The Birds and the Bees and the...Aphids?

Abundant generations!

We all know (generally) how baby animals are made: the male and female encounter one another, some mode of intercourse is engaged (enthusiastic, coerced, or otherwise), and after some period of time the female gives birth or lays eggs to begin the next generation.

Aphids--those abundant garden pests--have a rather more complex series of strategies. Who knew? And their abundance is in part due to their unique method of reproduction.

Aphids will generally overwinter as eggs. In the spring, the eggs hatch into a generation that is entirely female. These females (fundatrices) will, without having mated, give birth to other females that are essentially genetic clones of herself. And she gives birth to live babies, not eggs! No need to faff about with finding a mate, cooking some babies and laying eggs--female aphids can be already developing their own babies before being born themselves.

The first generation of females born are wingless. Individuals in later generations may or may not have wings; since the wingless individuals are not able to move from plant to plant easily the winged versions help to disperse and carry on the population as the original host plants become crowded.

Winged females in the upper left

As the summer passes into fall, the females begin to produce both male and female offspring. The males again are nearly genetic clones of their mother but missing a single chromosome, which flips the switch and produces a male clone instead of a female. This generation will (finally) mate and these females will lay the eggs that will survive the winter and begin the cycle again the following year.

Patterns and Serendipity

Common Milkweed with variegated leaves

Summer on the Greenway is such a fast-moving, blink-and-you-may-miss-it extravaganza of life. Every week there are new flowers blooming and new sounds to be heard, from dickcissels returning from their winter homes to the south, to katydids chirring in the grass and cicadas buzzing up in the trees.

There are predictable patterns to the progression, with Wild Quinine flowering before the Purple Coneflower, which flowers before Gray-headed Coneflower, Tall Coreopsis, and so forth. When I noticed the finely-frilled Illinois Bundleflower leaves near the Birds in Flight,  I backtracked to where a patch of Partridge Pea normally grows to see if it had also made an appearance (it had, though small enough that I had overlooked its low sprouts when I first passed).

Illinois Bundleflower

Although the general sweep of the season is predictable, it is spiced with the seemingly arbitrary daily occurrences one encounters. Why is this Wild Quinine plant swarming with flies, beetles, bees and ants when the next dozen along the trail are completely devoid of insect life? What in the world caused the variegation on that Milkweed's leaves? Why is one morning filled with birdsong when the next is silent? Are those Asters--in June?! Sometimes answers can be found with additional research or observation. Sometimes they remain mysteries.

Partridge Pea

What fun would it be walking a trail day after day, week after week, if everything was always as  expected? For every time I encounter a tiny baby snapping turtle crossing the trail, there are twenty trips where I see no herps at all. I may know that I am more likely to see them in overcast, drizzly conditions, but there are no guarantees. Same goes for butterflies, birds, bees--I can try to time my jaunts for when I may see whatever my target is at the moment, but I regularly come away empty-handed (if one can consider a couple hours walking out in the world empty-handed).

The world is full of patterns and surprises. Just another reason to get outside and enjoy it as the seasons go by.

June Asters

A Brief Encounter with a Gem of a Fly

Tiny, jewel-toned fly. I pause to inspect you as you pause on a leaf, to my eye not doing much of anything at all. To be honest, I appreciate your utter lack of interest in me, after an hour spent swatting, brushing and tossing my head madly in futile attempts to ward off the abundant gnats, mosquitoes, and other assorted winged beings attempting to dine on my body.

What is your life like, shiny little fly? What do you spend your days doing...eating and flying? Wooing mates? Do you travel far to find other shiny flies like yourself, or if I took the time to examine other leaves nearby would I find them? Where do you sleep?

Why is your shiny metallic body colored so divinely? What semaphore signals do you send with those delicate, patterned wings?

I try to learn more about you. With assistance from Insects of Iowa's ID Tool, I tentatively identify you as a long-legged fly, Condylostylus sp. Tantalizing pieces of information about your mating habits ("Adults mate after elaborate and unique behavior, involving the males displaying their legs to the female."*--who wouldn't be intrigued by that?) lead me, with a mild, familiar pang at yet another unsavory entry in my search history, to search for "Condylostylus mating".

There are small tidbits of information to be found.  According to insectidentification.org, "Males have tufts of hair on their feet that are usually seen best during courtship dancing. This genteel behavior is needed in order to attract females." Well, that sounds like a charming event!

Alas, the one video I was able to find shows a wooing that is too fast or too subtle for my clumsy human eyes. I slow the speed in a vain attempt to see the tufted feet or other moves of the persistent male.  I can only conclude that, not being a long-legged fly, the entire scene is lost on me. 

Such is the mysterious life of a fly. The quiet communion of a moment shared at a leaf along the Greenway, two lives that intersect at this one tangent. It is safe to assume that the effect was more profound on me than it was on the fly. 

*https://bugguide.net/node/view/42317