Eeyore

Some plants attract woes like compost draws in green peach beetle grubs. This poor little pelargonium seems to be growing nicely until one day a few aphids showed up. In about a week the entire plant is covered in aphids, their shed exoskeletons, and honeydew.






Then a caterpillar materializes and chews up the leaves that don't have any aphids on them.













Then sooty mold starts growing on the leaves covered with honeydew.










Just for good measure a katydid nymph (haven't seen any of them on any other plants lately) emerges, to disfigure the flowers. It's been observed that plant eating insects detect chemical markers given off by plants under stress, in an evolutionary development not unlike the way bullies instinctively single out the kid least likely to fight back. So if one's pelargonium has called its own troubles down on it due to stress, one must wonder (and worry about) what one has done to cause stress on one's pelargonium; and, how can one alleviate said stress. Or at least how can one teach one's pelargonium to box.

Lacewing fairy forest

There are lots of green lacewing (genus chrysoperla) adults around now flying in their tenuous fluttery way that makes you wonder if the attribute of flight is a good thing in their case. The larvae of these airy creatures (and the adults of some species) are major predators of the aphid populations which are just getting ready to explode. Go Lacewings! Here is one adult perched delicately among what looks like a fairy forest of jumbled fir trees. Those are the branches of euryops virgineus, a woody perennial with lots of small yellow flowers coming out right about now.

Distances

In a typical day I travel within a 2 mile radius circle. This space encompasses my needs to find food, oversee my offspring, conduct business, rest, obtain mental stimuli such as books, movies, music, and sometimes conversation; oh, and find a mate. Internet, water, power, and the daily newspaper are delivered to my nest; air, of course, is still freely available everywhere as is sunshine; and there's a big stack of firewood in the yard in case I get really cold. Sewage is flushed away and the trash men cometh every Thursday unless Monday was one of the holidays trash men observeth; then Friday. Boredom, I would say, is the most likely impetus for me to travel beyond this sphere of comfort, spawning the desire to go further out: to the CineArts theatre, on a visit to distant biologic relations, or to completely new environs to measure their life sustaining attributes against those of my present home. Sure I'm willing to create a new home circle in a new locale. Will it be as small as my current one, its size dictated by genetic or socio-psycho factors beyond my control?

In green lynx spider terms, scaling down to their size, these two miles translate to about 170 feet for an adult lynx, and just about 20 feet for a spiderling. How far do lynx spiders travel in the course of their lives? This female spider laid her egg sac on October 9 2005 and has been perched on top of this shrub ever since. I had thought these spiders lived only one year, and so am curious to see what becomes of this old female in the coming spring and summer. If she mates again, it's easy to imagine her mate potential mates being her own offspring if the spiderlings don't travel too far. Is this inbreeding OK for lynx spider survival, or is it important to mix up the genetic stew?

This spiderling is likely one of the hundreds that hatched this past autumn within 10 or 15 feet of where this photo was taken. So far, he fits within my model sphere of comfort. Will he venture farther when he becomes sexually mature? One's intuition says "Yes". The female on the prosanthera shrub is about 100 feet from this fella and not likely to be his mother. When he matures will he travel 100 feet (about the same as me walking a mile or so . . . not really very far) in search of a genetically less similar mate? Or is it just not that important to mix one's genes when one is a green lynx spider?

I don't know where the adult female was born; I am only guessing at where the spiderling was hatched. It would be great fun to mark next year's hatchlings to identify their nest sites, and see where they end up after they have grown. Yes such fun would likely keep me from becoming bored enough to leave the cozy sphere at least for a while.

2 unidentified BUGZ

As advertised, here are two recently photographed unidentified (by me so far) bugs. By bugs I do mean true bugs, that is hemiptera.


This one is sitting on a rose leaf that has been chewed by some other insect, probably a grasshopper. Hemipterans do not chew leaves if they are herbivorous but rather suck the juices out of them. Their sucking mouthparts are one of the identifying features of this insect order and can also be used to extract the juices of prey.


This guy is perched on a salvia leaf. I was intrigued with his grainy texture or coloration and the knobbed antenna. He hopped or flew off before I got a really good look.

Both of these bugs were fairly small, about 3/16th inch or so. Also I did not see others of their kinds, just the one of each. Tiny. Solitary. Nameless. But no longer wholly unknown as you have seen them here on AIBYY, the Cheers bar of companionless bugs. Where even if we don't know yer name we still love ya.

Forms of flight in a tiny universe

I was recently moaning about the lack of syrphid flies buzzing around. It takes a lot of energy to fly when you're an insect so it follows in midwinter these flies either aren't around (they're over-wintering as pupae) or they don't have the energy to move their flight muscles. It's been warmer this week, though, and I saw this one pretty syrphid.



The ability to fly gives insects command of the sky and a great ability to disperse, exploit resources, and flee from their enemies. Only adult insects have wings: that and sexual maturity being the rewards of surviving immaturity. Survival involves eating enough and at times fleeing to keep from being eaten. But fleeing, when you are a fattening caterpillar focused on food, is a paradox.


A tactic used by looper caterpillars is spinning down, aka bungee jumping. This looper dangling off the strawflower escaped my notice until I was reviewing the syrphid fly photos. I guess her predator was fooled too. For all I know, I was the perceived predator blundering around with my fool camera pointed at that pesky flying thing.









Here's an article well worth reading about the mechanics of the looper caterpillar climbing back up the silk bungee cord after the danger of being eaten has passed.

Hey Vanessa

It's bright and sunny here in the middle of January with high temps up to the mid 80s (last week) but settling around 70 for now. Apparently it's butterfly weather with multiple sightings of the ridiculously common but always welcome Vanessa cardui, seen here feeding on lantana nectar.








There have also been several Mourning cloak butterflies, Nymphalis antiopa, flying through. Some of them paused on the trunk of our Ulmus parvifolia tree, which seems to be a nice place to sun. This Chinese elm is a street tree that has been trimmed by the city over the years into twisted shapes that remind us of truffula trees; it also serves as a handy abrasive surface for the phone line to rub itself raw on during storms; and it dumps bucketloads of leaves and seeds all over the garden this time of year. But the mourning cloak considers this annoying tree a prime larval food source. Our Chinese elm is almost fully evergreen so it is leafed out at this difficult time of year for herbivores. Hopefully some egg-laying is taking place up in its deformed branches so we'll have more of these black and yellow butterflies flying later in spring to soften our opinion of the %#^&*#@ elm tree. Sorry no photo of the nymphalis . . . I was too slow or they were too wary.