most Wanted” species, and their story here is similar to their story in other states at/beyond the edges of their range.  

In his article called “What is the incomparable Anax longipes (Comet Darner) doing in Wisconsin?” Robert DuBois and Freda trace the history of Comet Darners in the state. Beginning with a report in 1978, Comet Darners have been recorded at just a few sites in just a few counties. They have not been seen every year, and while most sightings are of males, ovipositing females have been seen, and an exuvia (shed skin) of an emerged naiad was found at one site, pointing to successful breeding. 

There are tantalizingly few reports here each year (a Comet Darner was recorded during the 2024 Riveredge Butterfly and Dragonfly Count), but some sites have been visited multiple times. Sometimes, individuals are seen for a few days and then they disappear, but other Comet Darners are observed on ponds for longer stretches of time. Data collected in Wisconsin and in Michigan suggest that, while it is possible that random wandering individuals could find the same pond several years in a row (remember, dragonflies only live a few months as adults, so they’re not revisiting a site, like migratory birds), it’s more likely that small numbers of Comet Darners are breeding in Wisconsin, at the northwest edge of their range – what Robert DuBois calls “small but persistent interacting subpopulations.”  

Fun Fact about Darners:  In his book Dragonflies of the North Woods, Kurt Mead says, “Not to scare you, but I have heard of rare, isolated reports of darners attempting to lay eggs into human skin. One scientist carefully observed eggs being injected into each cut in his skin.  Perhaps this phenomenon is the source of some old European names such as ‘eye sticker,’ ‘horse stinger,’ and ‘devil’s darning needle.’” (to which the BugLady replies 1) of course he did; 2) that scientist doomed those eggs in service of his useless observation; and 3) the devil takes the fall for a bunch of stinging and scary-looking insects.).

The BugLady

The post Comet Darner Dragonfly appeared first on Field Station.

Howdy, BugFans,

BugFan Carl sent the BugLady a “What-is-it?” picture recently of an insect that had met an untimely end in his basement. It was a camel cricket, an awesome critter that the BugLady used to see in her own basement (when she had a basement). She wrote briefly about them in “A Cache of Crickets” in 2008, but they needed to star in their own episode. It turned out to be a big story, so put your feet up!

Camel crickets are in the grasshopper/cricket/katydid order Orthoptera and in the family Rhaphidophoridae (pronounced Rap-he-doe-fore’-a day, says ). In her original article, the BugLady placed them in the family Gryllacrididae, but she doesn’t know if they’ve been moved or if that was insufficient scholarship on her part. There are about 500 species of cave crickets in the world (they’re absent from very cold areas), with 150 species in North America, and our greatest diversity is west of the Mississippi. The lunker of the North American crowd seems to be the , which lives along the Pacific Coast and has a small body and a leg-spread of up to 8.”

“Camel cricket” is self-explanatory; other names are cave cricket (because some species are cave specialists), spider crickets (because of their long, skinny legs), cave wētā (if you’re in New Zealand), sand treaders (because some family members are specially adapted to tunnel deep into sand dunes), kamado-uma and benjo korogi (“toilet cricket,” if you’re in Japan), Hogan bugs (no idea), and sprickets (spider + cricket).

Camel crickets are not just nocturnal, they actively avoid light. They’re often found in woodlands, in cool, dark, damp microclimates like leaf litter, stumps, in and under rotten logs, in caves, under dense ground cover, and in animal burrows. They also are at home in man-made structures like old mines, wells, sheds, stacks of firewood, crawl spaces, and basements (they tend to come indoors when it’s too hot and dry for them outdoors); and one Asian species that likes greenhouses has, unfortunately, become a world traveler. A basement that has camel crickets is a basement that has dampness issues.

Our native species of camel crickets are all built from pretty much the same blueprint – small body, camouflage coloration, no wings, long spindly legs (they’re great jumpers), and really long antennae. The spines on a male’s legs are used to fight other males and to grasp females. Females have a straight, sturdy ovipositor (not a stinger) at the rear that’s flanked by two cerci; males just have cerci. The nymphs, which resemble mini-adults, may look translucent. Not surprisingly, some camel crickets can be very hard to tell apart, except by an expert with a microscope.

Camel crickets are omnivores/detritivores, and they eat fungus, bits of decaying plants and animals, plus the occasional live insect, including small camel crickets (see – they’re actually helping to sanitize your basement!). Unfortunately, they sometimes nibble on papers and fabrics that are stored in basements.

They are important members of food webs because they make small pieces of food into even smaller pieces for even smaller animals, and they’re eaten by many predators. Granted that they are startling-looking insects (that don’t bite or sting); the species that do come indoors do very minor damage, and they rarely reproduce inside unless conditions are perfect, and yet the vast percentage of the internet hits are exterminator companies. Don’t want camel crickets (or fishing spiders or Asian multicolored ladybugs or box elder bugs or house centipedes or brown marmorated stink bugs) in your house? Keep the basement dry and seal potential entrance holes around foundations, doors, and windows.

They are considered “primitive” Orthopterans, but their sensory systems are first class. Their eyes probably distinguish light from dark and don’t transmit images (animals that live in the dark don’t need their eyes much), but other senses fill in the gap. Those long antennae are super-sensitive, giving them information about obstacles and air temperature and about the presence of passing cave crickets, who they find by touch in the darkness. Their cerci tell them about air currents, humidity, and temperature, and tiny hairs all over their bodies have nerve endings. Mouthparts called palps hold taste buds and, with the help of the antennae, aid in finding food, as do olfactory organs on their bodies. They can’t hear – they are silent and therefore earless – but researchers are studying the role of vibrations in camel cricket communications.

The BugLady isn’t quite sure which species of camel cricket she photographed. They look like Spotted camel crickets (Ceuthophilus maculatus) – a woodland species that’s the most common species in the US – but they might also be Short-legged/Boreal camel crickets (Ceuthophilus brevipes), which like damper habitats.

Because they are nocturnal and secretive, parts of their biographies are still sketchy, but the (wonderful) website offers a detailed account of the lifestyle of the closely-related (Ceuthophilus latens). Here’s their description of its courtship:

“Mating takes place at night. ……. If the antennae of two potential mates touch, the individuals will briefly “fence” and hit their antennae together. Males can identify females once a part of the female body comes into contact with the male antennae or palps. To initiate mating, a male backs toward a female and put his cerci underneath her abdomen. He clasps and unclasps his cerci, apparently trying to lift her abdomen above the ground. If the female does not immediately lift her abdomen, the male will crawl all over her body, feeling with his antennae, mouthparts, and cerci. He also vibrates his antennae. Females do not play an active role in courtship; they either mate or walk away … [and if she disappears into the darkness, he does not follow]…. Copulation lasts 2 to 12 minutes, during which both males and females remain relatively inactive. The male passes spermatozoa to the female ……

Ceuthophilus latens is polygynandrous, with both males and females mating with many individuals. ….. If a non-mating male approaches a mating pair during copulation, the male will defend his mate, even dragging the female along to do so. ….. Ceuthophilus latens females are known to practice sexual cannibalism on males. A female sometimes will eat the head of her mate while the male is still alive. This likely occurs when the female is hungry and the male mate is particularly weak. One study showed that all C. latens males had died within two weeks of copulation, while the females in the study continued to thrive. In another study, the bodies of males left with large groups of females were later found to be shells with the soft parts eaten away.”

Researchers have discovered that some camel crickets seem to deploy and to sense pheromones (chemical scents) but are unsure if/how these may be used in courtship.

The female lays a few eggs at a time in a few different locations, maybe up to 60, but no one knows for sure, using her sensory cerci to determine whether the site has the right temperature and humidity, and she dies several days after she lays her final eggs. Camel crickets may overwinter either as nymphs or adults, and they may live as long as two years.

Fun Camel Cricket Fact #1: A carving of a camel cricket dating from 17,000 to 12,000 years ago was found in a cave in France, suggesting a long cohabitation with humans.

Fun Camel Cricket Fact #2: As one website said, “They don’t bite, they spend a lot of time cleaning themselves, and so are quite clean, despite their wet-looking fawn coloring.” Another suggested that they make good pets.

For more information about these fascinating insects: there is a wonderful chapter about them in Broadsides from the Other Orders by Sue Hubbell. The BugLady recommends this article posted on what seems to be a neat website on “” by the Infinite Spider, and this one (which she hopes is not behind a paywall), despite its overly-long “EEK-I-see-a-Bug!” intro, “” by The Washington Post. The authors have some interesting thoughts about how many insects it takes to support the human population of the globe and how close we might be getting to that particular tipping point.

The BugLady

The post Camel Cricket – the Rest of the Story appeared first on Field Station.

Howdy, BugFans,

Sometimes, the BugLady gets a surprise as she’s researching an insect, and that was the case this week.

She saw a cluster of these pretty beetles when she was on a boardwalk in a wetland. Their pedigree? They are leaf beetles in the huge family Chrysomelidae; within that family, they’re in the tribe Alticini – the flea beetles, and they are (probably) Disonycha procera (Disonycha means “double-clawed”). There are 470 members of that tribe in North America, and more elsewhere. The BugLady has photographed one other, equally pretty species when it was feeding on her pussy willows.

Disonycha procera is very similar to Disonycha pensylvanica (not a typo, simply an old misspelling that is now embedded in the taxonomy of a few species), and in fact, it is in the “Disonycha pensylvanica species group,” about which the says, “The three species of the D. pensylvanica- group are not always safely identified – last hope is male genitalia, in some cases.” So the BugLady has repaired to her well-worn seat, far out on that taxonomic limb, and is calling it Disonycha procera. Only one source gave it a common name, but there was no explanation why this small insect might be called the Tall flea beetle.

Tall flea beetles are found east of the Rockies, but not solidly, and into Central America, wherever their food plants grow. Because some of their food plants grow on the edges of wetlands, Tall flea beetles are listed as semi-aquatic beetles by a few sources.

The BugLady couldn’t find much about their life history. The Bugguide website says that you can find both adult and larval Tall flea beetles feeding together on host plants, and a write-up about another genus member said that it overwinters as an adult, wakes up in spring, and lays eggs on or near the host plant, and the BugLady assumes that the Tall flea beetle does the same.

Many Chrysomelids are attached to and named for their specific food plants, and for some flea beetles, those plants are agricultural crops like spinach (the Spinach flea beetle), beets, eggplant (the Eggplant flea beetle), and cruciferous plants like broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, kale, (the Crucifer flea beetle). But some Disonycha beetles eat invasive plants like Leafy spurge and are considered beneficial. Adults chew holes in various parts of the plants – stems, leaves and petals (they like to feed in sunny weather) – and larvae may feed on the undersides of the leaves or on roots. Tall flea beetles feed on plants in the genus Polygonum – knotweed, smartweed, bindweed, and tear-thumb (and it would be nice if a whole bunch of them would gang up on the very invasive Japanese Knotweed).

Some Flea beetles shelter in the soil during bad weather and emerge when the rain quits and the sun is out again. In Germany, this has earned them the name Erdflöhe (earth flea).

So, here’s the funny thing about the Tall flea beetle. Flea beetles (tribe Alticini) are so named because they jump around (like fleas) when they’re disturbed. The BugLady certainly didn’t see any jumping – they were about as staid a bunch of beetles as you could hope to find – and she couldn’t find a video of it. In this jumping they are aided by disproportionately (all the better to jump with, my dear), though they get around routinely by walking and flying. There are jumpers in a few other groups of beetles, too, like the weevils, Buprestids (jewel beetles), and marsh beetles.

Flea beetles jump using particular tendons that act like springs when initiated by the tensing and release of the leg’s extensor muscles. Quoting two other researchers’ work in their paper, Nadein and Betz said that “They suggested that the high take-off acceleration, high velocity and short take-off time are compatible with jumping based on a spring-driven mechanism.” Another group of researchers likened the movement to a catapult, and they based their design for a bionic jumping leg on the beetles’ anatomy (don’t ask the BugLady to explain anything more about this, but she can share links to a few articles).

Mother Nature creates; man imitates.

Monarch butterflies are nearing their . The BugLady will be interested in the numbers on the wintering grounds this year – Monarchs were scarce here this summer.

The BugLady

The post Tall Flea Beetle appeared first on Field Station.

Greetings, BugFans,

Who can resist a small wasp with a smiley face on its thorax, and a classy name, too? Certainly not the BugLady. When she found this camera shy wasp at Riveredge in early September, it appeared to be doing a little digging. It wasn’t tunneling; it was moving around, scratching a bit in several places. More about that in a sec. Here’s a .

Bramble mason wasps (Ancistrocerus adiabatus) are in the family Vespidae (Yellowjackets, Hornets, Paper, Potter, Mason, and Pollen wasps) and are in the Potter and Mason wasp subfamily Eumeninae. Ancistrocerus means “” and describes the shape of the last few segments of the males’ antennae.

Potter wasps fashion on plant stems for their eggs, and Mason wasps often employ mud on the interior of their egg chambers. There are about 3,000 species in the subfamily worldwide, and 260 in North America. They are solitary wasps that cache invertebrates for their larvae to eat when they hatch. BMWs are found across North America.

BMWs measure one-third of an inch or less (females are larger than males). Many have the , but some . Here are some .

They nest in – hollow stems, rock crevices, old galls, used mud dauber wasp nests, and insect and man-made tunnels (the BugLady bought a package of bamboo garden stakes and left them on the porch. The ends of a half-dozen of them now have mud caps. She’ll be watching next year to see what emerges). The female starts at the end of the tunnel, where she lays a single egg that’s suspended from the ceiling by a thread. Then she hunts for (usually) small moth caterpillars and packs them into the chamber.

Before she lays the next egg, she makes a partition of mud (sometimes sand). Heather Holm writes in her book Wasps, that “Once a cell has been provisioned, the female gathers water and soil, mixes the two, and carries the clumps of mud in her mandibles back to the nest. Using the clumps of mud, she constructs partitions to separate each cell within the cavity and, when the nest is fully provisioned, to cap the end of the entrance with a mud plug.” The wasp that the BugLady saw was probably collecting bits of dirt to make into mud.

When the egg hatches, the larva will drop down onto its food supply.

BMW larvae pupate in their cells, and Holm tells us that “Gender emergence from the nest is protrandrous: Males emerge from a few to ten days prior to females. Like cavity-nesting bees, eumenine wasp cavities often have female offspring developing at the rear of the cavity and males situated closer to the front. Males emerge from the nest cavity first and often remain nearby waiting for females to emerge.” There can be several generations per summer, and the final generation probably overwinters in the cavity as pre-pupae.

Larger female BMWs lay more eggs and cache more caterpillars for each than smaller BMWs do. As a result, larger females will produce larger young. Adults feed on nectar.

While she was gathering information about the BMW, the BugLady came across a paper called “The first documented migration of a potter wasp, Ancistrocerus adiabatus (Hymenoptera: Vespidae: Eumeninae)” by Jeffrey H. Skevington and Matthias Buck about Skevington’s experience at Point Pelee (a peninsula that sticks down into Lake Erie from southwestern Ontario – and that is the destination of many a birding pilgrimage during migration) when he noticed a large number of BMWs moving along the peninsula. As they describe it, Skevington “noted an abundance of Ancistrocerus wasps (Hymenoptera: Vespidae: Eumeninae). Every goldenrod inflorescence contained dozens of these insects, mainly stationary, none moving farther than between flower heads on adjacent plants.”

Later, after a wind change, he “noticed Ancistrocerus wasps moving from east to west in large numbers, typical of the direction of movement of visibly migrating birds. The wasps were moving in a narrow band along the lakeshore, almost entirely between the agricultural fields and the lake over an 80-m wide swath of grasses, goldenrods, and other meadow plants. Their movement and flow were assessed over 69 min. For the first 50 min of observation, they moved steadily over the 80-m lakeshore buffer area.” He “estimated 880–1360 wasps were passing per min. Based on consistent passage observed for 50 min, that equals 44000–68000 wasps.” The next day, after the passage of a cold front, the show was over. Migration has not been noted in this species before.

The word “migration,” though, is a bit slippery, and the scientific community doesn’t seem to be in agreement about its definition. It’s often taken to mean a seasonal movement from one habitat to another, and it implies a return trip, either by the individuals that went south (or wherever) or by their offspring. Monarch butterflies are good examples of this definition – they move in a relatively straight line to a fixed destination (they’re not sidetracked by warm breezes and blooming flowers along the way), and the generation that migrates undergoes physiological and behavioral changes that ready them for the trip. Other scientists use it more inclusively, to refer to any deliberate movement that delivers the insect to a new habitat, like range expansions, or the dispersal of locusts when their population booms and food is scarce.

An article about insect migration by C. B. Williams offered two neat stories of insect migration. One is about a species of Australian moth that migrates from its breeding grounds in the lowlands to its wintering spot in caves in the mountains of New South Wales, settling in in Biblical numbers (1500 moths per square foot). Aborigines used to harvest the high-fat delicacies and eat them.

The other concerns a wasp in Africa: “In the Hymenoptera there is a remarkable case of something closely resembling migration in one of the burrowing wasp, Sphex aegyptiacus Lepeletier, which uses locusts as food for its young. In East Africa in 1939 the arrival of a swarm of Schistocerca gregaria was at once followed by the appearance of thousands of the Sphex, not one of which had been seen in the district in the whole of the preceding year. The wasps burrowed in the ground and caught, paralysed, and buried locusts from daybreak to sunset for two days. Then the locust swarm departed and within an hour not one Sphex was to be seen. ….. There is no doubt that this species has somehow developed a migratory habit in order to keep up with the wanderings of its prey. It seems probable that in such a case any orientation is only a question of imitating the locusts, and is not determined independently by the wasps.”

Ain’t Nature Grand!

The BugLady

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Howdy, BugFans,

From July into September, the Creeping Juniper Nature Trail at Kohler Andrae State Park is ruled by grasshoppers, and the BugLady had lots of fun chasing them around this summer (she stayed on the boardwalk, of course) (well, until the Swamp Darner flew past). She especially liked the aptly-named Mottled sand grasshopper (Spharagemon collare). MSGs are not restricted to Lake Michigan dunes, they have a range that stretches from Arizona and New Mexico diagonally back through the northern Great Plains and the Great Lakes, and well into Canada. Plus, inexplicably, North Carolina, Delaware and Maryland. Within that wedge of North America, they’re found in sunny, sparsely-vegetated areas with dry, sandy, and/or disturbed soils. They’re especially common along the edges of wheat fields, says Wikipedia.

MSGs can vary quite a bit in appearance, and that’s probably tied to the habitat they live in. They have , and their . They can be a , or even , depending on the soil they sit on, and some morphs are “.” Habitats that are less sandy and more vegetated have “” grasshoppers (they’re not like tree frogs or goldenrod crab spiders that actively change colors, it’s just that the grasshoppers that match their background survive to pass along their genes will produce more grasshoppers that look like themselves, and regional color morphs are born).

When a territorial male sees another grasshopper, he approaches and stridulates a few times (rubs one part of his body against another part – in this case, the hind leg against the forewing). If it’s another male or a different species of grasshopper, he will attempt to oust it from the area. A female who’s not in the mood will shake a hind leg and stomp on the ground (similar to the signals a male sends to an intruding male). If the female is willing, they , and then she uses her abdomen to excavate about a half-inch into the soil. She oviposits (each egg pod contains about 25 eggs) and then camouflages the hole by brushing sand and debris over it. MSGs overwinter as eggs and hatch in late spring/early summer.

It takes MSG nymphs about six weeks to reach the adult stage, and males mature faster than females. They tend to stay in the same area where they hatched, and adults may be present until the first frosts.

Their eating habits get them into a little trouble with farmers and ranchers in the western part of their range, but they usually don’t occur in high enough densities to be called pests. For the most part, they feed on pieces of prairie grasses and a few wildflowers that they find on the ground. MSGs may reach up with their front legs and pull down a grass to feed on, and they sometimes climb up onto a grass stalk to sever a leaf or stem, but they feed on it after they climb down again.

They are good flyers, and a male sometimes makes a buzzing sound as he flies (crepitation – a clicking or snapping noise made by the wings). They also crepitate when they’ve been startled into flight, during courtship, or when they’re defending their territory. One study in Colorado clocked sustained flights by males at three to eight feet and by females at nine to ten feet, but in a Michigan study, researchers saw males flying 100 feet and females farther than that, and at heights up to 30” above the ground. Despite their strong flight, they are geophilus (today’s vocabulary word) meaning “ground-loving.”

MSGs are diurnal (active during the day), and they spend the night on the ground in the open, under a thatch of grasses, or up in a plant. They wake slowly, warming up by basking for a few hours before they become active, exposing first one side to the sun and then the other. When the temperature on the ground gets too hot (over 100 degrees F), they rest in the shade and emerge in late afternoon as the ground cools a bit. They bask again before sheltering for the night.

They’re in the family Acrididae, the Short-horned grasshoppers, and in the subfamily Oedipodinae, Band-winged grasshoppers.

Side note – spiders are using the mild spell to change locations – the BugLady sees the slender strands of spider parachutes on her shrubs each morning.

(and – oops – the BugLady used a picture of an MSG in an earlier episode, mistakenly ID’d as a Seaside grasshopper)

The BugLady

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Greetings, BugFans,

We’ve just had an all-too-brief Indian Summer – it got warm enough for the flies to fly, the tree crickets to sing, and yes, for a few very late Monarch butterflies to drift past on their big journey. The BugLady spent some time on boardwalks in wetlands, enjoying the last dragonflies of the year.

Meadowhawks, in the Skimmer family Libellulidae, are a genus of 15 species, nine of which have been recorded in Wisconsin. They can be tricky to identify (understatement). They start to appear in late June/early July and are with us for the rest of the summer and well into fall, but other than a few tenacious White-faced Meadowhawks, the final meadowhawk on the scene is the Autumn Meadowhawk (called the Yellow-legged Meadowhawk in older field guides) (the BugLady thinks that their legs are flesh-colored, rather than yellow, but she can see why that name would be a non-starter). Here’s an early BOTW about meadowhawks.

Autumn Meadowhawks (Sympetrum vicinum) can be found in Southern Canada and much of the US, except for the northern Rockies, the arid Southwest, and a few of the Gulf States. Some meadowhawks are picky about habitat, but not Autumn Meadowhawks, which are equally happy in shallow, permanent ponds, lakes, marshes and swamps, bogs, flooded meadows, and even slow-moving streams, especially if there are woodlands nearby.

This is a pretty small/small, pretty dragonfly, only about an inch-and-a-quarter long. Mature males are red – often cherry red – and females and immature males start out and then turn . Females have a prominent egg spout below the end of their abdomen.

Along with the mosaic darners, Autumn Meadowhawks are the last dragonflies to emerge, and once they do, they spend more time than most dragonflies do away from the water. The “Dragonflies of Northern Virginia” website paints this picture, “Autumns can actually be abundant at times. Hundreds of golden tenerals rise out of shallow wetlands in early summer, and bright red adults fill the same wetlands in fall.” Large-scale emergences start at marshy pools in June, at which point juveniles take to the woods and grow up in sunny woodland clearings. They don’t seem to reappear at ponds and marshes until fall, often staying quite late into the season, hence their name.”

Meadowhawks can be very common from mid-summer on, yet the BugLady rarely sees them at the waterfront with the other dragonflies. Several meadowhawk species do oviposit into shallow water with emergent vegetation, but others have different ideas about where to leave their eggs. White-faced Meadowhawks gamble, bobbing up and down in tandem as the female drops eggs onto the ground in a dry pond basin or on an edge that might be underwater by spring.

In many dragonfly species, mature males patrol the shoreline and beat their figurative chests, waiting for females to arrive; females come to the water only when they’re reproductively ready. Autumn Meadowhawks finish their development away from water, and by the time they get back to it, they have already found a female and are flying in tandem. Legler, in Dragonflies of Wisconsin (aka “The Bible”) says that “the sexes form in midday, away from the water, then fly to water where they make dipping motions imitating oviposition. They then mate and proceed to lay eggs while pair is in tandem. Female trails and she will have mud on end of abdomen because she alternately strikes water surface and muddy stream bank or grassy area above the water line. Eggs are deposited in mud or wet moss. She alternately dips abdomen in water probably to clear the . Eggs will survive the winter and hatch during rains and high water the next spring.”

Unlike many other dragonflies, male Autumn Meadowhawks don’t defend territories along the shore, and, possibly because they aren’t territorial, they are unusually tolerant of other Autumn Meadowhawks. Legler says that “Ovipositing by one pair attracts other pairs to same site for ovipositing.”

The eggs hatch when (if) they’re inundated by water the following spring, as the water heats up to 50 degrees. The naiads eat and grow and shed for six or seven weeks, emerging as adults at night in August or September. They may fly into November if there isn’t a hard freeze; this they can do because they collect heat by basking in the sun and by sitting on warm rocks (Sympetrum means “with rock”). With this boost, they are able to fly even when the temperature dips to 50 degrees F.

They routinely perch higher off the ground than other meadowhawks, but on cooler days, they’re found on the ground.

Adults feed on small, soft-bodied invertebrates that they spot from a perch and then fly out and “hawk” from the air (one source said that their pursuits are successful 97% of the time). The , called “sprawlers,” hunt from concealment and grab a meal (fly larvae, daphnia, tiny fish, tadpoles, and smaller dragonflies) as it swims/walks past (nice , but, no, never “l����������”).

Both above and below the water’s surface, Autumn Meadowhawks have an important place in the food web, both as eaters and eatees. They’re food for ducks and other birds, fish (one source said that largemouth bass pick off ovipositing pairs from below), frogs, crayfish, mantises, and other dragonflies. Another source reported that a snake that bites a naiad may get bitten back hard enough to convince it to drop its prey (and that the naiad may make sounds to startle predators). With populations that peak as migration begins, Autumn Meadowhawks supply important fuel to southbound birds.

Go outside – look at bugs – it’s not too late……

The BugLady

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Howdy BugFans,

Instead of slaving over a hot computer, the BugLady has been hanging out on the hawk tower. The Red-tails were blowing past sideways on Tuesday. Here’s a rerun from eight years ago, with a few new words.

The BugLady’s first experience with entomology (well, except for the fresh-from-the-garden earthworms she consumed when she was 8) (they do not taste like chicken) came when someone gifted her family with a little box of chocolate-covered insects from a novelty store. No one ever opened it. Her first serious exposure to the idea of eating bugs came when she spent a week at the Audubon Camp in Maine. One of the camp’s teachers mentioned that he had eaten ants, and while the small red ones were too spicy for him and the large black ones were too bland, the species that are red at one end and black at the other were, like the Baby Bear’s bed, just right. The BugLady didn’t hear the term “entomophagy” until at least three decades later.

“Entomophagy” simply refers to the use of insects by humans as food (notwithstanding the fact that an “extract” of a scale insect called the cochineal bug provides a natural red dye called “red dye E120” or “carmine” that is widely used in food products; and that the FDA standards for food purity allow five fly eggs or one maggot per can of fruit juice and 400 insect parts per 0.22 cup of ground cinnamon). Used broadly, the term includes spiders and millipedes, but it does not include invertebrates like crayfish that are already part of our cuisine. Eggs, larvae, pupae and adults may be used, depending on the species. Some insects are eaten in recognizable form, but if staring into your food’s compound eyes isn’t your cup of tea, some insects are ground into “flour.”

There are several large issues around entomophagy.

The first is that producing conventional protein on the hoof is very expensive ecologically. Americans are expected to consume more than 220 pounds of meat per capita in 2022, and with about 5% of the world’s population, we eat 15% of the meat. Insect farming uses only a small fraction of the resources (including land) required to raise the more charismatic  (remember, rainforests are cut down so that the world can have hamburgers), and it contributes little to water and atmospheric pollution. In a 2008 New York Times article, author Sam Nejame contends that insect (“mini-livestock”) farming and consumption is far more sustainable in a growing world than traditional meat-ranching, and that it offers “food security.” He quotes an entomophagy enthusiast who says “‘Insects can feed the world. Cows and pigs are the SUVs; bugs are the bicycles.’” The Netherlands leads the Continent in experimenting with these unfamiliar forms of protein; Dutch entomologist Marcel Dicke says, “Give a cow 10 pounds of feed and you get 1 pound of cow. Give crickets 10 pounds of feed and you get 9 pounds of cricket.”

What’s a confirmed carnivore to do?

The second issue revolves to a large extent around our Western (US, Canadian, and European) cultural aversions (a.k.a “the ‘ick’ factor”). Eating insects turns up as an ultimate challenge on those contemporary social yardsticks, TV reality shows. But insect-shunning is not a global phenomenon. The BugLady once watched a PBS show that showed Giant water bugs in , dipped in batter and deep fried, their crispy legs sticking out below.

What kinds of critters are we talking about, anyway? “Wikipedia” says that well over 1,000 species of insects are consumed across 80% of countries worldwide. Grasshoppers, crickets and mealworms (a type of beetle larva) may be the most , followed (in no particular order) by other beetle grubs, cicadas, ants, tarantulas, bee and wasp larvae, cockroaches, termites, caterpillars, cocoons of silkworms, scorpions (we are reminded not to overcook these), giant water bugs, the eggs of water boatmen and backswimmers, and even dragonflies (though many dragonflies carry internal parasites).

Nutritional value is another concern, but Sam Nejame assures us that “Bugs compare favorably to traditional livestock in available protein and fatty acids; for some vitamins and minerals, they better them by a wide margin.” Overall, insects are protein-packed, high in fiber and low in fats – the perfect food. It is recognized, however, that as they become more popular, some “best practices” will be needed in order to standardize collection, preparation and storage to ensure their wholesomeness. “Free range” insects may be exposed to pesticides. A few people may have allergies.

After that, the only question is “How are you going to prepare them?” Here is a potpourri from the BugLady’s research:

• BugFan Dan (who provided the mealworm photo-op) has tried the dried mealworms that are available at pet shops and bird food stores, and he describes them as tasting like bland, deep-fried pork rinds. He guesses that if you started with a sauté pan bubbling with butter and garlic and used live meal worms, you might produce a more memorable meal (the BugLady is wondering about curry). Thanks, Dan. Mealworms may also be battered and fried.
• For a great blow-by-blow of one woman’s experience in cookery (Best quote ever – “If you squint, they just look like mutant, oversized flaxseeds.”)
• American Indian tribes took advantage of the easily-procured protein – the same Indian tribes that staged those dramatic bison drives on the American Great Plains also staged locust drives.
• Some insects, like stinkbugs, serve as “spices” and condiments.
• About the Thai giant water bug, Sam Nejame says “[It] Yields a thimbleful of meat the consistency of crab and has a surprisingly powerful citrus aroma” (he adds that “after importation and preparation, its flesh can cost hundreds of dollars a pound.”) (the BugLady can visualize cooking insects whole, but she can’t quite picture fileting them).
• In Thailand, fried insects are served with beer. Bar food.
• BugFan Mike, a Wild Foods enthusiast, has added cricket-rich Chapul energy bars to his wild food tastings, and his audiences are enthusiastic. He sent recipes for “Orthopteran Orzo” [grasshopper/cricket] and “Sheesh! Kebobs” from David George Gordon’s Eat-a-Bug Cookbook. Thanks, Mike.
• A soft Sardinian cheese called casu marzu or formaggio marcio (“rotten cheese”) is famous for the live insect larvae that it contains. Locals call it “maggot cheese.”
• In her research, the BugLady came across several pictures of insect lollipops – insect bodies on a stick, encased in candy, like amber.
• Immature grasshoppers (chapulines) are a part of Mexican cuisine; harvesting them keeps them from harvesting the farmers’ grain crops. Chapulines are showing up on the of Mexican restaurants in the US.
• Finally, from BugFan Becca, a seasonally appropriate for caramel apples with mealworms stuck on the outside. Thanks, Becca – it takes a village.

Does the BugLady eat (or anticipate eating) insects? The BugLady thinks (alas) that a lightly seared porterhouse steak sounds mighty fine; she speaks softly to insects as she photographs them and she thanks them as they depart.

The BugLady

The post Entomophagy 101 Redux appeared first on Field Station.

Greetings, BugFans,

Isn’t this a pretty bee!!!

When you aim your camera at a bumble bee, which the BugLady does frequently, you expect to see black and yellow in varying proportions (the vaguaries of wind plus the bees’ perpetual motion results in lots of bumble bee shots on the cutting room floor). Four Wisconsin species – the , the , the , and the have slightly different color schemes.

Bumble bees are in the diverse family Apidae, which also includes the Cuckoo, Carpenter, Digger, and Honey bees. According to , there are 47 species in the genus Bombus (15 in Wisconsin). The most recent bumble bee species to be described, Bombus kluanensis, was split from a known species (the “Active bumble bee,” Bombus neoboreus) in 2016 based on DNA analysis and is found only in the Yukon Territory and Denali National Park.

The BugLady photographed this bee on the prairie at Forest Beach Migratory Preserve. Her name is Bombus rufocinctus – the Red-belted bumble bee – and she’s a bee with somewhat northern inclinations plus a few disjunct eastern locations and minus the . RBBBs are bees of open spaces like grasslands, and they also like parks, gardens, barrens, and quarries. They are widespread but not common across their range (they make up about 10% of Wisconsin bumble bee records), and they’re found here mainly in the southern half of the state, though historical data suggest that they once occupied all of it.

The BugLady generally struggles with bumble bee identification, despite being able to photograph them and put them up on the monitor and agonize over them at leisure. RBBBs, with their short, round faces (one source says that they have a “cute, soft gestalt”), are noted for their many (many) color variations – up to 30 of them. “Can be confused with many species,” says the Bumble Bees of the Eastern United States. Here are a few RBBBs with varying amounts of red , , and one with .

Bumble bees are divided physiologically into short, medium, and long-tongued species. RBBBs are in the short-tongued group, which means that they feed on flowers whose nectar reward is not buried deep in tubular flowers. They’re generalists that are found on members of the aster, milkweed, geranium, rose, heath, and pea families, and more. They are good and in some areas are one of the native bee species that are vital pollinators of commercial blueberry crops.

Unlike honey bee nests, the shelf-life of bumble bee nests is less than a year. RBBBs have their nuptial flights in early August, when the colony’s population peaks; males claim territories around nectar sources and watch for queens, chasing intruders that fly past, bumble bee or not. Fertilized RBBB queens create hibernacula for themselves in the soil in fall and are the only bees from the nest that survive the winter.

They emerge from diapause (the term that’s used for invertebrate hibernation) in spring and look for a nest site. Many bumble bees nest underground in abandoned rodent burrows, but RBBBs often nest on and even above the ground, under bark or siding. The queen lays a dozen or so eggs and cares for them herself, and when these workers emerge, they take over the chores inside and outside the nest, and she is restricted to the nursery.

Her eggs are laid in wax cells that are not as tidy as those of honey bees. Workers feed protein (pollen) and carbs (nectar) to the larvae (nice series of ) as successive generations of workers take to the air.

RBBB nests may contain some “ringers.” Cuckoo bumble bees (formerly in the genus Psithyrus and now included in Bombus) take advantage of the labor of the worker bees by invading a bumble bee nest, killing the queen, and laying their own eggs in the nest. A few dominoes must be in place in order for the Cuckoo bumble bees to be successful brood parasites. In an article in Entomology Today titled “Cuckoo Bumble Bees: What We Can Learn From Their Cheating Ways (If They Don’t Go Extinct First)” author Meredith Swett Walker explains: “… cuckoo bumble bees are “obligate brood parasites”—in other words, they cannot reproduce without their hosts. They cannot produce their own workers, they lack pollen baskets on their legs and so cannot collect pollen to feed their own offspring, and they cannot produce enough wax to build their own nest.

Instead, cuckoo bumble bees must find a host colony of another bumble bee species, and it has to be just the right size. Too large, and there will be too many workers defending the nest and the cuckoo will be killed. Too small and there will be too few workers to raise the cuckoo’s offspring. So, cuckoo bumblebees must be selective. They also have to be tough fighters to defend themselves from attacking workers as they infiltrate the nest and kill the host queen. Thus, cuckoo bumble bees are heavily armored with larger and stronger mandibles, a hardened abdomen, and a thicker, more powerful sting.

After it infiltrates a nest, the invading cuckoo must defuse the battle and integrate into the host colony. Some cuckoo bumble bees do this by mimicking the chemical cues used by their host species. Other cuckoos produce few recognition chemicals of their own and then take on the “scent” of the colony via contact with nest materials and workers.

Finally, once hatched, cuckoo larvae must trick the host workers into feeding them. How this works is largely unknown. Previous research by Lhomme suggests that colonies taken over by cuckoo bumble bee queens may lose their ability to recognize outsiders in general and so be more accepting of cuckoo larvae when they hatch.”

Each species of Cuckoo bumble bee targets a few particular species of bumble bees and is similarly colored, and along with the “dominoes” mentioned in Walker’s article, their flight period must sync with that of their potential host species. RBBBs are parasitized by the Indiscriminate Cuckoo bumble bee (B. insularis) and the Fernald/Flavid Cuckoo bumble bee (B. fernaldi/B. flavidus). The first is rare in Wisconsin and the second has been seen here only a few times in 50 years.

Yes, bumble bees can sting, and yes, they will sting, but unlike a honey bee’s barbed stinger that is pulled out when it stings (fatally, for the bee), bumble bees can sting multiple times to protect hearth and home (but not when you poke a camera in their face when they’re on a flower).

The BugLady loves this and even has a paper copy.

Still some bumble bees out there.

The BugLady

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