Alfalfa: an agricultural good neighbor

Iowa has over 28 million acres of land devoted to agricultural crops; of those, around 13 million acres are devoted to corn and another 10 million acres to soybeans. Many of the ag fields surrounding the Greenway rotate through these two crops (crop duopoly? dual cropopoly?) year after year.

The fields due north of the wetlands, though, are different. For the past few years they have been planted in alfalfa, a crop that fixes nitrogen in the soil and requires fewer inputs like fertilizer and pesticides than other common crops. Its purple flowers are also beneficial for bees and other pollinators (though pollination does involve bonking the bee on the head); in fact, alfalfa is considered an insectary plant, attracting and harboring a variety of beneficial insects including ladybeetles and parasitic wasps. Green fields of alfalfa may also provide cover and foraging places for a variety of birds.

The fields were cut recently, but will regrow again. As a perennial, alfalfa can be harvested 3 or 4 times each summer, regrowing from the root each time; its deep roots help prevent soil erosion. Once harvested, the alfalfa is dried and baled, ultimately destined to feed cows, horses, and other animals.

The land on which the alfalfa grows is owned by Resilient Sustainable Future for Iowa City (RSFIC), a local foundation dedicated to empowering and building community solutions and supporting the neighborhoods where we live and work. Though originally intended to be part of an ambitious development project, these 47 acres planted in alfalfa remain one small but important demonstration of how decisionmakers can build care for our natural world into the foundation of every action.

Sources/Additional Reading:

• Alfalfa: The Unsung Hero of Sustainable Crop Rotations
• Alfalfa, Wildlife, and the Environment
• ISU: Acres of Corn and Soybeans Harvested in Iowa
• USDA: Iowa Ag News – Acreage
• Growcycle: Alfalfa: Technical and Cultivation Guide

Where have you been hiding?

It's been several years since I glimpsed Blue-flag Iris in the low-lying basins along the Sycamore Greenway. Their fondness for moist areas means they hang out down where the stormwater lingers, a good distance from the trail, and thickets of willows, dogwoods, and other shrubby growth eventually either crowded them out or hid them from view.

But what's this?! Near the Sycamore Apartments, where a willow thicket had been cleared with the REAP work over the winter, there's a little stand of these pretty irises, their trios of petals and sepals in full bloom as May shifts into June. Have they been here this whole time, hidden by overgrown brush (or just as likely, I was never looking in the right place at the right time to catch their distant purple flowers)? 

The REAP work included overseeding with native seed mix, but most sources indicate that it can take a couple of years for Iris virginica to flower from seed--so it seems likely these have been residents prior to that.

Closer examination of one of the flowers revealed one, then two tiny, long-snooted weevils trundling about. iNaturalist suggests they are an Iris Weevil (Mononychus vulpeculus) which certainly tracks with their location. These weevils feed on the seeds of iris but may also be found on daisies and fleabanes. 

Keep your eyes peeled when you're out on the trail! After the winter ecological restoration work opened up new vistas, who knows what old (or new) flowers--and their insect friends--we might spot?

Adapting to relentless succession

As the relentless march of human development proceeds apace, habitat is churned up first for agricultural monocrops, then--similar to ecological succession?--the ag fields are replaced by housing developments or the infrastructure to support them, like a shiny new electrical substation. 

The wildlife that lived in the original habitat must adapt, move, or die as the world changes quickly around them. 

If you're a big bird that likes to roost in tall trees with a wide view of the surrounding landscape, you might be tempted to settle for some tall metal stumps. On a recent morning, a Turkey Vulture alit on one of the tall towers, assuming a spread-winged posture in the early sun. That six-foot wingspread can help the bird cool off or warm up, depending on place and time, or help dry off their wet feathers. 

Soon the individual was joined by a second vulture, and then a third.  They relaxed for some minutes on two of the pillars, and then were gone.

These tempting tree-replacements, whether vultures at a substation or squirrels on roadside powerlines, are not without hazards. Birds with large wingspans can easily touch live wires or other equipment, resulting in electrocution (and power outages). Smaller birds and mammals may nest in equipment or chew wires, with similarly ill effects for both the animal and the grid.  

The juxtaposition of these ancient birds with our technology, showing how animals are forced to adapt to a world they didn't evolve to inhabit, is both hopeful and haunting.

If only every day could be a Day of Insects....

 This past Saturday was the 18th annual Day of Insects at Reiman Gardens in Ames, an event where dozens of insect enthusiasts gather to appreciate these amazing arthropods and hear from both experts and amateurs about what they've been working. It's a magnificent way to leave winter behind and anticipate a bug-filled spring and summer!

This year's sessions included such varied topics as butterfly diversity in Manu, Peru; veterinary medicine for tarantulas; insectariums and conservation; and Iowa's decapods. Decapods? Decapods! Not insects but crustaceans, decapods include lobsters, crabs, and crayfish (it is the latter which are found in Iowa, with eight species...as well as a shrimp!). 

Another session on fireflies noted a species called Photuris asacoa, documented only in a single northeast Iowa location. Its common name is Leopold's firefly, after Aldo Leopold, and the species name asacoa is derived from Leopold's magnum opus A Sand County Almanac. 

It's a tantalizing smorgasbord for those who love, or simply appreciate, our six(+)-legged neighbors, presented by folks whose enthusiasm for their subject is a refreshing reminder of what a little curiosity and wonder about the world can spark.

Visitors to Reiman Gardens can also visit the Christina Reiman Butterfly Wing, stocked with hundreds of colorful live butterflies; watch butterflies emerge from pupae, and observe critters on display like this fantastic Giant Leaf Insect:

or this guy:

Though it's wondrous seeing fantastic and exotic insects from far-off places and warmer climes, it has made me all the more impatient for our local six-legged friends to emerge from their wherever they overwintered, be it as eggs underground, pupae in leaf litter, or adults returning from Mexico. Soon! Seeing a fancy captive butterfly from distant lands is neat, but can't compare to the excitement of finding an American Snout perched on my bicycle after a visit to the Greenway. 

Added bonus: there's a podcast too! The Six-Legged Narrative. It's short, and packed with news about insects. Best of all? It's six days a week! Be sure to tune in:

And another amazing resource, peopled with many of the same presenters and attendees found at Day of Insects, is the Iowa Native Plant and Insect discussion group. You can ask questions, or just read the submissions from others and learn a lot about the natural goings-on in our state. 

Shell Hunting at the Wetlands

Ramshorn snail shell found
in the dry outlet wetlands

 The broad shallows at the outlet wetlands make a tempting target for exploration as January turns over into February. With much of the slumbering flora along the trail flattened by weather or equipment from the ongoing brush clearing restoration, and an afternoon silence signaling the absence of birds, this was as good a time as any to take the limited and seasonal opportunity to walk across the frozen mud and see what is normally hidden beneath water or greenery the rest of the year. 

Starting from the mowed path north of the apartments, there are several deer paths to choose from leading down through the brush to the wetlands (ducking under branches and squeezing my puffy coat between dogwoods flanking the path--I am neither as slender nor as agile as a deer, clearly). My chosen path landed me at the end of the outermost arcing berm, crunching through dry reeds and rushes that take advantage of the higher ground while the cells that hold stormwater on either side of the berm were flat mud, pocked with deer and other tracks and occasional bits of stone or rotting logs. 

I was on the lookout for a snail shell. The life that teems below the water's surface much of the year is a mystery, so finding evidence of mollusks while keeping my feet dry seemed like a nice adventure. It didn't take long to find: a delicate spiral, a little smaller than a quarter, resting on the frosty earth. A closer look revealed a tiny companion shell, less spiral and more conical. Both were delicate, absent the squishy residents who had previously called them home. 

Assorted small snail shells found near the outer berm of the dry wetlands..

A short distance away, another mollusk: this time half of a bivalve, but again quite small (dime sized, if we are sticking with coinage as a reference). A mussel? I recalled finding many quite large mussel shells during a cleanup at the Greenway's sister site nearby, Whispering Meadows Wetland Park. Do the Greenway's wetlands support a population of mussels?

A tiny mussel shell found in the outer arc of the outlet wetlands.

These fascinating invertebrates are important but often invisible parts of ecosystems, cleaning and filtering water as they feed. They rely on fish for part of their lifecycle: male mussels release sperm into the water, which find their way to females and fertilize her eggs. After the eggs develop into glochidia (larvae), they are released into the world--but they must find a fish to serve as a host for a few days or weeks, after which they will drop off and live the rest of their mussel-y lives at the bottom of a lake or stream. Some mussels can be very long-lived, thriving for many decades when conditions are right. Conditions including water quality, which we humans are doing a bang-up job of wrecking in and around our state, to the detriment of far more than mussels).

Walking slowly, looking closely. No luck encountering more bivalves within the outermost cell, I endeavored to visit the middle berm, not as easily accessible from land due to heavy thickets at either end. Crossing the low berm to reach the middle cell of the wetlands, again all was dry mud--but what was that shiny stone out there? And another....another! Big bivalves, everywhere! Or their remains, that is. How amazing that these critters can apparently thrive in our little wetlands! Perhaps the inner ponds maintain more reliable water levels than the outer arc, allowing more mussels to reach a larger size and greater numbers.

Dozens of shiny shells could be spotted in
the middle basin of the outlet wetlands.

Giant Floaters can be found throughout
the Mississippi River watershed.

A tentative ID from iNaturalist named these Giant Floaters (Pyganodon grandis), a "short-lived" (5-10 years) freshwater mussel that can reach up to 8 inches across. They are found in calm waters throughout the Mississippi River watershed, including ponds and reservoirs as well as slower-moving rivers and streams. Their evocative common name comes from the habit of deceased individuals floating to the water's surface as they decay. Their glochidia will latch on to a wide variety of fish, including lake sturgeon and largemouth bass--though the Greenway population's host fish are probably of a humbler stature such as minnows. 

When spring rains and snowmelt fill the wetlands again, we can imagine these big bivalves below the surface, silently filtering the water we sent their way. And maybe put a little effort into making their jobs easier by limiting the chemicals and other harmful runoff from our lawns and roads.

Sources/Additional Reading

• About Freshwater Mussels (Xerces Society)
• The Merit of Mussels (Xerces Society)
• Giant Floater (Missouri Department of Conservation)
• Pyganodon grandis (USGS)
• A Guide to the Freshwater Mussels of Nebraska (Steven C. Schainost/Nebraska Game and Parks Commission)

Giant Floater with a size 9 for comparison.

Live and let live?

 One of the few signs of insect life to be seen in the winter are egg cases, like the oothecae of mantids. 

The chunky, squared-off oothecae of Chinese mantids are particularly easy to spot long after leaves have fallen, affixed to twigs and small branches. Each can contain hundreds of eggs, though both cannibalism of siblings upon hatching as well as the general dangers any tiny insect faces in the world whittles down significantly the number who reach adulthood.

In recent years, more and more gardeners and native plant aficionados have been suggesting removing and destroying the crunchy-looking cases when encountered. Their contents are considered unwelcome non-natives with a nasty habit of mercilessly and indiscriminately devouring other insects, beneficial or not: bumble bees, butterflies, moths, and even the occasional unfortunate vertebrate, including hummingbirds, may become a meal. 

Our smaller native Carolina mantis may also suffer at the raptorial forelegs of its cousin; not only can the Chinese mantis — almost twice as big as the Carolina mantis — outcompete it for prey, the smaller mantis can also itself become prey for the larger. 

But the jury seems to be out on the extent of the harm caused by the Chinese mantis. It was introduced onto this continent more than a century ago, and has naturalized across much of the U.S., particularly in the eastern states without devastating effects thus far. Given the many other dangers little Carolina mantids and beneficial insects in general face from us, including habitat loss and pesticide use, we might consider leaving the oothecae and working to make our world more hospitable to all our insect friends. 

Chinese mantids and their egg cases have nothing to fear from me, at least. I still think they're neat.

Resources/Additional Reading

•  Missouri Department of Conservation: Chinese Mantis
• Challenging the Conventional Wisdom About Praying Mantids (NC Extension). Includes some great photos showing the inside of oothecae, with an anti-Chinese mantid perspective.
• Iowa State University Extension & Outreach: Praying Mantis
• Wisconsin Horticulture: Praying Mantids

Until we meet again....

With an unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon, I headed toward the Greenway in hopes of finding just a few more insects to visit with before the winter arrives in earnest. There have been a few frosty mornings already this year, but certainly some hardy arthropods would still be out and about? 

Of course those common home invaders can often be spotted on sun-warmed south-facing surfaces very late in the year: stink bugs and lady beetles, boxelder bugs. Winter midges and crane flies can also be spotted on warm days in cold months, as can tiny springtails. 

On this warm day, with the temperature reaching over 70 degrees, very few insects made an appearance. Regular katydid-like chirps could be heard from the grass, but I was unable to triangulate to a source. Nearly-invisible swarms of midges swirled in sunbeams. I paused at the alfalfa bales, where a couple weeks previous dozens of grasshoppers could be seen hopping and clinging to the sides of the bales. No chitinous wanderers, just a little junco watching warily from atop a bale. 

Nevertheless, it was a lovely, peaceful outing as even other humans had made themselves scarce. With quiet all around, even the smallest noise landed heavily on alert ears, and a glance in the direction of the small tick revealed a blade of grass moving just a little out of sync with its neighbors. 

Who's there?

Well hello friend! I thought I had seen the last of the neighborhood orthopterans until next year, but there was a hardy long-legged soul in the dry grass. Are you finding enough to eat, friend? There are still some green grasses along the trail. How did you weather the hard freezes a few weeks ago? How many others are still hanging on with you here in mid-November?

No answer was forthcoming, and the grasshopper had other business to attend to, despite my eagerness to spend the afternoon getting my fill of six-legged wildlife while I still can. But what a momentary treat. 

If you build it, will they come? | Investing in a cleaner Iowa

If you notice litter around town, or take a gander at some drainage areas (like the Sycamore Greenway) in winter once the greenery dies back, you know litter is a problem. 

If you look closely, you know much of that litter is made up of beverage containers: beer cans, pop cans and bottles, water bottles, energy drink cans, sports drink bottles. And if you've followed this page for any length of time, you know that Iowa's Bottle Bill can be an incredibly effective mechanism to prevent exactly this type of litter...if only it would be strengthened and expanded. 

While we wait patiently for the legislature to get its act together, we limp along with the Bottle Bill we have. Fortunately, we have a great resource here on the south side of town that is making it even easier to return your deposit containers. 

The Can Shed celebrated the opening of a new location last week, and invited the public to see the facility. Beyond the cheerful murals celebrating closed-loop systems and depicting our fine city was a magical room filled with the most amazing Rube-Goldberg contraptions to process a jumbled mix of plastic and aluminum, from any number of distributors quickly and efficiently into compact bins of material ready to be shipped off for recycling. 

They have simplified the process: where once redeeming containers was a laborious practice of feeding individual cans or bottles into a machine one at a time, or else carefully saving enough containers of the same type to fill a large bag—you can now bring your bin full of mixed items, dump them in a receptacle, push a button, and the magic machine does it work to count, separate deposit items from non-deposit items, and separate the containers by material type within minutes. You get a ticket with the quantity redeemed, and trade it for cash.

  

(Sound down for these videos...they are NOISY!)

Another innovation is their Bottle Drop program. With the help of an app and individually QR-coded bags, you can drop your mixed containers off through a drop door and have the funds credited to your account. While offering maximum convenience, there are additional costs (you must purchase the bags at a cost of 10 for $2.10, and additional fees per bag and for the electronic fund transfers). 

Is this a paid ad for the Can Shed? No, this is all gratis. We need a better Bottle Bill, and to do that we need facilities like this to show how simple it can be to make it work for everyone. (Plus the equipment was super-fun to watch and everyone should be able to enjoy it.)

What can you do?

• Redeem your deposit cans and bottles! Even if you don't think the nickel is worth your time, every can or bottle that leaves the system is a nickel the bottle distributors get to keep. Iowa's redemption rate is abysmal compared to states with better bottle bills, in part because our lawmakers have not been invested in seeing it succeed. In addition, single-stream municipal recycling is far less efficient than the dedicated material recycling that comes with these redemptions.
• Spread the word! Share how important the Bottle Bill is to keeping our state beautiful. 
• Tell your state legislators in Des Moines that we need a better Bottle Bill: it needs to be expanded to include water bottles, sports drinks, and other beverage containers, and the deposit needs to be increased to $.10 (it should be a quarter, if it had kept up with inflation since 1978, but let's compromise down to a dime).

Previous rants posts about Iowa's Bottle Bill and related topics:

"But we have curbside recycling!"

"Oh look, another bottle..."

There Is No "Away"

Winners and losers in the attention economy

Warning: existential navelgazing ahead. Proceed with caution.

Our magnificent, chaotic, messy,
interdependent world.

As I walked the length of our beautiful trail recently, my mind swirled with current events that have been dominating our news cycle. There, seeped in the buzzing-trilling-chirping of assorted amphibian, arthropod, and avian inhabitants, I walked. And I considered. 

I thought of how we passively direct our attention to the topics that politicians and media outlets think are most beneficial for them. How our attention economy converts that attention to power, such that those people and topics that dominate headlines and garner clicks reap rewards both tangible and intangible. How rarely I see the discussion in the public sphere involve this natural world that so many of us love so deeply.

When reported at all, it is under a category like "environment/climate change." They always seem to be paired, as if each on its own is insufficient, despite them encompassing literally everything that surrounds us.

 Environment? What a small and sterile word for the teeming life all around us. For the wondrous and complex world we inhabit, that provides everything we need to survive and asks nothing in return other than to be left alone. The diversity and abundance of the beings who share our small corner of the universe, the only other living things we know of in all of existence. 

Climate change? How narrow a thing to describe the very wellbeing of us as a species and the complex interconnectedness of everything. Our responsibility to steward the living world, and the multitudinous ways we are failing in that obligation. 

When I look at the headlines and accompanying photos, they are men and women in suits, in front of concrete or glass. Nary a blade of grass to be seen. Scarcely a glimpse of blue sky. Our actual world—the world we inhabit and the world that sustains our basic functions of life—is invisible. Why?

The woodpeckers, owls, and other residents, priced out of their
homes in the wooded area north of Birds in Flight.

Maybe the stories that people choose to focus on are the easy ones. They require no knowledge or understanding, but are particularly suited to strong opinions. They are "problems" that can be easily solved by dictat without any pesky investment or spending. Or the stories that are promoted are those that have the largest financial impact on the bank accounts of those steering the conversation. The living world is an invisible backdrop...something that supports and enables our very existence, but neglected nonetheless.

Our living world doesn't have big-money investors and shareholders to promote its interests. And yet...we are ALL shareholders in that world, and we can only thrive when it is allowed to thrive. Maybe we all need to step up and become lobbyists: attending candidate meetings and speaking or asking questions about what can be done to preserve and protect our natural heritage. Clicking on and sharing articles about topics related to nature and our environment. Exploring this amazing world and bringing it into the conversation until it is given attention proportional to its importance.

As a charismatic predator's life ends, others are quick to make
use of her legacy to further their own ends.

Grasshopper heaven

It's the most wonderful time of the year! When you can walk along a trail and see hundreds of springing grasshoppers cascade ahead of you, wave after wave of tiny hoppers leaping in every direction. Some land on the sidewalk with a click, some grab a tall stem and peep around it at you, some catch a blade of grass momentarily before rapidly descending to the ground in a surprisingly coordinated rappel. 

The Greenway seeming a little sparse in the springers, I headed over to Terry Trueblood Recreation Area, which was an amateur orthopterist's heaven. The sandy soil around the lake, with wide swaths of Little Bluestem, Sideoats Grama, and other low-growing prairie plants along the trail, made for an interesting contrast with the moister/shadier and a bit weedier Greenway. 

The plan was to take pictures of grasshoppers. All kinds of grasshoppers! My hope was to find another Admirable Grasshopper, such as the one I encountered at nearby Sand Prairie a couple of years ago. They are not rare, but they are unusual enough (to me anyway) to stand out amid the more numerous specimens. 

It was a dry, sunny day; the air filled with songs of cicadas and katydids punctuated by the percussion of fleeing grasshoppers ticking against foliage. The occasional rhythmic whir of wheels or thuds of footsteps indicated a passing human. Have you seen an Admirable Grasshopper? I wonder wordlessly in their direction. I don't care to imagine what they may have been wondering in my direction in return, as I hunkered red-faced and dripping in sweat, to peer at the ground.

Like taking photos of swallows in the sky, it can be a little tricky to pick out a single grasshopper out of hundreds on the move and follow it to a landing point to take a picture. I began with taking a shot of every grasshopper I could focus on, and quickly discovered that they were all the same: Red-legged Grasshoppers (Melanoplus femurrubrum).* 

Red-legged Grasshopper

To be more discriminating I watched how they hopped. Some took broad leaps of a meter or more, going high above the ground. Some took sad little tiny hops, frantically trying to get away from the giant blundering about. Some jumped in the air and spread their wings to glide gently to a landing on the ground. 

Taking the time to stop and stalk, I encountered this handsome charcoal-colored individual, a Clouded Grasshopper (Encoptolophus sordidus). The banded femurs and interesting eye colors made it easy to see it wasn't like the others. 

Clouded Grasshopper

The robust Differential Grasshoppers (Melanoplus differentialis), a smooth porcelain green with black chevrons on their femurs, were fairly common, peering from the greenery.

Differential Grasshopper

A walk in the mowed grass alongside the paved trail proved to be a good strategy to flush some hoppers out of the grass and onto the trail, where I could get a good look at them. One of the first to appear using this technique was a little guy...even from several feet away I could see something a little different about it: the silhouette was unlike all those I'd been seeing so far, with a decidedly slanted face. Could it be...?

A glance left and right to see if any cyclist might unwittingly scare (or squish!) my target, then a few quick snaps, circling to get a good look. It was! An Admirable Grasshopper. What a beaut. 

Admirable Grasshopper

More photos, of tiny nymphs with nubs for wings. Some bright grassy green, others a little more yellow, and others a subdued tan with black stripes; IDs difficult, especially for nymphs, but possibly more Red-legged and maybe Two-striped Grasshoppers?

Assorted grasshopper nymphs

I saw several grasshoppers holding themselves high off the pavement, as if to try to keep their bodies cool from the sun-baked surface:

And finally one more individual that looked just a little different, with wonderful dark mottling and grassy green stripes highlighting its wings and pronotum, with a fainter wash of green on the face and femur. Tentatively a Slant-faced Pasture Grasshopper (Orphulella speciosa), though the slant of its face doesn't appear nearly as extreme as that of the Admirable Grasshopper! 

Slant-faced Pasture Grasshopper

Circling around to the boat ramp area where the grasses and forbs reached far overhead, much taller than the low grasses along the trail, the grasshoppers continued their popcorn leaps. The height of the greenery brought many of the leggy arthropods up to eye level or higher, a unique opportunity for us to eyeball each other on equal footing: their inscrutably faceted compound eyes and my watery orbs in contemplation at the vastly different ways we experience the same world.

* As a non-expert, I have attempted to verify as closely as possible with resources at hand, including iNaturalist and those listed below, but welcome corrections and alternative suggestions!

Resources/Additional Reading:

• Field Guide to Common Western Grasshoppers
• BugGuide

Opting out of the attention economy

In a world where everything has become transactional...where everything is an opportunity to make a buck or to sell a product, from politicians selling legislation in exchange for campaign donations down to a podcaster rapturously offering paeans in service of the latest supplement or gadget to service their advertisers, our attention one of the most valuable products of all.

That's why it feels joyously transgressive to opt out for an hour or two, and give your attention to nature, who asks for nothing in exchange. To the contrary: our money is no good with nature. There is no price you can pay to get a rain shower or a sunny sky. You can't order up a nice warbler or fritillary on demand. They show up when they show up. You can increase your chances of encounters if you take the time to get to know the rhythms and ways of the nature, but that, too, takes an investment more valuable than dollars. 

Each summer, as the heat presses in August, the smartweeds begin to bloom in colors from a dirty white to a shocking hot pink, half a dozen different species or more found along the trail and in the wetlands. The tiny flowers attract equally tiny bees, flies, ants. 

Maybe it's their humble stature, or the lack of attention they get in comparison to bigger, more charismatic flowers, or the extravagant carnation-pink hues against their elegant green leaves...but I'm inordinately fond of these little plants. 

That's why I was delighted to spot the telltale flower in a new (to me) spot along the trail. And even better...what is that bunch of dead hanging off the inflorescence? Could it be...a Camouflaged Looper?! One of my favorite invertebrates, on one of my favorite flowers. 

Sources note that Camouflaged Loopers often, though not exclusively,  use members of Asteraceae, or Composite, family of flowers (like coneflowers, Silphiums, and daisies) as a host. It was particularly fun to know that they also appreciate smartweeds' Polygonaceae family. 

I can't go down to the local nursery and buy a flowering smartweed. And I definitely can't order up a Camouflaged Looper to decorate it. The smartweed doesn't want anything from me except to be left alone to do its smartweed thing. Same for the looper. 

They don't even want our attention. 

Fuzz on the Ratibida: a mystery

Every summer I eagerly await the return of the Gray-headed Coneflowers (Ratibida pinnata), not just because they are beautiful and prolific bloomers, but also because they host a huge variety of pollinators and other insect life—including my beloved Camouflaged Loopers. 

Said loopers are one of the reasons I will stop and closely inspect any slight aberration on the head of a flowering Ratibida. Sometimes it is just an errant yellow ray floret, twisted up at an angle, or a sneaky ambush bug lurking until its unsuspecting lunch shows up, or maybe some warty-looking galls. But on lucky days, I find a little Camouflaged Looper in its petaled finery. 

Last summer I noticed many Ratibida that had clumps of yellow thready material tangled among the brown disc florets: 

It appeared as if the pollen-carrying anthers (stamens?) from the florets had been pulled out and collected together in a mass. What was causing this phenomenon? Could a bee or other pollinator be collecting them, purposely or inadvertently, and discarding them as they snagged on the florets?

Stumped, I took my question to the IOWA-NATIVE-PLANTS listserv (always an amazingly friendly and helpful group), which yielded several theories but also a general puzzlement as well. Perhaps a bit of webbing was visible that would indicate an arachnid origin, or maybe some kind of fungal growth? But alas, no definitive answer surfaced. After a stretch of rainy weather, I failed to locate the mysterious clumps again for closer inspection that summer.

Skipping ahead to this summer, around the same time, I again found the yellow clumps during routine Ratibida inspections! This time, I broke off one of the flowerheads and brought it home for a deep dive into the mass. With my trusty 10x magnification loupe, I thought there might be something visible beneath the fuzz, just a hint of something pale amid the brown florets:

Gently teasing away the threads caused whatever was under them to retreat into the forest of florets. A tiny worm! Caterpillar? Something....

Again gently, I prodded the critter closer to the surface for a better look. Definitely a caterpillar, and did it have bits of pollen and florets stuck to it? Could it be....a super-tiny early Camouflaged Looper?!

iNaturalist's suggested ID supports the suspicion. The Camouflaged Loopers I'd encountered previously were small—maybe 1.5 cm long?—but readily visible. These? Super tiny. Each of those brown disc florets in the photos above are maybe 1 mm across, so the caterpillar itself was perhaps .5 cm? 

What caused it to collect the yellow thready clump? Was it a purposeful effort at concealment? Or maybe more likely did the threads just snag on the assorted protuberances and edges of the caterpillar's body as it moved around the flower? Or was excavating the caterpillar beneath the fuzz merely a coincidence, and the fuzz was caused by something else entirely?

I'll have to again be on the lookout for bits of fuzz on the Ratibida to see if the discovery can be replicated. Regardless, what a fun demonstration of what there is to see right along the trail if you slow down to look!

Note also the even tinier critters scampering around the Ratibida florets!

Sources/Additional Reading

• The Prairie Ecologist: My favorite insect further endears itself to me
• Missouri Department of Conservation: Wavy-lined Emerald
• BugGuide: Species Synchlora aerata - Wavy-lined Emerald

No such thing as a free lunch...

 

Beetle socks? Clown shoes? What is going on with this Margined Leatherwing's little feets and their coordinating attachments?

With difficulty, it walked along the leaf margin like a dog reluctantly wearing shoes, lifting and shaking its legs in an attempt to unencumber itself from these orange globs. 

For a bit, it attempted to use its mandibles to loosen them...

with limited success, before with a short flight returning to the source of its discomfort:

Beautiful, fragrant Common Milkweed flowers have a fascinating structure. Upon blooming, the petals of the flower fold downward, forming a kind of skirt below the corona, which is where all the action happens.

Each corona has five "hoods" that hold the nectar pollinators so desire—nothing tricky there. But in between those hoods are slits into which the leg of a butterfly, fly, bee, or beetle may slip. When the leg is pulled out, it may catch a structure called the corpusculum, from which dangle a pair of pollen packets called pollinia. 

If an insect successfully extracts its leg, pollinia and all, its continued foraging on other milkweed flowers will hopefully (for the milkweed at least) bring the pollinia into contact with another slit. A pollinium thus delivered can slip into the "stigmatic chamber" contained inside, where it will make contact with the stigma and fertilize the flower.  

This process can be dangerous for the insect: sometimes their leg may become stuck and they may lose it...or even perish if they are unable to get free. Our Margined Leatherwing, fortunately, has so far escaped that fate.

Sources/Additional Reading:

• The Story of an Organism: Common Milkweed
• Milkweed Pollination: A Series of Fortunate Events