The Beetle and the Bee

At the end of February, I finally found a beetle I had been looking for here, for years. Perhaps I had not been scouting for it early enough, but we barely had a winter this year, and I suspect that most years it would have been evident in March. The key was finding an aggregation of its host organism.

Tricrania sanguinipennis is a blister beetle in the family Meloidae. The adult insects measure 9-15 millimeters, but are bright enough, and active enough, that they are easily seen. Their wings, hidden under their red, leathery elytra, are almost vestigial, so they are flightless. Instead they crawl, but rather rapidly, over the surface of the soil, periodically digging where they detect the possible presence of a host.

Kansas is about as far west as this beetle is found, though there are records well north into Saskatchewan, Canada. It occurs over the eastern U.S. to extreme northern Florida, and up into adjacent southern Canada.

The limiting factor is that Tricrania sanguinipennis is a parasitoid of solitary bees that nest in dense aggregations, namely cellophane bees in the genus Colletes.

We have the Unequal Cellophane Bee, Colletes inaequalis, nesting in our yard and/or the adjacent neighbor’s lawn, depending on the year, but those locations are apparently blister beetle-free. It took finding a small aggregation of the bees in a forested park to locate the beetles.

An Unequal Cellophane Bee lurks just inside the entrance to her burrow.

The bees nest in burrows, ideally in sandy soil. The vertical, subterranean tunnels branch into several individual cells, each one an “apartment” for a single bee larva. The grub feeds on a nearly liquid loaf of pollen and nectar. The walls of its room are coated in a type of natural plastic manufactured in glands in its mother’s abdomen, which essentially waterproofs the chamber, and retards mold and fungus.

Back to the beetles. What the female beetles lack in mobility, they more than make up for in fecundity. Each lady can produce hundreds of eggs, over a thousand in some documented instances. How, then, do the beetles gain entry into these tunnels? The answer is that they do not. The larvae do.

The larval stage is unusually lengthy, progressing through six instars. An instar is the interval between molts. It is also strange in that it includes hypermetamorphosis. In this case that means the larval form changes radically in both appearance and behavior from one molt to the next.

Several male Unequal Cellophane Bees waiting for females to emerge.

The first instar larva that emerges from the egg is a sleek, streamlined, highly mobile bee-seeking missile called a triungulin. At the time they are active, it is almost exclusively male Colletes bees that are active, buzzing about and frequently landing to investigate a potential site where a female could emerge. It is at these brief moments when a blister beetle triungulin scampers aboard, affixing itself to the hairs on the underside of the bee’s abdomen.

Oops! An overeager male mistakes another male for a female.

When the male bee at last is able to mate, the triungulin transfers to the female bee. In at least a few instances, the triungulin may attach directly to a female bee that it encounters on the ground. She will eventually, and unwittingly, ferry that parasite, and probably several others, to her new nest burrow. Once inside, it disembarks and infiltrates one of the subterranean nest cells.

The beetle larva usually consumes the egg of the host immediately, but not always. The bulk of its diet will be the honey and pollen left by the bee for its offspring in the cell. It may be a frequent occurrence that more than one beetle larva invades a single bee cell. In that event, cannibalism of the competition resolves the conflict.

The meal of the host egg or larva is usually enough nutrition to trigger the beetle larva’s molt to the next instar. This results in a shocking change from that sleek, active larva into the insect equivalent of a couch potato. The second instar is, shall we say….rotund, and boat-shaped. It commences feeding on the pollen and nectar stores in the cell of the now missing bee offspring. The insect retains this form for the remainder of its larval life. The first three instars shuck their old exoskeleton completely, but the fourth and fifth instars retain each molt in its entirety. Think of it as an object inside a balloon (inside another balloon by the fifth instar). Those larvae actually shrink in size to fit inside the shed “skins.” When molting into the pupa stage, the sixth molt is again broken during shedding, and compacted at the rear of the pupa, which is still inside those other exoskeleton balloons.

It takes until late summer or early fall for the life cycle to complete, the adult beetle remaining encased in its final one or two larval exuviae, where it overwinters, still inside the cell in the host’s nest burrow.

You would think that the bee species hosting this diabolical beetle would be decimated by it, but such is not the case. Each spring there are plenty of the adult bees. What is more of a threat is the potential disconnect between the bees and their nectar plants. Colletes inaequalis visits flowering trees almost exclusively, especially Eastern Redbud, and maple trees. As the phenology of the blooming cycles becomes increasingly unpredictable thanks to climate change, the appearance of the flowers may cease to always coincide with the emergence of the bees that pollinate them.

Sources: Messinger Carril, Olivia, and Joseph S. Wilson. 2021. Common Bees of Eastern North America. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 286 pp.
Parker, J.B. and Adam G. Boving. 1925. “The Blister Beetle Tricrania sanguinipennis - Biology, Descriptions of Different Stages, and Systematic Relationship,” Proc U.S. Nat. Mus. 64(2491): 1-40. This is a wonderfully exhaustive article, with illustrations of all larval instars.

Blacklighting Already?

Considering that we have hardly had winter at all here in Leavenworth, Kansas, USA, this year, I probably could have started blacklighting for moths and other insects near the end of February. Instead, I waited until March 14 for my first effort, in our back yard. There is a whole suite of moth species that emerge very early, and then never seen again until the following year, so it pays to put up a UV light, or even simply turn on your porch light, and see what flies in.

Unidentified knot-horn moth, family Pyralidae, subfamily Phycitinae.

The unseasonably high temperature for March 14, 2026 was sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Other insects besides moths appeared, including various flies, beetles, lacewings, barklice, and aphids and their kin. Many of these insects can overwinter as adults, but others eclose from the pupal stage early in spring.

Damsel bug, Nabis sp.

We now know that artificial lights at night do not “attract” moths, but disorient them. Insects fly with their backs to the stars and moon, so when a light appears on the horizon, or below, they flip their bodies accordingly, and end up in a spiraling flight to the source of illumination. Since the exercise of blacklighting is pretty much another version of light pollution, and because I am not doing scientific collecting or rigorous record-keeping, I do this infrequently, usually once every other week, alternating between the front yard and the back yard.

Moths

Moths are why most bugwatchers and insect collectors suspend a blacklight and/or a mercury vapor light, in front of a white sheet or other reflective surface. Moth diversity is several orders of magnitude greater than butterfly diversity, and we know relatively little about species that are not economic pests.

Roland's Sallow.

On this particular night, the most obvious moths were owlet moths in the family Noctuidae, particularly Roland’s Sallow, Psaphida rolandi. This is a widespread species from the eastern fringe of the Great Plains to the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. In the southern states in can appear as early as February, and disappears by May. The only known host plants for the caterpillars are oaks. They may feed high in the canopy, as they are seldom encountered. The species winters in the pupa stage, and can stay there for up to seven years, presumably to weather unfavorable conditions.

Speckled Green Fruitworm Moth.

Another owlet seen was a single individual of the Speckled Green Fruitworm Moth, Orthosia hibisci. This species occurs in forested areas across the entire U.S., and well into the heart of western Canada. The caterpillars are generalist feeders on mostly deciduous trees and shrubs, but even some conifers are on the menu. Like Roland’s Sallow, there is but one generation per year, with adults flying mostly in March and April, a few persisting into June in northern latitudes.

Green Cloverworm moth.

I had seen a couple Green Cloverworm moths, Hypena scabra, during daylight hours in late February and early March respectively, but one appeared at the sheet on this night, too. This is an abundant species in a variety of mostly open habitats east of the Rockies, with at least three generations per year. Food plants for the caterpillars include clover, alfalfa, ragweed, strawberries, and raspberries.

Spring Cankerworm moth, male.

Geometer moths, also known as inchworm moths, were also present. Spring Cankerworm, Paleacrita vernata, was one of them. I know the individuals I saw were all males because the females are wingless. The species ranges east of the Rockies in both the U.S. and Canada. As is the case with most wingless moth species, it is the first instar caterpillar, fresh from the egg, that is the dispersal stage. The larva issues strands of silk from its mouth that catch the wind and blow it to a host plant. Many deciduous trees and shrubs can serve as hosts. This is a winter and early spring species.

Small Phigalia moth, male.

Another such geometer is the Small Phigalia, Phigalia strigataria. It has a nearly identical life history, geographic and temporal distribution as Spring Cankerworm.

Small Engrailed.

One other “geo” almost escaped my notice because it landed off the sheet, on our wooden fence where it blended in almost seamlessly. As near as I can tell it is a Small Engrailed, Ectropis crepuscularia, an extremely variable species in terms of color and pattern (or lack thereof). It ranges east of the Great Plains, and also in the Pacific Northwest, north to the panhandle of Alaska. The flight period varies, but generally begins in March and ends in October. There are two generations each year in most places. Caterpillars feed on deciduous trees, but also some conifers.

Red-banded Leafroller moth.

The most confounding moths that flew in were members of the family Tortricidae, collectively known as leafroller moths for the habits of the caterpillars. Most specimens on the sheet defied identification, even to genus, save for the Red-banded Leafroller, Argyrotaenia velutinana. It is exceptionally common at our lights over much of the year, and the species ranges from the eastern Great Plains eastward. The caterpillars feed on an array of deciduous and herbaceous plants, eating both leaves and fruits. They pupate in a folded leaf on the ground, from which they emerge as adults.

Unidentified leafroller moth.

Beetles

I was mildly surprised by the variety of beetles I saw. Here is a small selection.

Seedcorn beetle, Stenolophus sp.

Marsh beetle, Contacyphon sp., I believe.

Variegated mud-loving beetle, Tropicus sp.

Likely a silken fungus beetle, Atomaria sp.

Locust Seed Beetle, Amblycerus robiniae.

Northern Plantain Flea Beetle, Dibolia borealis.

Lacewings

Lacewings spend the winter as adults, and even the green lacewings in the family Chrysopidae are mostly brown, pink, or reddish in autumn and the following spring. They are on the hunt for aphid colonies, the major food source for their voracious predatory larval offspring.

Green lacewing, Chrysoperla sp.

Brown lacewing, Micromus posticus.

Brown Pine Lacewing, Hemerobius stigma.

I was surprised to learn I had two different species of brown lacewings on this night, thanks to identification by a reliable expert on iNaturalist.

True Bugs

As luck would have it, the lacewing’s prey was also present. I had two species of aphids fly to the light. Many aphids alternate hosts between spring and fall, overwintering on the autumn host, and flying to new host plants or trees as those begin to increase their flow of phloem, the sap that aphids extract with their tubular mouthparts.

Unidentified aphid.

I think this is a woolly aphid.

Psyllids are relatives of aphids, and the hackberry psyllids, genus Pachypsylla, are especially common, having overwintered as adults in snug, concealed places. I suspect we have at least three species of these in our immediate neighborhood. They each make a type of gall on hackberry, within which the nymph stages grow and mature.

Hackberry gall psyllid, Pachypsylla sp.

One mirid plant bug came to the light briefly, as did two predatory stink bugs. You heard that correctly, I said predatory. The Spined Soldier Bug, Podisus maculiventris, has a sturdier, shorter rostrum than its plant-feeding cousins, the better to stab insect prey. They can take down insects several times their size, and walk around towing their prize as they feed. Last fall, this species was surprisingly abundant, and here they are again this spring.

Spined Soldier Bug.

Flies

Flies are ever present, some of them practically year-round. This is especially true for non-biting midges in the family Chironomidae. They are frequently mistaken for mosquitoes, but are even more abundant. The majority are aquatic in the larval stage. Though they can fly far from water, the fact that we have a prefabricated, roughly forty-gallon pond sunk into our back yard probably boosts their populations and diversity.

A typical non-biting midge, male.

Non-biting midge, Psectrotanypus sp., female.

There were a smaller number of biting midges, family Ceratopogonidae. Not to fear, the vast majority of these tiny flies bite other insects, feeding on the hemolymph of their targets.

Biting midge,

Dark-winged fungus gnats, family Sciaridae, are equally difficult to identify beyond family level, but are recognized by a “tuning fork” branch in one of the wing veins. They are quite small, but abundant. Some species are common indoors, breeding in the soil of overwatered house plants.

Dark-winged fungus gnat.

A nice surprise was a type of sun fly, genus Oecothea, family Heleomyzidae, kindly identified by Chris Angell on iNaturalist. The family is somewhat easily identified by the long, perpendicular spines on the leading edge of the wing. This feature rules out many similar-looking flies. Heleomyzids are most often seen in early spring and late fall. They breed in rotting organic matter of all origins, though some are associated with bird or mammal nests, or fungi.

Sun fly, Oecothea sp.

All fifty-two of my observations can be found on this iNaturalist page, where the status of their identification my be updated over time by specialist experts.

Ichneumon wasp, Ophion sp.

I have since done another night of blacklighting, on March 21, but I am not sure if I will get those front yard observations up any time soon. Suffice that I added at least two new species to our yard list as a result. Meanwhile, please share what you are seeing in your own yard. Include a link to your own iNaturalist account if you wish. Happy (nocturnal) bugwatching!

Transformation

Over the last few years, and intensifying more recently, I have gone through something of a metamorphosis in the topics of my writing. One cannot write about insects, especially those that are misunderstood, or even reviled, without recognizing that humanity treats some demographic groups even worse than it treats insect “pests.” It is all connected, of course, the mindset, what we have been conditioned to (wrongly) believe, and the tragic consequences of our behavior.

I feel a lot like this cicada eclosing as an adult.

While I will continue to provide entomology-related content here, I will most likely not be publishing any more book-length works about insects. Invite me to collaborate on your project if you like, but I will be addressing different subjects in my remaining years. Allow me to share an example of why.

Last night, February 24, my partner and I attended a City Commission meeting here in Leavenworth, Kansas, so that I could briefly speak against the City issuing a Special Use Permit to CoreCivic, a for-profit prison management corporation. CC wants to run a currently vacant facility as a detention center for Immigration and Customs Enforcement (I.C.E.). The City is facing immense pressure to comply.

A bit of background is in order. Leavenworth is known far and wide as a prison town. The federal penitentiary is only a block-and-a-half away. We can see it from our kitchen window. There are also state prisons, and the U.S. military prison is on Fort Leavenworth north of town. Our city is overwhelmingly elderly, and people who have lived here all their lives do not know of any other economic engine, nor are they willing to take the risk to change that.

Making my point at the City Commission meeting.

To their credit, the City went to court to force the issue of the Special Use Permit, claiming that after CoreCivic vacated the facility previously, it forfeited its right to start again without repeating the petitioning process. CC also suffers from a horrible reputation for understaffing, failing to properly train its personnel, and preventing local law enforcement from responding in a timely manner to incidents at its prisons. There are other problems, and Leavenworth is familiar with all of them from its previous experiences with CoreCivic.

CoreCivic doesn’t only have an image problem, it has an EXISTENCE problem. The idea that a private company can exist, and be incentivized, to collect human beings and place them into captivity should be revolting, to put it politely. That anyone would willingly become a shareholder in such a corporation boggles the mind.

Here in the United States, too many members of the electorate have been brainwashed by various agents, including traditional media, social media, family members, friends, and neighbors, to believe that the source of their economic, social, and cultural woes are immigrants, people of color, LGBTQ+, feminists, non-Christians, and the poor. Those categories of humanity are considered pests, though few have come right out and said so. That doesn’t keep wealthy and powerful people from stepping on them, though, and inciting their loyal followers to do the same.

The pattern has existed ever since the first wave of empire. Colonialism, racism, and bigotry have gone on unabated, but have been concealed much of the time by various distractions. The irony is that most of us have far more in common with the outcasts and supposed villains than we do with the affluent elite.

More people are waking up daily, though, and I am here to throw accelerant onto that fire. I also exist to connect the dots between how we treat each other and how we treat other species, and the biosphere as a whole. My goals going forward are to help restore reverence for the right things, to demonstrate the joy to be had from embracing diversity, and to always prioritize the real above the AI-generated.

I am fortunate to have the following that I do, but I want to use that leverage to amplify the voices of unheard Indigenous, Black, Latino, and LGBTQ+ people, the neurodivergent, the disabled, and women. Have I left out anyone? Probably. I am not infallible. We have all heard enough already from old White males like me. I am more than happy to pass the torch.

Remembering Another Mentor

I had intended to make this post years ago. The subject deserves better. He is the late Leonard L. Wiley of Portland, Oregon. Though my relationship with him was brief, he made a lasting impact. He may have felt the same way about me, as you will see.

© The Oregonian

Mr. Wiley passed away in 1987, at the age of eighty-two. He was introduced to me by my father. As a jeweler, my dad knew Leonard as a diamond dealer. I was told that Mr. Wiley carried the precious stones in a brown paper back, and also carried a large revolver. I can vaguely attest to seeing the diamonds, laid out on the counter at my father’s store.

Leonard Wiley was best known to the rest of society as a world class botanist and writer. He authored the books Rare Wildflowers of North America (1968), Wild Harvest (1966), and The Granite Boulder: A Biography of Frederic Homer Balch (1970). He was also a regular contributor to Northwest Magazine in The Oregonian newspaper. It was in this capacity that we are forever connected.

The following is a transcript of an article Mr. Wiley wrote about me, published in The Oregonian on August 23, 1970, after he, myself, and my parents had gone on a day hike in Oneonta Gorge, a location adjacent to the Columbia River Gorge that divides Oregon and Washington. The title of the piece is “Just ask this nine-year-old: Leonard Wiley found that Eric asks no foolish questions.” Enjoy his wonderful writing style….

”Eric Eaton and I went to Oneonta Gorge to learn about wild plants. Before taking to the trail I opened a book and pointed out how to tell the difference between the Vine Maple, Acer circinatum, and the Smooth Leaved Maple, Acer glabrum. Both of these tree-shrubs resemble each other very closely and are found in this area.

Eric missed the first one we came to but quickly spotted the second. This achievement of a nine-year-old boy was more than I would expect from most adults.

Every person who has brought joy and happiness in my life I originally met merely by chance. And it was this factor that brought me Eric’s friendship. I had some business to transact with his parents, Bob and Violet. I was introduced to the small boy about a year ago and at first wasn’t much impressed for Eric is not the kind of a person who tries to impress with his importance.[LOL!] In fact he told me on the trail that he does not know much. Maybe so. But I have known a couple of PhD’s who know less.

Science is knowledge possessed as a result of study or practice. When does a person become a scientist? When his zeal and enthusiasm for his particular branch of learning dominate his life. With most, if it comes at all it arrives during maturity. Eric was a scientist before I ever heard of him.

Highly talented people are often lopsided. But Eric is well rounded socially. He plays with his school mates, gets along well with young and old and, at first, appears like most any other boy of his age.[I disagree with almost all of this, but it is his article….]

I like him immensely – and I’m also a bit afraid to engage him in a conversation. If you pitch a curve at him he’ll knock in a home run. I discovered this the hard way. I gave him a chameleon [Green Anole lizard] to help cement a thriving friendship. He looked at it critically and asked ‘Is it a male or a female?’ What the devil do I know about such things? Without consulting a book he told me. Now, when I think a certain subject will come up at our next meeting I get out my books and dig deeply.

He has little interest in money [still true!]. His meager allowance and funds obtained from odd jobs all go into books. His natural history library comprises about 50 volumes as well as subscriptions to various scientific journals, some of which I had never heard of before. His teachers think he is a fine student. They also think they earn their salaries. I agree with them. I have never head Eric ask a pointless question. When he makes a remark or asks for information you better have a sensible answer unless you enjoy making a fool of yourself.

On the trail he never looked back. His eyes roved to left and right, searching for something interesting. He fund a plant with the flowering stem arching over the trail. ‘What do you suppose that is?’ I told him that it was the False Solomon’s Seal. ‘Wow, what a name!’

At nine it is unreasonable to expect him to be the world’s most talented diplomat. As I was wobbling along the rocky trail Eric commented ‘You were hiking when you were younger.’ I gave him a brief ‘yes’ and changed the subject.

Our first botanical ordeal came early on this excursion. We came to an old rock slide. Eric: ‘What’s all this moss doing on these rocks?’ If you think this is a stupid question you aren’t very bright yourself.

I pointed to some lichens tightly growing n the surface of some of the rocks. These primitive plants somewhat resemble rocks. They are among the first plants to attack rocks in the process of disintegration into soil. A medium size lichen may be a hundred years old. Nature is in no hurry. After the lichens are established the mosses and liverworts in vade to speed the break down of the stones. Then the ferns follow. Finally the flowering plants appear. It may take a truck load of centuries for these assorted plants to produce soil. It is very important to life itself.

As we walked along the trail his mother told me a few more things I didn’t know about the boy. He is the resource expert on nature in his third grade class. But his interest in nature started in kindergarten where he discovered dinosaurs. If he wakes in the middle of the night he talks about nature. The Eatons have a lively time.

Stumps have a remarkable fascination for Eric. We examined every one we found near the trail. Those a little farther away drew comment. This, of course, slowed down our progress. Finally Bob called out, ‘Eric, do you have to look at every stump?’ Eric pays no attention to questions of this kind. I showed Eric the mosses and liverworts n some of the stumps while there were ferns and flowering plants on others. One tree had a hollow stump. I reached in and pulled out a handful of debris composed of leaves that had blown in and decayed parts of the inner trunk. This material had largely turned into soil. The other way soils are created.

We discussed a great many other botanical subjects too but the decayed vegetation and the disintegration of rocks seemed to impress Eric the most.

I am sure there are many other boys [and girls, and agender persons!] like Eric in the world but I consider myself fortunate to know one of them.”

Wow, I must have bottled up my enthusiasm for insects during that hike, though it explains my obsession with stumps. I do hope that I have made Mr. Wiley proud with my chosen career path. He showed me that sharing your knowledge with others can have a profound impact.

Sadly, there is hardly an online trace of Leonard L. Wiley, save for his books, which find themselves on sale at various websites. I may need to learn how to make entries on Wikipedia. He certainly deserves to be remembered.