Readers’ wildlife photos

March 4, 2024 • 8:15 am

Contributor and reader Athayde Tonhasca Júnior has a batch of themed photos and an informative narrative. The topic: coffee, otherwise known as java, joe, or mud. Athayde’s words are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

But first, coffee

Charles II (1630-1685), king of England, Scotland and Ireland, had a reputation for benevolence and learning – the Royal Society came to be thanks to his auspices. But the good king wasn’t happy at all about the gossiping happening in coffeehouses. Londoners from all walks of life would get together in one of the city’s dozens of coffee establishments to socialise, enjoy their pipes, comment on the news and, alarmingly, discuss theology, social mores, politics and republicanism. The king, anxious about potentially seditious blabber, issued a proclamation in 1672 aiming to ‘Restrain the Spreading of False news, and Licentious Talking of Matters of State and, Government’ because some folk  ‘assumed to themselves a liberty, not only in Coffee-houses, but in other Places and Meetings, both publick and private, to censure and defame the proceedings of State, by speaking evil of things they understand not, and endeavouring to create and nourish an universal Jealousie and Dissatisfaction in the minds of all his Majesties good subjects.’

Nobody paid much attention to the king’s gripe, so two years later he came down hard on the miscreants with another proclamation: merchants were forbidden to sell ‘any Coffee, Chocolet, Sherbett or Tea, as they will answer the contrary at their utmost perils.’ But Charles had underestimated how much his subjects cherished their coffee: the proclamation triggered a huge outcry, and there were signs of public disobedience. Perhaps thinking of his father, who lost his head (literally) for being inflexible, the king quickly backpedalled. The proclamation was abolished within two weeks, and Londoners could go back to their chatting, reading, and sipping strong, bitter coffee.

Charles II, who was concerned about Fake News. Portrait by John Riley, The Weiss Gallery, Wikimedia.

Coffee made its way to Europe from Turkey in the mid-1600s, and the new drink quickly became popular and fashionable. The first British coffeehouse was opened in Oxford in 1652, and soon others popped up all over the realm. No alcohol was served, so sober and caffeine-boosted patrons could exchange and debate ideas or do business: Lloyd’s of London and The London Stock Exchange trace their origins to coffeehouses. In Oxford, they became known as penny universities: for one penny, the cost of a cup of coffee (the admission fee), any man – women’s presence was not encouraged – could rub shoulders with learned patrons and find out the latest on science, literature and philosophy. John Dryden, Isaac Newton, Samuel Pepys, Alexander Pope and Christopher Wren were some of the famous coffeehouse fans.

A 17th century London coffeehouse. Image in the public domain, Wikipedia.

Eventually, as the British empire expanded through the East India Company‘s endeavours from 1720 onwards, tea became the country’s most popular hot beverage. Coffee began to make its way back to the top position in the late 1990s and early 2000s, helped in part by the arrival of mass-market coffee chains. Britain is not alone: coffee has become one the most popular drinks around the world, and consumption is increasing.

The expanding coffee market is good news to millions of small farmers and land holders in about 80 countries, who supply the bulk of the internationally traded coffee. Brazil accounts for ~40% of the global trade, followed by Vietnam, Colombia, Indonesia and Ethiopia. Coffee is the most valuable crop in the tropics and a significant contributor to the economies of developing countries in the Americas, Africa and Asia. Arabica coffee (Coffea arabica) makes up 75-80% of the world’s production, and the remainder comes mostly from Robusta coffee (C. canephora), which is easier to cultivate than Arabica but produces an inferior beverage.

The Brazilian Empire (1822-1889) showed its gratitude to the two addictive drugs that sustained the county’s economy by displaying them on its flag: coffee (on the left) and tobacco © Almanaque Lusofonista, Wikimedia Commons.

Arabica coffee has long been understood to be an autogamous plant, that is, it fertilises itself. This reproductive mechanism has the obvious advantage of doing away with pollinating agents such as insects. On the other hand, self-fertilising plants lose out on genetic diversity, so that they are more susceptible to unpleasant surprises such as novel pathogens. And autogamy does not guarantee fertilisation for species as finicky as C. arabica. Plants bloom a few times during the season, but flowers come out all at once and don’t stick around: they wither and drop off in 2-3 days. And if it’s too hot, too cold, too dry or too wet, flowers don’t even open. A coffee plant produces 10,000 to 50,000 flowers every time it blooms, but almost 90% of them fall without being fertilised. So, Arabica coffee bushes could use a little help with their pollination.

Coffee plants in bloom ©FCRebelo, Wikimedia Commons.

It turns out that the autogamous label is not quite correct for Arabica coffee. A growing body of observations and research have shown that fruit size and overall yield increase when flowers are visited by insects, especially bees. The proportion of well-formed, uniform berries also increases, resulting in a better-quality beverage. These results demonstrate that Arabica coffee relies on a mixed mating system: some flowers are self-fertilised, others are cross-fertilised by insects. And the data support this view. On average, insect pollination increases fruit set by about 18%. The naturalised European honey bee (Apis mellifera) is one of the most important contributors to this service, but several other native bees visit coffee flowers, attracted to their abundant nectar and pollen.

The stingless bee Partamona testacea is one of the many coffee pollinators in Central and South America © John Ascher, Discover Life:

There could be more to the pollination of Arabia coffee than the abundance of bees. Some studies suggest that having lots of bee species around also helps, possibly because a range of pollinators provide greater temporal and spatial flower coverage, thus reducing the chances of a receptive flower going without pollen transfer. If it’s proven to be the case that bee diversity makes a difference (the jury’s still out), the conservation of forest remnants that typically border coffee fields would be a judicious crop management practice, as they are home for many native bees.

Shaded coffee plantation, a habitat favourable to native bees © John Blake, Wikimedia Commons.

When you are in the queue for your over-priced double espresso, long macchiato or cortado, you may have a negative thought about greedy coffee barons. In fact, for a £2.30 cup of coffee, the retailer keeps £1.70; five pence (~2%) goes to the grower. Fairtrade estimates that 125 million people depend on coffee for their livelihoods, but many of these small growers can barely scrape a living (World Economic Forum). Boosting productivity is one sure way of increasing farmers’ income, and here bees have much to contribute. Higher productivity also reduces the pressure on natural habitats, as  coffee is often planted in areas previously occupied by native forests.

Typical coffee plantation in low or mid-elevation areas adjacent to native forest remnants © CoffeeHero, Wikimedia Commons.

The Arabica coffee story exemplifies the reach of pollination services. The income of small farmers, revenues of developing countries, the conservation of tropical forests and related matters such as carbon storage and global temperatures, let alone your morning caffeine kick, are all linked in different degrees of relevance to the diligence of bees, some of them poorly known. Keep that in mind while you enjoy your next cup of coffee.

Ad for A Brasileira, Lisbon’s oldest coffee house. Selling Brazilian coffee since 1905. Image in the public domain, Wikipedia.

Readers’ wildlife photos

March 2, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today we have two smallish sets of photos. Click photos to enlarge, and the photographers’ captions are indented. And remember to send your wildlife photos, as the tank is dangerously low.

First, a few photos of Colorado from Douglas Swartzenruber.

This is just a collection of pics from being out and about in Colorado.  I did not think that any captions were necessary – some folks may recognize a locale or two, but it’s not really important.

A deer and a beer:

Given the last two pictures, I’ll have to relate a joke (slightly NSFW):

Q: Why are beer nuts like deer nuts?
A:  They’re both under a buck.

The last time I told this to someone, they pointed out that beer nuts are probably more than a dollar now. And indeed they are!  There goes the joke. . . .

Here are a couple of photos by Muffy Mead demonstrating the macro capabilities of phone cameras:

You were asking this morning for more wildlife photos and I can’t say mine are all that great, but I thought your readers might be interested in the fact that you can now buy a macro lens for your phone camera very inexpensively, and it’s a lot of fun to take closeup pictures of insects and other stuff! So attached are a few photos I took (dragonfly, butterfly, dragonfly wing, wasp nest) including one of the lens I have, but there are several others to choose from on Amazon.

Click to go to the Amazon site (the price has gone up):

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 27, 2024 • 8:15 am

Please send in your wildlife photos if you got ’em. Save Robert Lang’s Antarctic photos, I have little backup, and that would be disastrous. Thanks!

Today regular Mark Sturtevant gives us a passel of insect photos. His captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

This post starts the pictures taken last season, but I am terribly behind in my post-processing so these were only recently made ready to share. It was another great year, and praise to the gods of light that my energy for going out as often as possible shows no sign of abating.

The pictures were taken either in or around my house, or from parks in eastern Michigan. I use an extremely worn out Canon t5i body (a consumer-grade crop sensor camera. Nothing fancy). Lenses include the Canon 100mm f/2.8L macro lens + a Raynox 250 diopter lens for extra power, and at times I use the Venus/Laowa 2.5-5x super macro lens, which is fully manual. My external flash is the Kuangren dual head flash with home-made diffusers. Readers can see all that on my odds-and-ends Flickr page if they like.

From an outing to an area park, here is an unknown caterpillar on Ash. I don’t yet have an ID:

Here is a small Dung Beetle with an interesting color. I suspect the genus Onthophagus:

A Soldier Beetle Podabrus flavicollis:

Next up are Scorpionflies (Panorpa sp), weird insects commonly seen on low foliage in forests. They are generally scavengers on dead insects. The scorpion-like tail is only seen in males, and it is simply their enormous genitalia. I stuck with this one for a long time, and he became quite used to me so I could get closer and closer:

As shown in the next picture, female Scorpionflies lack the impressive tail equipment:

A Cobweb Spider (Steatoda sp.) is shown in the next picture. This could be one of about two species in my area, but they are tricky to tell apart. I had inquired about its ID in a spider-centric Facebook group, and the resident experts weren’t sure of the ID either:

This set closes with an adorable Dimorphic Jumping Spider (Maevia inclemens). There were lots of these around the house last summer. This cute little male was fun to photograph in a staged session on the dining room table, and these are two closely cropped pictures of the little guy. Their common name reflects the fact that males come in two color forms. Some males are like this one, while others are pale all over but with orange markings. Those males therefore look more like females. I always have a soft heart for Dimorphic Jumper males since they are always moving around, bobbing their cute little pedipalps, and hoping with all their hearts that a female will signal back:

Thank you for looking!

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 24, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today Athayde Tonhasca Júnior has returned with a short but informative picture + text feature. His narrative is indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

BTW, please send in your photos so we don’t run out! Thanks.

Come in – if you insist

Philip Miller (1691-1771), author of the renowned The Gardeners Dictionary and Fellow of the Royal Society, was a keen experimenter in plant propagation. In a 1715 letter to a friend, Miller described his observations of bees visiting tulip flowers, “which persuades him that the Farina may be carried from Place to Place by Insects” – Farina is the Farina Fecundens (fertilizing flour), or pollen, which fellow naturalists suspected played an important part in plant reproduction. Meanwhile in America, Arthur Dobbs (1689-1765), Governor of North Carolina, promoter of expeditions in search of the Northwest Passage and amateur scientist, came to a similar conclusion: “I think that Providence has appointed the Bee to be very instrumental in promoting the Increase of Vegetables”.

His excellency Arthur Dobbs esq., captain general, governor in chief and vice admiral of the Province of North Carolina, circa 1753 © The New York Public Library Digital Collections.

Philip Miller and Arthur Dobbs were two of the pioneer naturalists who recognised and assessed the role of insects in plant reproduction. We’ve learned a great deal since then, so that today plant-pollinator associations are considered some of the best examples of mutualisms, that is, relationships between two species that benefit both. ‘Mutualism’ invokes noble concepts such as cooperation, teamwork, union, and common good; so, analogies with human behaviour were just too tempting. The anarchist Peter Kropotkin (1842-1921) cited examples of mutualism in the natural world as arguments against ruthless competition in human societies, while ecologist Warder Clyde Allee (1885-1955) and colleagues, in their influential Principles of Animal Ecology, made numerous references to human cooperation in discussions about mutualism (Boucher et al., 1982).

Strengthening cooperation, the Soviet way © Nikolai N. Pomansky (1887−1935), Wikimedia commons.

These comparisons with human values risk distorting the true character of mutualism in the natural world, as is the case with pollination. There’s little collaboration here: plants give away as little pollen and nectar as possible because these products are metabolically expensive; sometimes they cheat, giving no reward at all to flower visitors. Pollinators on the other hand would take as much resource as possible, with no altruistic regard for plants’ needs. Instead of cooperation, this type of relationship is best described as mutual exploitation (Westerkamp, 1996). Or, as Danforth et al. (2019) put it, ‘pollinators are like an overly demanding lover – they are great to have around at times, but if left without boundaries, they can take over your life and ruin it.’

Plants are in a delicate position: they need to attract insects to transfer their pollen but must be parsimonious in their rewards, otherwise these will be quickly depleted. To sort out this dilemma, many species evolved a range of adaptations to regulate access to pollen and nectar, and to discourage floral robbers (consumers that do not pollinate). Some plants exclude unsuitable visitors by restricting their pollen to specialised buzz pollinators; others rely on explosive pollen release, while some take the route of morphological tinkering such as keel flowers.

Keel flowers have five petals: a large one on top called the banner (also known as the vexillum or standard petal), two concave ones on the sides (the lateral wings or alae), and two at the base: these are stuck together to form the keel, which encloses the reproductive organs.

Parts of a keel flower: 1. Banner; 2. Wings; 3. Keel © Kembangraps, Wikimedia Commons.

Keel flowers are common in the subfamily Papilionoideae (or Faboideae) of the legume family (Fabaceae). They are also known as papilionaceous flowers, from their resemblance to butterflies – papilio in Latin. Papilionoideae comprises an estimated 14,000 species, or over 70% of all legumes. They are found in a range of habitats, and many of them are important sources of human and animal food, such as soybean (Glycine max), beans (Phaseolus spp.), clovers (Trifolium spp.) alfalfa (Medicago sativa) and peanut (Arachis hypogaea).

The ungainly shapes of keel flowers seem to have been designed to make life a bit difficult for pollinators. Not to put them off completely—that would be suicidal—but to make them work hard for their reward. To access the nectar, a visitor must grab the flower, push the keel down, while simultaneously prising apart the lateral wings, engaging their legs and mouth in elaborate contortions. These manoeuvres expose the stigma (female parts) and the anthers (male parts), which touch the visitor and ensure pollen transfer.

Brown hemp (Crotalaria juncea) pollination. a: Megachile bicolor grabbing the base of the banner with its mandibles; b, c: M. bicolor and M. lanata pushing against the lateral wings with their legs and abdomen, so that style and anthers touch the bees’ scopa (pollen gathering bristles); d: the carpenter bee Xylocopa fenestrata repeating the process © Kumar et al., 2019:

These operations require strength and technique; visitors that do not have the physical apparatus or sufficient power such as butterflies and flies are mostly excluded from keel flowers. Hummingbirds and other birds  are also barred, as they can’t open the petals with their beaks and the keels are not big enough for landing (Westerkamp, 1997). Only bees, and only the larger ones at that, can deal with the challenge. Watch bumble bees expertly working their way around lupin (Lupinus sp.) flowers below, and note the spike-like structure – the keel – poking out between the lateral wings as bees push them apart. On touching the keel, bees are dusted with pollen.

Lupines and bumble bees:

Below, a leafcutter bee (family Megachilidae) illustrates the labour required to get the nectar from a brown hemp flower, Crotalaria junceaL

Leafcutter bee and brown hemp:

Keel flowers block the less desirable visitors, saving pollen and nectar for the reliable larger bees. It’s not surprising then that so many plant species have adopted this aesthetically peculiar but highly effective flower shape.

Readers’ wildlife photos

January 31, 2024 • 8:30 am

We have another educational text + photo post from reader Athayde Tonhasca Júnior. His text is indented and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them. 

Mining their own business

With a girth (Equatorial radius) of over 6,000 km*note and a land mass of more than 148 million square kilometres (29% of the total; the remainder is water), planet Earth may seem like a home roomy enough to accommodate its many land-based creatures. But these figures are misleading, because all forms of terrestrial life are confined to a slim layer between the top of trees’ canopies and the bottom of aquifers. Every physical, chemical and biological process necessary for life happens within this wafer-thin coating. Gail Ashley labelled this living skin ‘the Critical Zone’.

Earth’s critical zone. Artwork by R. Kindlimann © Chorover et al., 2007, Wikimedia Commons:

The narrow Critical Zone has an even narrower core, which is responsible for the vital water, carbon, nutrient and decomposition cycles: the soil – which is also the growing medium for the majority of plants and countless other organisms. Soil sustains life on the planet, but is also shaped by living beings such as ants, termites, beetles, earthworms, millipedes, woodlice, mites and nematodes. They degrade organic matter and help create humus, and also shuffle soil around: the uprooting of trees displaces and turns lumps of earth, moles dig and burrow, ants and termites build earthen nests above ground. This form of ecosystem engineering is known as bioturbation, which is the subject of ichnology: from the ancient Greek íkhnos (footprint), it is the study of existing and fossilized tracks and excavations made by animals. Ichnology was an obscure and fringe scientific field until Charles Darwin had a go at it. Unsurprisingly, his endeavours had enormous repercussions.

In 1837, Darwin visited his uncle and future father-in-law, Josiah Wedgwood, who suggested that earthworms were responsible for the slow burial of chunks of marble scattered around his property (Huxley & Kettlewell, 1965. Charles Darwin and his World. Viking Press, New York). That titbit of domestic chitchat stirred Darwin’s scientific imagination, so much so that he conducted observations and experiments with earthworms on-and-off for over 40 years. His efforts culminated in his last book, published about six months before his death: The Formation of Vegetable Mould Through the Action of Worms, with Observations on their Habits. Darwin didn’t think much of it: “I have now [1881] sent to the printers the manuscript of a little book on The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Actions of Worms. This is a subject of but small importance; and I know not whether it will interest any readers, but it has interested me.” (Barlow, 1958). He was wrong: the book was a huge success, selling as many copies as On The Origin of Species (Feller et al., 2003).

From Jerry:  Here I am in 2006 at Down House, Darwin’s residence, next to a replica of the “wormstone”, whose subsidence over time was used by Darwin to measure the “slow burial of chunks of marble” due to earthworm activity:

Darwin was largely responsible for changing the perception of earthworms from garden pests to major contributors to the formation and ecology of soils. Since then, other ground-living organisms have been identified as contributors to soil morphology. Among them, ants and termites are considered particularly important simply because they are spectacularly abundant; both groups comprise a huge chunk of terrestrial animals’ biomass.

Biomass estimates for groups of animals © Eggleton, 2020:

Ants, termites and a few other ground-dwelling insects such as dung beetles transport and rearrange soil particles, affecting soil structure and the cycling of water and nutrients. So they rightfully have received a great deal of attention as ecosystem engineers. But one group is absent from the select club of bioturbation agents: bees.

Most of us are familiar with honey bees and bumble bees, and we may assume that other bees are like them – but they are not. Of the 20,000 or so known species of bee in the world, most (~80%) don’t live in colonies; they are solitary, that is, each female constructs and provisions a nest by herself. And around 60% to 80% of them are fossorial (from the Latin fossor for ‘digger’), meaning animals adapted to digging and living underground. These bees are known as mining bees or miners. Each female’s nest consists of a tunnel that may branch into cells. For some species, tunnels can be 10 mm wide and up to 0.5 m deep. The female will stock each cell with pollen and lay an egg on it; the larva will feed on the pollen until it is ready to emerge as an adult. Collectively, mining bees (mainly from the genera Andrena, Anthophora, Amegilla, Eucera, Halictus, Lasioglossum and Melitta) make up the most important group of crop pollinators (Kleijn et al., 2015), despite spending most of their lives underground.

X-ray imaging of mining bee burrows. a, b: relatively straight, unbranched and predominantly vertical burrows of the vernal colletes (Colletes cunicularius); c, d: highly branched and curved burrows of the sharp-collared furrow bee (Lasioglossum malachurum) © Tschanz et al., 2023.

Most mining bees, like those in the genus Colletes, produce a resin that becomes a transparent, waterproof film when exposed to the air. Female bees brush this glandular secretion on the walls of the brood cells to protect them against excess moisture and possibly against pathogens. This feature explains why these bees are known as plasterer bees, cellophane bees, or polyester bees. Other species line their nests with petals, leaves, pebbles or other materials. Besides protecting the brood, these home improvements help to uphold the nest structure, so that air and water keep flowing along the tunnels long after the emerging bees are gone.

Brood cells of a cellophane bee © Delaplane, 2010:

A solitary mining bee is no match for the digging capacity of termite or ant colonies, but the term ‘solitary’ is deceiving. Each bee builds her own nest, but many species nest close to each other, perhaps to take advantage of relatively scarce good spots. These nest aggregations can be massive:  the heather colletes (Colletes succinctus) can reach concentrations of 80,000 tightly packed nests along a 100-m stretch. These gatherings give the impression that bees are swarming: watch them going at full tilt.

A female heather colletes © gailhampshire, Wikimedia Commons:

Heather colletes aggregations may seem overcrowded, but they are sleepy villages when compared to those put together by Calliopsis pugionis: they can reach over 1,600 nests/m2 (Visscher & Danforth, 1993). Mining bees’ relentless burrowing and tunnelling produce one important by-product: enormous volumes of spoil.

In temperate areas, earthworms can deposit 10- 50 t/ha of castings (soil-enriched poo) on the soil surface annually, while ants and termites move 1-5 t/ha of soil, reaching 10 to 50 t/ha in some instances (Wilkinson et al., 2009). These figures do not impress the alkali bee (Nomia melanderi), a prodigious soil engineer in its native deserts and semi-arid areas of the western United States. One gigantic colony, estimated to house around nine million bees, dug out 96 t of soil to the surface in one year. Much of this earth is taken away by wind and rain, which would result in a loss of 4 cm of soil surface in 50 years (Cane, 2003) (farmers are not complaining: they get about 2,200 kg/ha of clean alfalfa seed, as opposed to 168 kg/ha without the alkali bee). In Japan, Andrena prostimias deposited 27 t/ha of soil in a temple’s garden. The volume does not seem that impressive until we learn that the excavation was completed in one week (Watanabe, 1998).

A female alkali bee by her nest and a concentration of nests © James Cane, United States Forest Service.

Bees are hardly ever considered soil organisms, but that’s a gross oversight. Thanks to their burrowing activity, mining bees are likely to contribute to nutrient cycling, water storage, soil structure and atmospheric composition: their inclusion in the roll of bioturbation agents is much justified. And you thought they only helped ecosystem functioning by being great pollinators.

A wee earth-digger machine: an ashy mining bee (Andrena cineraria) arriving home with a load of pollen © Orangeaurochs, Wikimedia Commons.

Note

*Under the assumption of Earth’s sphericity. During my halcyon years, we were asked for discussion topics in a Graduate Seminar on Evolutionary Thoughts. Two hard-core Christians proposed Evolutionary Creation (apparently they took the course as a mission to help us see the light). My theme was Implications of a Flat Earth on Natural Selection. My Christian peers accused me of flippancy for suggesting a theme based on a ridiculous theory believed by nobody. I beg your pardon, said I, and produced a rebutting proof. A discussion arose about science and pseudoscience, which regrettably resulted in the disallowment of both themes. That wouldn’t happen today, as we progressed to the age of ‘other ways of knowing’ and ‘alternative facts’.

Coincidence? About 10% of Americans don’t think so. Samuel Johnson wrote: ‘However we may labour for our own deception, truth, though unwelcome, will sometimes intrude upon the mind.’ We can only hope.

Biology, wildlife, and food in Davis

January 22, 2024 • 9:20 am

The lazy days slip away in Davis, sadly veiled in sporadic rain and gray skies. However, all is not lost. For example, here’s a visit to my friend Phil’s lab in the Entomology Department of UC Davis, on the same floor where I spent three years as a postdoc in genetics.

Phil punches out paper tags to affix to his ant specimens:

A preserved ant is glued to the tag with special glue that has to be used immediately before it dries up:

The glued ants are then temporarily stored in boxes awaiting the collecting information:

The collecting information is put on other tags using offset printing on tiny labels. Here’s an example. The pencil shows how small the tags are:

This is a specimen of the world’s smallest ant, Carebara sp. nr. atoma, collected by Phil on a recent trip to New Guinea.

We measured it under the scope, which gives readouts in millimeters. Here’s the width of the head of the specimen above:  0.275 mm. It’s so small that it’s impossible to dissect the head, but inside is a brain that codes for a huge set of complex behaviors exhibited in all ants.  This is amazing!

Body length: 0.76 mm.

To show you how small this ant is, here’s the specimen of Carebara next to a “regular size” ant also collected in New Guinea, Mesoponera sp. It’s about ten times as large as the tiny ant, which is just a speck on the paper:

These ants are so tiny you wouldn’t be able to see it: these are collected by sifting leaf litter or soil using a Winkler sack (see here).

Davis is the site of the University of California’s only veterinary school, and so they keep both large and small animals for teaching instruction. We visited the outdoor pens to see them.

Here I’m petting a friendly cow (photo by Phil Ward):

The cow stuck out its tongue at me:

They also had llamas. They spit on people when they feel threatened, so you don’t pet them.

This must be a fancy breed of goat. Look how high its eyes are placed:

There was also a tiny bearded goat. With its short legs, I wondered if it had a gene for dwarfism. (I know that at least one reader will be able to tell us about these goats in the comments.)

Davis also has a lovely duck pond near the administration building, so I was able to get my mallard fix. I do miss my ducks!

Here’s a drake with unusual markings and a lovely but very orange bill. I wonder if he’s a hybrid between a wild mallard and a domestic Pekin duck (the white ones):

Davis has an In-N-Out Burger store: part of a highly rated chain of burger stands found mainly on the West Coast, but also in a few other Western states. So of course we had to go there for dinner.

Our dinner: I had a Double Double, animal style, with fries and a Diet Coke. That was a big burger!

In-N-Out was one of the late Anthony Bourdain’s favorite restaurants. Here he extols it and then eats a Double Double, also Animal Style. (Readers can explain that in the comments.)

And recycling bins in Davis with a bit of humor:

Readers’ wildlife photos

January 11, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today we have an assortment of photos (plants, one insect, and one reptile) from Rik Gern of Austin, Texas. Rik’s notes are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

This is an odds and ends collection of photos that I would not have submitted were it not for the fact that your supply of reader’s photos is running so low. I’d call this batch “Reader’s Mildlife Photos” since they represent species easily observable on a walk around my Austin, TX neighborhood and nearby.

The first two pictures come from my back yard. The Texas Spiny Lizard (Sceloporis olivaceus) made an appearance while I was turning the compost pile and adding the semi weekly supply of kitchen scraps. Although hard to spot at first, it was easy to photograph since it stood incredibly still for a very long time.

The Green Pointsettia (Euphorbia dentata) started out as a weed, but looked too attractive to mow, so I waited to see how it would turn out. It was worth the wait to have a few patches of these handsome plants grace the back yard.

You might expect to see something like this Common Blue Wood Aster (Symphyotrichum cordifolium) in the Springtime, but this was taken in a creek bed in a local park in early December.

The following five pictures were taken in the Spring; the first three at a local cemetery and the others in a field just outside of Austin.

Field Madder (Sherardia arvensis):

Erect Bouchetia (Bouchetia erecta):

I couldn’t find a common name for this bug (Oncerometopus nigraclavus), but it certainly cuts a distinct figure among the green foliage:

The Dakota Mock Vervain (Glandularia bipinnatifida) photos are admittedly a bit overprocessed, but they appeared in a rather dull context and I wanted to simulate how their vibrant color jumped out from the drab background.

The last two pictures are of cultivated flowers from my neighbors’ yards. A rose by any other name is….well, there are over 320 species of rose, so they might go by any number of different names. The Seek app by iNaturalist (Thanks for the tip, Jerry!) couldn’t identify the species of this rose bud, and identified the second image as a China Rose (Rosa chinensis). Call them what you want, they’re nice to look at and I appreciate my neighbors for growing them!

After having had beginner’s luck with my old Canon Powershot, I went on a search for a more advanced camera I could feel comfortable with. I played around with a Canon EOS T21 and a Panasonic Lumix DC-ZS70 before settling on a Panasonic Lumix DX9 (for now). I have two large batches of photos from the T21 and the DC-ZS70 that were taken in Wisconsin last fall. My New Year’s resolution was to comb thru those and process a few a day until I ran out before going all in on using the DX 9. That would probably take a few months, and I’d planned on waiting till then to sift thru those for some I thought you could use, but I’m going to modify the resolution to keep working steadily at processing the pictures, but instead of waiting a few months to compile batches for you, I’ll try to put post submissions together as enough pictures become available. This feature adds a lot to WEIT, and I’m grateful to be able to contribute to it and want to see it keep going.

Readers’ wildlife photos

January 10, 2024 • 8:15 am

Thanks to the half-dozen readers who responded to my call for photos; our tank is now somewhat replenished and I can keep this going for a while. But please think of this site if you have good wildlife photos.

Today’s photos come from Jim Blilie of Washington State, but were taken by his son Jamie.  Jim’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge Jamie’s photos by clicking on them.

Jamie is now a freshman at Washington State University (WSU) at Pullman Washington. He is thriving there.  We love WSU.  It’s very welcoming and is focused on student success. Jamie is studying engineering.  Some of these photos were taken during backpacking trips he has taken to Idaho through the WSU Outdoor Recreation Center, a wonderful service WSU provides. Jamie is the wildlife photographer of the family, though has become a good landscape photographer as well.

Jamie did not identify this bird, photo taken a few feet from our house in Klickitat County, Washington; but I think it is a Western Kingbird (Tyrannus verticalis).  Any help with a positive ID would be welcome:

Bumblebee, species uncertain.  Taken on the trail to Lookout Mountain, Oregon, east of Mt. Hood:

Red-breasted nuthatch (Sitta canadensis) and an unknown species of flying ant, taken on Lookout Mountain, Oregon, east of Mt. Hood:

Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel (Callospermophilus lateralis), also taken on Lookout Mountain, Oregon, east of Mt. Hood:

A similar looking rodent:  Based on his location in the mountains of the Idaho panhandle, I think this is a Red-tailed Chipmunk (Tamias ruficaudus), although the eponymous part is not visible in the photo.  Jamie took this photo on one of his backpacking trips in northern Idaho:

Also taken on one of his backpacking trips to Idaho (Selkirk Range, close to Upper Priest Lake):  A very small brown spider (note the size of the adjacent moss).  We were unsuccessful in identifying this spider:

A Steller’s Jay (Cyanocitta stelleri), taken on our place.  We love the beautiful blue and black plumage of these jays.  These are very common here in winter.  In summer they seem to move to higher elevations (we are at 2000 feet (610m) above sea level) and then the Scrub Jays (Aphelocoma californica) move in for the summer.  The Steller’s Jays can make a pretty good mimic call of the Red-tailed Hawk’s scream (Buteo jamaicensis):

My favorite of the bunch:  A coyote (Canis latrans) in a snowstorm, taken from our back deck.  The coyote was perhaps 100 yards away:

A  beetle at 5600 feet (1707m) elevation in Oregon, taken on the Flag Point Lookout Tower.  Also unable to identify this beetle:

A Cyanide Millipede (Harpaphe haydeniana).  This millipede can exude hydrogen cyanide gas as a defense!  The photo was taken on the hike to the former fire lookout site, Sleeping Beauty, Skamania County, Washington.  This is a favorite hike (though unrelentingly steep) because of the very good views of Mount Adams from the top:

Finally, a ringer:  Jamie and me on top of Lookout Mountain with Mount Hood behind, just a day or so before he headed off to university:

Equipment:

Nikon D5600 (1.5 crop factor)
Nikkor AF-P DX 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 G VR lens
Nikkor AF-P DX 70-300mm f/4.5-6.3 G ED lens
Sigma 150-600mm f/5.0-6.3 DG OS HSM lens
Canon PowerShot SX530