Author of Peterson Field Guide to Moths. #WriteOnCon Mastermind. Writer of action/thriller SF/F YA. Story junkie. Nature nut. Tea addict. Mother. Finding happiness in the little things.
Twitter: @SeabrookeN / @SeabrookeLeckie
The latest edition of The Moth and Me, #12, is up over at The Skeptical Moth. Chris has done a great job compiling the varied posts, in the process reflecting on his own “mothing journey”. You should, at the very least, head over to check out this month’s TMaM – but while you’re there, spend some time browsing some of Chris’s other excellent content, too!
TMaM heads to Today in NJ Birding History for edition #13 – and despite convention, I consider 13 to be a lucky number, so make sure you remember to participate in what will surely be an outstanding edition! Send your submission to Jennifer (ammodramus88 AT gmail.com) or to myself (canadianowlet AT gmail.com) by July 13.
We’re looking for hosts for August and beyond! It’s easy and fun, and only takes an hour or two (or several, if you’re the type to go crazy with it…). If you’re interested in hosting, send me an email indicating what month you’d like to sign up for.
As spring begins to give way to summer, we’re starting to enter the peak months for insects. The hot, dry weather is their kind of climate, and numbers boom. Every plant has one or two or three on it, it seems. Your back starts to get sore from stooping to look at them all. But what diversity! Nearly 90,000 species of insect occur in North America north of Mexico, and of those some 24,000 are beetles. That means that 4 out of every 15 insects (one in every 3.75, but I assume that, like me, you look at your bugs in wholes) you stoop to check out is going to be a beetle.
Well, probably the proportions don’t work out quite so neatly as that as some species are much more abundant than others, but you get the idea. There are a lot of beetles. There is a well-known quote attributed to JBS Haldane (though its authenticity is sometimes disputed) wherein he reflects that his studies of nature’s diversity have shown him that God “has an inordinate fondness for beetles”; it is, of course, from this quote that this blog carnival appropriately takes its name. God, or natural selection, may have given us the diversity present today, but we are the ones who get to enjoy it. AIF #5 shares with us ten different species of eight different families, and all different shapes and colours.
Margarethe of Arizona Beetles, Bugs, Birds and More starts us off with a small but lovely weevil, Coniatus splendidulus. The beetles were recently observed by a coworker in stands of tamarisk, an invasive plant that is slowly spreading through parts of the US including Arizona. While C. splendidulus, which feeds exclusively on tamarisk, had been considered for biological control measures, none to date have been officially released. The weevils observed by Margarethe’s coworker seem to have made it there under their own steam.
Arati of Trees, Plants and More shares another world-traveler, the lady beetle Coccinella transversalis, the Transverse Lady Beetle. Arati blogs from India, but the beetle is actually native to Australia. She observes that her lady beetle has markings that differ from the usual stereotype of black spots on red. However, only a small number of lady beetle species actually sport such markings; most either have more black like this one, black in different patterns than spots, or are different colours entirely.
Hugh of Rock Paper Lizard searches for a typical lady beetle, a favourite of the kids’, among yellow Santolina blooms. What we think of as the typical ladybug is a non-native species here in North America, too. The Asian Multicolored Lady Beetle, Harmonia axyridis, was introduced to North America on multiple occasions by the US Department of Agriculture as a biological control for aphids in orchards. The first release was in 1916, and the last in 1982, but it was an accidental introduction in 1988 to which we can attribute most of the lady beetles we encounter today.
Dave at Things Biological brings us Oedemera nobilis, a flower beetle of western Europe. He photographed this one in Provence, France, where it is native. It actually belongs to the family Oedemeridae, which are given the common name false blister beetles. In North America, the Kaufman Insect Guide suggests the group is most common along shorelines, though I don’t know if that’s true for this species in Europe; Dave seems to have found this species to be abundant on Spanish Broom (an evergreen shrub) throughout France, in any case. The KIG warns that members of the group will release strong skin irritants when crushed, not unlike actual blister beetles, so probably best just to look, don’t touch.
John of A DC Birding Blog spent some time watching several individuals of Strangalia luteicornis as they clambered about the flowers of a winterberry bush. These guys are in the subfamily Lepturinae and are properly called flower longhorns, according to the Kaufman Insect Guide (my “bible” for all things six-legged, if you haven’t already guessed). The larvae are borers of trees; this species focuses on hardwoods. The adults, unsurprisingly, feed on pollen from flowers in deciduous woodlands.
Rob Mitchell, blogging at Alex Wild’s Myrmecos, brings us another longhorned beetle. This one is Neoclytus tenuiscriptus, native to southwestern North America. The KIG indicates there are 26 species in this genus, and suggests that they are wasp mimics. Rob’s interpretation is that they do a better job imitating grasshoppers, with their short antennae and long hind legs. Other, related species are found across the continent. All are wood borers, and some species can sometimes be found emerging from firewood.
Over at Willow House Chronicles, Barefootheart recently discovered a population of Rose Chafers, Macrodactylus subspinosus, which were released from the soil as she was taking up sod to expand her garden. Most likely they were just about to emerge as adults from the soil, where they spent their larval stage, when she helped make it a little easier for them. Despite their common name, the beetles aren’t just interested in roses but will feed on the leaves and flowers of many different species of plants. In very large numbers they can become a pest, severely defoliating plants and potentially even killing them as a result, but fortunately numbers rarely get so high.
Cindy at Dipper Ranch reflects on some beetles that emerge in late spring with the first rainfalls of the season. Appropriately, they are called rain beetles, and are members of the family Pleocomidae; others in the group come out in late fall or winter, but rainfall or snowmelt is always the trigger. They are all contained within one genus, Pleocoma, of which there are about 30 species in North America. The group is restricted to the west coast of the US. Amazingly, the larvae of this group may take as long as 8-13 years, feeding on roots in the soil, before they reach adulthood. When they finally become adults, the beetles have vestigal mouthparts and cannot feed; they die shortly after mating and laying the eggs for the new generation.
Not nearly so interesting in habit, but certainly eye-catching in colour, yesterday I posted about some Milkweed Leaf Beetles, Labidomera clivicollis that I encountered a couple of weeks ago. These guys are variable in colour and pattern through their range east of the Rockies. As their name suggests, both the larvae and the adults feed on the leaves of milkweed plants; predominantly Swamp Milkweed, but also Common.
So now, if all that diversity has gotten you enthused and you want to go out to look for some beetles yourself, swing over to Beetles in the Bush where An Inordinate Fondness founder Ted will teach you everything you need to know about dressing for success in beetle-collecting. He outlines everything you should take with you into the field, from what to hold in your hands, to what to wear on your head, and how to carry all your bits and bobs, in order to produce the best results. And if you read Ted’s blog, you’ll see that the results speak for themselves. (The obvious key is item #5. Make sure you get one, too.)
A couple of weeks ago as I was walking down to my veggie garden I spied something bright amongst the grass at the side of the path. Stooping to have a look, it turned out to be a rather large beetle. I hadn’t brought my camera, having been going to the garden for another purpose, so I hurried back to the house to grab it, hoping the beetle would stay put. When I returned, sure enough it had taken off from where I’d left it, but a bit of searching and patience revealed it a short distance away.
I wouldn’t ordinarily be so determined in trying to relocate something, but this was an eye-catching beetle: large, at nearly half an inch (10mm), with bright orange-spotted black elytra and a shiny green-blue thorax. I was convinced it had to be something unusual – wouldn’t I have noticed one before, otherwise?
Well, it turns out to be fairly common and widespread. It’s a Milkweed Leaf Beetle, Labidomera clivicollis. The species ranges throughout North America east of the Rockies and varies considerably in pattern across that area, with some being quite pale or having very reduced markings. The paler individuals all seem to occur west of the Mississippi. As its common name suggests, the beetles feed on the foliage and flowers of milkweed, primarily Swamp Milkweed but also Common. Apparently prior to feeding on a new leaf, both adults and larvae will clip the side veins as a drain, reducing the sticky latex left at their feeding site.
Tomorrow I’m hosting An Inordinate Fondness #5, the blog carnival about all things coleopteran. If you have a post about beetles I encourage you to submit it! Try to get it to me by tomorrow (Friday) afternoon; the carnival will go up in the evening, but I’ll still try to squeeze last-minute submissions in. Submit your posts here, or email them to me at canadianowlet [at] gmail [dot] com.
A few days ago I was tagged by Clare at The House & Other Arctic Musings with an interview meme. Though I typically don’t participate in memes because they’re usually out of keeping with the theme of the blog, Clare carefully tailored his questions to his five tag-ees to reflect the nature (pun intended) of their blogs. I thought some of my readers would enjoy reading the responses, too. Of the others Clare tagged, Dave (Via Negativa) and Susannah (Wanderin’ Weeta) have also answered.
The “rules” of the meme are to answer the five questions provided by your tagger, then create five of your own and tag five new people of your choosing.
Orange Hawkweed and Star Chickweed
1) You seem to have an intense curiosity of the natural world, how did that curiosity come about?
I don’t think there was ever a single epiphanic moment where I suddenly developed an interest in the natural world, but I can’t say that it was always there, either. I grew up on five rural acres, set on the Niagara Escarpment of southern Ontario, which is still largely dominated by natural habitat, so I was surrounded by nature and I certainly had some knowledge and appreciation of it. I enjoyed being outside, but I didn’t have a deep-rooted interest in anything further until much later. I took a specific interest in birds when I was in university, hooked by a summer job I did, and that led to paying closer attention to butterflies and dragonflies. Moths came later still, beginning initially as a side diversion during some delays with a work contract. It really wasn’t until I started up this blog that I really began looking more closely at everything and anything, though – and realized just how fascinating it all is.
Mink Frog with Water Shield
2) What would you change about your home, your neighbourhood, your corner of the world? What one thing would you change to make it a better place?
I think the best thing that can be done for any corner of the world is to curb population growth. We’re already too many people (doesn’t matter where you go, there’s too many people there already), and we certainly don’t need any more. All of the local issues – for instance, habitat destruction for development or infrastructure improvement or whatever else – pretty much stem from that larger umbrella issue. That said, there isn’t much I would change about the area of eastern Ontario where I live now – it’s pretty much perfect the way it is. More natural habitat in the non-Shield areas, perhaps (the rocky, thin soil of the Canadian Shield has protected it from much development, fortunately).
Eastern Chipmunk
3) Describe your most profound encounter in the natural world?
Oddly enough, after a great deal of thought pondering all of the many encounters I’ve had with nature, the moments that have moved me most deeply have had little to do with wildlife. Two encounters stand out in my mind: the first involved this arbutus on Vancouver Island, BC,
and the second was this beech not far from our home last year.
The two species of tree share the same sort of smooth, cool bark that tends to evoke feelings of serenity tinged with melancholy in me when I lay my hand on it. I wrote about the latter tree above in a post I titled “The Living Trees“, and I said: “I don’t generally tend to anthropomorphize other organisms, but unlike many other trees, when you lay your hand on their trunk mature beech trees feel alive, they feel like they have a soul. I walked home after a few introspective moments with my hand on the tree’s cool trunk, humming the main refrain of The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond:
Oh, you’ll take the high road, and I’ll take the low road
And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye
For me and my true love will ne’er meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.”
Just remembering the encounter with that tree, or the arbutus the year before that, brings about those same emotions. They were neither the largest trees in their forests nor, likely, the oldest; the arbutus showed the scars of many pocketknife blades, but the beech bore none. What was it about these two trees? I don’t know. Perhaps it was the time of the month when my emotions are most vulnerable anyway, but something about them spoke to me.
Water Shield
4) If you could have a conversation with any person in history who would it be, and why that person?
I thought the previous question was tough, but this one’s harder. I thought through many famous names in the world of nature: Charles Darwin, of course, but also Henry David Thoreau, Alfred Russell Wallace, John James Audubon, Aldo Leopold, Emily Carr, and a few people still alive such as Robert Bateman. Finally I decided I’d like to have a conversation with my paternal great-grandfather, Bruce Everton Leckie, born 1882, died 1943. All I know about him is written in the family tree section of the Leckie clanbook. There, it notes, “A leading science master and educationist in Ontario, Mr Leckie’s avocations made him known as a naturalist and a sportsman particularly in game and fishing circles.” His last home before he died was a farm on the north end of Guelph, the town where I went to university, and he’s buried in the cemetery there; he only owned the farm for a year or so, but had planted 9,000 trees there in that time, and had stocked the stream that cut through his land with trout. Apparently he taught science in high school, and had spent some time at the school in Smiths Falls, the next town over from Perth. Although I don’t hunt, at the time when he lived, and especially when he was growing up, many naturalists would still tote a gun under one arm and much of the foundation of our understanding of wildlife comes from dead specimens.
Going back even farther, I would also be interested to converse with my great-great-great-great-grandfather John Leckie, who immigrated to Canada in 1821, settling on 100 acres here in Lanark County given to him by the Canadian government. Dan and I went to see the original homestead last summer. I know nothing at all about him, but even just listening to how life was trying to eke out a living from the thin soils of the rugged but beautiful Canadian Shield would be, I’m sure, fascinating and eye-opening.
Garter Snake, hiding in the mud in a puddle
5) What advice would you give to anyone wanting to better experience the natural world?
If you want to experience the natural world – truly experience it, that is, not just live in it – you have to slow down and look around. Too often when we’re hiking there’s a tendency to push on, follow the trail, walk for the purpose of having walked and not for the purpose of having seen. We may enjoy the forest we walk through, or the meadow, but when we reach the other side of it can we remember the details of what we just passed through? Did you notice if those evergreens you walked by – you did notice the evergreens, right? – were fir or hemlock or spruce? Did you spot the woodchips at the base of the tall maple where the Pileated Woodpecker had been working on a dead branch high above? How about all those rocks in the meadow, freshly flipped over where a bear has been hunting for ants and grubs? Somebody’s been munching on the milkweed leaves – did you check underneath, to find the fuzzy orange-and-black caterpillar? Sit here at the edge of the creek and watch a few moments – that dragonfly seems to be doing laps up and down the bank, patrolling his territory, and definitely has a favourite perch where if you stand really still and be patient, you might be lucky enough to get a great photo. But if you simply walk along the trail, breathing the fresh air and enjoying the natural scenery but not really looking at anything, you’ll reach your car at the end of the patch having taken nothing much away from the hike except a pleasant hour spent outdoors.
A very large, very brown, long-legged, sparsely-spotted Leopard Frog who's recently been residing in our swimming pool.
1) You seem to have an intense curiosity of the natural world; how did that curiosity come about?
2) What would you change about your home, your neighbourhood, your corner of the world? What one thing would you change to make it a better place?
3) Describe your most profound encounter in the natural world. (Or most memorable.)
4) If you could have a conversation with any person in history who would it be, and why that person?
5) What advice would you give to anyone wanting to better experience the natural world?
Yesterday afternoon Dan and I went out with our cordless drill to check the nestboxes in the fields behind the house here. There were ten nextboxes in these meadows, and another seven or eight at the 100-acre woods. We didn’t have time to get over to the latter group. One of the ten here had come unattached at one end and was hanging sideways. I wasn’t too surprised at this as they do seem to be fairly old boxes, but I hadn’t been expecting it. Fortunately, this seems to have happened before anyone got around to using it, but I intend to replace a few of the worst boxes and make sure the others are firmly secured so it won’t happen again.
The remaining nine boxes were all occupied, however. And all of the occupants were birds. This was gratifying for me, since I’d gone to the trouble of cleaning them all out back in March. It was fun to open each up and see who had made it home.
The first box we opened was the one that the bluebirds had nested in last summer. We had seen the bluebirds checking it out early this spring, but they had disappeared from that field soon after, and seemed to be hanging about the fields farther back. When we took the door of the box, it was apparent why they’d decided to leave: the box had been taken over by House Wrens. At the bottom of the box was the grassy base of a bluebird nest, and on top of that were the thick twigs that the wrens prefer for their foundation.
The nestlings we found yesterday were all at different developmental stages. This one is about halfway through growing. Its eyes are opened and the feathers are just starting to burst from their waxy sheaths. When I first lifted it out of the box the blue-gray sheen from the sheaths made me initially think “bluebird!” before I realized it didn’t see quite right, and noticed the brown fuzz of the emerging feathers. He’s still naked enough that you can see the big hole that is his ear, behind and about the same size as his eye. Once all the feathers are grown out these holes will be protected by a handful of special feathers with a low density of barbs that allow more sound to pass through.
Four of the nine boxes contained House Wren families. I knew about two of them, the two boxes nearest the house, as I’d heard the two males countersinging from time to time, but I didn’t realize that we actually had four pairs in the area. Most surprising was that the distance between the two farthest apart was only about 330m (1090 ft); four pairs crammed into less than four acres, food must be abundant here. All four boxes had baby wrens, some younger than others.
There were two boxes with Tree Swallows nesting in them. The nestlings in the first box were younger than those in the second, and the adults were using a box that had been used by House Wrens last year. Even at this young age you can really see the difference in shape between the different species. The Tree Swallows are noticeably longer, with stubbier beaks, than the House Wrens.
The young swallows in the second box were much nearer to fledging, perhaps only a few days away. This one sat alertly but quietly while I took its photo, but this was probably the last day on which it would; any older and it would likely try to make a break for it.
These guys were in last year’s chickadee box. We found a box that had housed chickadees this year, too, though I didn’t get any photos as the young seemed to have already fledged (perhaps they’re the ones I’ve been hearing begging for food in the trees around the house just recently). This year’s chickadees were in a box used by wrens last year. It’s interesting to note how the species all seem to move around, like they’re playing musical nestboxes. I would have thought that the “microhabitat” around each of the boxes would have more of an influence on who chose what box.
We had a sense of which areas the bluebirds might be in, but the first one took us a bit by surprise, as I’d actually thought this box was being used by Tree Swallows, and the one around the corner, which it turns out is being used by swallows, was the one I thought the bluebirds were in. As the chicks get larger it starts to be quite a tight fit in the little nest, and when you look in often all you see is a big mound of feathery bodies. It makes it hard to count how many individuals there are, especially once they’re past the stage of lifting their head to beg for food at any sign of movement. It looks to me like there might be five bluebirds in this box, but we didn’t lift them all out to check.
The bluebirds are easy to identify because of the blue feathers, and the speckling on the back and shoulders that are characteristic of the thrush family (robins and the spot-breasted thrushes also show these speckles). The male chicks have got these lovely blue tail and wing feathers. Feathers of female chicks will be more grayish, perhaps with just a tinge of blue. I only removed the one chick, above, which happened to be a male, and I’m not sure what the ratio of males to females in the nest was, though I can see at least two males in the nest photo above.
The very last nestbox, at the very back of the property, was the second bluebird. While every other nest we’d check had nestlings (except the chickadee, which was empty), this last nest still contained eggs, the smooth blue-green that’s typical of thrushes (including robins). Tree Swallows have white eggs, and House Wrens speckly brown ones. The grassy lining here is typical of our bluebirds, too.
It’s great to see all the nestboxes being used, and all of the broods doing so well. On our next sunny day I’ll make a trip around to the 100-acre woods and see what’s happening over there, too.
