Just One Mirid Bug?

I noticed this adult mirid bug today, just hanging out in the rose-filtered sunlight. It's weird when you notice just one of something. Ok, obviously I can't be in all places at all times; and even when I am out observing bugs, I can't see everything. But it's weird when you notice just one of something. Wholesale procreation is one thing insects are known for; you've heard the one about the world being overrun with housefly maggots if the offspring of just one pair were to all survive? So, as I just said, it's weird when you see just the one of any sort of bug.

This one bug looks very similar to this mirid bug nymph I saw two months ago, so I'm going out on a limb to suppose they are the same species if not indeed the same individual. Two months seems like a longish development time, but we did have a really cool spring. More heat would have made the buggies grow faster.


















Anyway, while digging through the photo archives, I remembered this fuzzy shot of a tiny (just hatched) hemipteran taken way back in late February this year. It bears a strong family resemblance to the other two bugs, don't you think?

All three of these guys were found hanging out on flowers. I like looking at flowers, and have lots of flowers to look at. It's weird that I've only seen the one, or is it three, of this particular bug. So far.

Note: The term mirid bug refers to a large family of true bugs, maybe 10K species rich. So this is a very generalized identification, and that is thanks due to Eric Eaton, one of the bug-meisters at bugguide.

My Stink Bug Revisited

It turns out the first stink bug of the year, My Stink Bug, is not doing so well. Seems to have damaged wings, and is unable or unwilling to fly. Also the tarsus of its 2nd right leg was missing. It allowed me to handle it while snapping some photos, then fell off my hand back into the safety and obscurity of the tansy.

Syrphids

Where there are aphids, there will be syrphid flies if you let nature take its course. If you spray non-targeted insecticides at the first sign of an aphid, you will likely kill whatever syrphids are around and will miss seeing a really neat thing.







This fly located a rich field of aphids on these budding gaura lindheimeri flower stalks. I mean, these plants were literally dripping with aphids which were dropping off wholesale in response to my messing with their flower stalk. I always wonder how long it takes 'em to climb back to the top where they like to feed. Anyway, it's the smell of a happy, productive aphid colony that guides the female syrphid fly to good aphidy spots to lay her eggs.



















The eggs hatch in a few days to what I guess technically is a maggot, seeing as it is a fly larva. These maggots are kind of pretty and live to devour aphids. Four days after this larva was photographed amid a robust aphid colony, virtually all healthy aphids were removed from that stalk. It's likely that some of the aphids dropped or walked off in response to the syrphid larva's predation on their siblings; the maggot did not eat all those aphids. But this disruption in the aphid's colonization is sure to weaken the individual aphids making them more susceptible to further predation and parasitism. In the meanwhile, the plant is rid of them. Support your local syrphids and take back the stalks!


Syrphid flies mimic the appearance of bees as a protective strategy. They differ from bees in many ways, not the most mundane of which is their ability to hover in place. On a good day, with the sun pouring down like aphid-scented honey, you'll see lots of them stationed around your flowers like geosynchronous satellites, occasionally darting off on a fly mission, or settling to feed, or maybe rest.

The Brisbane Effect

Sometimes random bits of information connect in eerie ways.

I was searching for pristhesancus plagipennis one day. One of the top search returns was "Bugs that we found in the Brisbane area". Hmmmm Ok, duly noted.

A little while later, I was playing around with Google trends and found that Brisbane is the #1 spot in the world searching for the term "insects". Wow. And, hey, a lot of other Australian cities were high on that list as well. Must be a lot of bug nerds down under. Or a lot of bugs. Or both. (btw I was drinking wine made from grapes grown near Adelaide while I was checking trends.)

This morning I noticed this ad in National Geographic in which Australia touts its citizen scientists, which would no doubt include some of those bug nuts, as a lure for American tourists. Given this ad was created by, well, advertisers . . . probably these scientists aren't all they are cracked up to be. But still, I like the tone of the ad; that it's not only possible but valuable and rewarding to seek knowledge about the world around us.

An interesting comparison might be made to this ad, while wondering what American educators can do to get students interested in science. Wine is optional.

Veracity II

Creatures exist. Oh look . . . there's a crane fly! A noble urge drives me to identify that fly absolutely. Which is a potentially daunting task as I understand there are some 14K named crane fly species in the world. But this is not the wide world, this is my backyard in Orange County, CA. That backyard presents a specific set of environmental conditions that produces specific, well, species of insects. My search pool is narrowed by that, giving hope to my noble urge to identify in black and white terms like those neat labels on plants: "Achillea hybrida 'Moonshine', a very nice grey-leafed yellow flowered yarrow I planted a week or so ago, that I can know not just from my experience, or Sunset, but from the producer of this plant who has been kind enough to label it for me and Home Depot. If only the makers of the insects inhabiting my space were considerate enough to put tiny black and white bar codes on them, so I could scan them into the internet and their names, scientific as well as common and colorful, along with their life histories would pop up atop the Google list and I would be Informed.

*Sigh* Sadly I do not know the species of this crane fly. I was just kidding when I boldly labeled this photo Holorusia hespera; I do not know its species (yet). And by the way, the photo itself was enhanced in Photoshop Elements, that fern is no fern (it's achillea 'Moonshine'), and the day I say the photo was taken is also inaccurate.

But hey, who's counting? Dubiously or even downright incorrectly labeled insect photos are common enough. And that's OK, because there may just be enough bug geeks out there to seek out, argue over and destroy inaccuracies as they occur. But I wonder about this: I recently did a search on a species of bug; the #1 and #3 search returns are a lovely photo of something like that species, but not it. Who would blame someone for going with the prettiest picture without asking messy questions raised by checking the other search results? And so misinformation can propagate faster than mosquito hawks with the bird flu, while a species can usually only breed with and produce its own kind.

There is a bar code after all. This crane fly has one, those aphids over there have 'em too. Every critter I see has one. Unfortunately I am unable to scan their DNA and magically know their life histories and the names we have given them. But I do know this: Species do not just randomly appear in my world, like sweet little drawings in an advertising layout. They are here because they live here, they arose here, or they are passing through here because of something real that happened to make them be here in this instant. They are here in full genetic color, even if I am too stupid or uninformed to know their names.

# # # #

As to the indentification of the crane fly. The fly was found on that yarrow I bought from Home Depot in Anaheim. The plant was produced by El Modeno Gardens according to its tag. It's plausible the pupating crane fly shipped in the soil with the plant, emerging in my backyard after the yarrow was planted. If that were the case, the number of possible species would expand a bit. El Modeno has growing grounds in Irvine, Hollister, Watsonville, Valley Center, Lake Matthews (Perris) and Imperial County, and in Tyler, Texas. I am almost obsessive enough to call the nursery and find out which location they ship Achillea 'Moonshine' from. Almost. I know this specimen is not the most common crane fly I see around here, which are reddish brown, a bit smaller, with no wing markings, probably Tipula planicornis, also known as common crane fly!

I haven't seen the fly again since May 15 when I took its picture. I hate to generalize, but it could very well be dead, since most adult crane flies don't live very long at all.

First Stink Bug of the Year Award

The first stink bug of the year award goes to this handsome specimen checking out the tansy leaves.

I might say this is Chlorochroa uhleri (Uhler's stink bug) but one might argue it's Say's. They are two closely related species that hang out around here, and have been "historically confused". I'll just say it's My Stink Bug; and what business do Uhler and Say have poking around in my garden?

Anyway, it's the first active one I've seen this spring, likely overwintered hidden under some drab foliage. Like the growing and ever hungry lynx spiders, I'll be eagerly looking out for the stink bug nymphs that should be showing up soon.

Sense of Feeling

Katydid nymphs are appealing little creatures that are actively curious about their surroundiings. This very young katydid nymph kept tabs on a nearby beetle, following its every move with its long expressive antennae. The beetle, on the other hand, acted unaware it was being watched by us and crawled over a repetitive pattern over the flower petals.

Or not. The katydid is appealingly cute, bouncy and colorful while the beetle is dark and stodgy, moving in a plodding predictable way and most of all lacks those long, wavy antennae. So it's tempting to characterize the katydid as curious, maybe even smart; and the beetle as mechanical, a bit stupid, acting on instinct alone.

Yes the katydid follows movement with its antennae, moving them around in incredibly graceful ways but not taking any action. If I get too close, it suddenly hops away in a great and seemingly uncontrolled (or is that giddy? carefree?) leap. All the while I watch the beetle, it is roaming over the flower petal, seeking . . . food? When I get close to it, it burrows down into the inaccessible folds of the flower center. Both are guided by instinct, and empowered by their anatomical features to sense and make the most of their environment.

On a walk, a human up-looker will notice a bird in flight and can judge the direction ahead but trip on a tree root. A down-looker will see mushrooms and fiddlenecks and tree roots but miss ripe berries at eye level, or the trail marker sign.

Fly Paper Salvia

I noticed these flies hanging on a stem of Salvia discolor, and thought, Whoa why are they doing that? On closer inspection it was apparent the flies had no choice in the matter: they were stuck on the sticky exudate covering the stem.

Most of the plant stems are covered in white fuzz or are hardened; the sticky parts are the flower stalk, from the last leaf axil out. May be a defense against aphids, and these flies (they kind of look like march flies or some other sort of gnat) got caught in the cross fire.

Two Small Wasps

How can you even see those tiny bugs, my favorite skeptic asked the other day as I bent to examine some smallish bug or other we passed on the way out the door. What he doesn't know won't hurt him: I am a mutant with macro vision specially enhanced to key in on insect-like movements. Nothing with six legs and chitin eludes my X-Woman vision!

This unidentified small wasp posed attractively in front of the coreopsis flowers.

Here is a gaura stem loaded with aphids. There is a tiny wasp near the center of the photo. This is a parasite that lays its eggs on the aphids. It spent a bit of time, longer than I watched, going from aphid to aphid, leaving its little time bombs on the rear end of the aphids' abdomens. You can just see a few yellowish eggs near the wasp.

If only my camera could keep up with my eyes.

The First Feeble Thrust of the Treehopper Army

This adult treehopper, Antianthe expansa, had the nerve to trespass on my precious Marianna's Peace tomato, said to be the world's most expensive and best tasting beefstake tomato (!!). Remember, these guys overwintered on the cestrum newelii, and I wondered how long it might take for them to discover the nearby juicy tomato vines planted in March. Not long (2 months). There was just this one, and I flicked her to kingdom come.

Gentlebugs, Start Your Engines

The sun has been shining at least half the day for the past week, so the bugs are getting active. They are everywhere, making up for lost time. These two are no gentlebugs, but notorious agricultural pests. These are thrips larvae newly emerged, feeding on this mallow flower. There were also some adult thrips in this flower, presumably laying more eggs.

This is a cabbage looper, one of the most despised agricultural pests in California. This one is innocently eating my pelargoniums: no harm, no foul, but these guys can really make a mess of these plants. The adult form will be a drab brownish moth. You can ID loopers by their 3 sets of prolegs on the abdominal segments. The so-called inchworms have only 2 sets, while other caterpillars have 5.

Once the pest species start increasing in numbers, you can count on the predacious and parasitic species (wasps, spiders, beetles, bugs, mites, flies, etc etc) to start showing up in larger numbers. So far I've seen parasitic wasps, predator wasps, a few ladybird beetles, syrphid flies, long-legged flies and predatory mites in small numbers, just getting their engines started.

Veracity

This is a photo I took today of a giant crane fly, Holorusia hespera, perched on a fern.

Or, not.

Butterfly-less Fest plus One

Last weekend the annual butterfly fest was held at nearby Riley Wilderness Park, a 475 acre chunk of former cattle ranch that is now surrounded by suburban housing development. Still, it was nice to take a short hike through the waist-high grasses; and the park's butterfly garden was doing its best to attract. The persistent overcast we've been having persisted that day and not one butterfly was seen . . . except this future butterfly.


There were some insect fair folk there wowing the kiddies and me with their wares. I suppose the local species are never as spectacular as giant walking sticks from Thailand or beetles that sound like jet airplanes when they unfurl their wings.


Still, we saw a stink beetle (Eleodes species) in his dugout









a bumblebee (probably Bombus californicus) foraging among the salvia,




















an unidentified snail (not brown garden snail) decorating the state flower
















and aphids.

Worst Butterfly Spring in 35 Years

According to a professor at UC Davis, the odd weather patterns we've had this winter and spring have resulted in the lowest butterfly counts in 35 years in California. So savor this one; and this one.

Day 2 Desert Bugs

The next day of our desert outing we stopped along S-2 at a turnout overlooking the badlands ORV area.
Some ants were gathering purple flowers.

Having left Salton Sea behind in a cloud of dust, haze (or is that smog?), we arrived at Joshua Tree National Park about mid-day. It's surprising how close the two parks are to each other. It was a really nice sunny day at JTree. The shrubs at Sheep Pass campground were festooned with the silk nests of malacosoma californicum, the western tent caterpillar. The 'pillars were gone, but they left behind their distinctive droppings nearly filling the tents. Which is a bit of unsavory imagery in a campground setting.














Near the campground restroom I noticed the dropping of another sort of bug, photographa analogum var litteri. All things considered, though, it was a great weekend in the nearby California deserts.

carpenter he bee

The elusive yet impossible to miss male carpenter bee, xylocopa varipunctata, made a brief appearance in the garden the other day. He did not stop on the flowers, he did not light on the shrub, he did not pause to hover. He made quick darting starts towards the camera, then suddenly flew off towards 2:00 (once) and 10:00 (the next time). He can't sting, so of course I was not harmed or even phased but rather psychologically bruised; he does not like humans with cameras, he does not like them with nets, he doesn't like humans near his nest: He does not like them, Sam I Am.

This male bee spent no time while I was watching feeding at flowers. By contrast the females spend most of their time when not at the nest feeding.

in a desert not so very far from here

It's been so gloomy here in Tustin we went to the local deserts last weekend to find some sun. Of course there were bugs there. I'm not sure what this first beetle is.












The second one is a ground beetle although I do not know the species; it looks a lot like pristonychus complanatus.


Both of these guys were scuttling around a sandy bank of Coyote Creek in Anza Borrego State Park as the sun was starting to set. This pretty spot is called first crossing, where the jeep trail first crosses the creek. Makes sense, I like that.


Here is V.C., international photographer of mystery, casting a shadow in the warm desert sunset. Then off to Ocotillo Red's for wine and a toasted cheese sandwich.

May Day May Day

For lack of anything better to do today, I took a survey of bugs parading around my yard in the afternoon sun. Most of them seemed nice enough, and a few carried tiny little signs saying things like, "I pollinate your flowers, parasitize your pests, decompose your spent blossoms, and now you want me to clear out of your garden just as the weather is starting to get nice?" Well, some of these aren't actually so helpful around the garden, but each of them has a job in the big ecological scheme of things so I'll let them stick around. Darned magnanamous of me I'd say.

This first one is a plume moth, family Pterophoridae. There are 150 some odd described species of this family in north america, so it would be feeble for me to say I know the species. Could very well be Amblyptilia pica, geranium plume moth, or closely related to that. The larvae cause the tunneling you see in geranium leaves; and also feed on other plants like snapdragons and of all things, Indian paintbrush.

Here's a vinegar fly, Drosophila melanogaster. This is the so-called fruit fly of laboratory experiments involving genetics. These flies have an uncanny nose for rotting fruit and seem to appear from nowhere the minute your peach begins to turn. This one, I dunno, maybe has an eye on a squishy solanum fruit left over from last summer.


















This is a nicely marked corner spider, Hololena curta. I love it when a descriptive phrase in a guide book (Hogue)--"each web is equipped with a funnel-like retreat running into a nearby crevice"--fits reality so neatly.