Wishful Blinking

Wishful Blinking

Alas, not a firefly,
But the lights of a car passing by.

Eric R. Eaton

Artistic License

Our bathroom, small as it is, has a moth and butterfly theme. It is my partner’s doing, with her selection of the shower curtain, and arrangement of the poster and pictures I brought to the party when we moved in together. It makes for colorful accents to the white tiles, countertop, and light gray paint job, done rather hastily by the last owner it would appear. What I find most fascinating are the flaws in the art, done with intention.

The shower curtain is a subdued, matte, silvery gray nylon, with eleven different moths, and one butterfly, printed repeatedly. The renderings are surprisingly accurate, representing actual, existing species. They are oriented in different directions and arranged such that the repeating pattern is disguised. You have to exit the room and stand a bit out in the short hallway to get the full picture.

The moths and butterfly on the curtain are to scale, as near as I can tell. All are perfect except for the Luna Moth, the largest one, which has prominent nicks and tears in its pale green wings with a streaming, creased and curled tail on each hind wing. This is a frequent condition of older, living Luna Moths, so it heightens the realism.

Opposite the sink, the mirror and rail of lights above it, and the commode, hangs a vertical, framed poster of colorful butterflies, with a few moths thrown in, on a pure white background. They are arranged in a radiating pattern, oriented north, northeast, or northwest. In contrast to the shower curtain, this is a photo, or photos, of real insects, preserved in the classic wings-open-at-ninety-degrees pose. They are not to scale, which suggests that the entire poster is a mosaic of individual photos.

Flanking the poster are smaller, framed pictures I cut from old magazines. They represent the paintings of the late John Cody, descendant of Buffalo Bill. He specialized in painting giant silkmoths, mostly tropical moths with broad wings, and sometimes long, flowing tails. The Luna Moth is one example of that group, collectively known as Saturniidae.

Giant silkmoths live short adult lives. Days, maybe a couple of weeks at most. They do not even feed, lacking the proboscis that most moths and butterflies possess, coiled beneath their chins when not in use to sip nectar. The silkmoths burn fat reserves they accrued in the caterpillar stage. Cody reared most of his moth models, from cocoons he imported. It was the only way to guarantee perfect specimens with pristine, vibrant colors.

Staring at the poster while on the throne one day, I noticed something I had been oblivious to previously: Every single specimen is missing its antennae. The abdomens were missing from the gaudy, metallic blue Morpho butterflies, but it is standard practice to remove that body part from specimens. As Morphos decompose, the oily fats in the abdomen ooze onto the wings, staining them and masking the famous metallic sheen that makes those butterflies so coveted by collectors. I have only seen intact Morphos as living individuals flying through indoor butterfly exhibits at zoos.

The antennae of butterflies poses no such problem in compromising the color of the specimen. Why remove them, then, from either the insect or the photo of it? Did the artist think the slender filaments were somehow too distracting, and in the interest of cosmetics needed pruning? There are not even tweezers in our medicine cabinet for eyebrow plucking.

I find it difficult to enjoy the poster now, with that bit of tragic information now indelibly etched in my mind. It seems a little faded, or dull, and imparts a tinge of sadness that the maker felt another creature needs to be “improved” by his hand. The title of the poster is “Flights of Fancy,” but the fancy seems tarnished now. I increasingly find myself studying Cody’s paintings instead, where all is well, and he has even put them in a more natural setting, on foliage with a black or colored background. Their wings droop, as they do in life, and the magnificent, feathery antennae are still there.

Grand Finale

Versute Sharpshooter (leafhopper), Graphocephala versuta

Every bugwatcher knows it’s coming in the late fall, and both delights in it, and mourns for the lost spring and summer, quickly fading from memory. That encore of insect abundance, from heavy, arthritic grasshoppers lumbering up wooden fences, to sun-seeking lady beetles, eager to find snug crevices to pack themselves into for the approaching winter.

Differential Grasshopper, Melanoplus differentialis, male.

Multicolored Asian Lady Beetles, Harmonia axyridis, nestle in bark furrows on a tree.

This year, here in Leavenworth, Kansas, the Indigenous Summer has been long, hot, and hopelessly dry. It seems to matter little to most of the insects, but birds stopped visiting our feeders. We saw dozens of gulls passing over for a couple of days, though, bright white against an azure sky, the wind speeding them along.

Juvenile Tuftlegged Orbweaver, Mangora placida

The air is thick with the exuberance of the minute, now that the larger butterflies are scarce, no longer competing for our attention. Dreamcatcher spider orbs snag the micro-confetti of aphids, leafhoppers, and gnats that are on the wing, or that get torn from their perches by the stiff, incessant wind.

Cloudless Sulphur, Phoebis sennae, female.

Falling leaves jerk my eyes in their direction, on the off chance that they are butterflies after all, like Eastern Comma or Question Mark, or the less common Goatweed Leafwings. Leaves that rocket from the ground skyward are grasshoppers sporting autumn yellow, orange, or black hind wings. The largest ones, with clear wings, that land in trees, are bird grasshoppers.

American Bird Grasshopper, Schistocerca americana.

Political campaign signs in our front yard are sometimes briefly occupied by insects or spiders. The spiders try to balloon off, or seek shelter in the little tunnels of the corrugated plastic. I like to think that they are all signaling their approval, but they are actually endorsing the more natural state of our property, our decision to not use chemical treatments of any kind, and otherwise steward the place through benign neglect.

Microleafhopper, Erythroneura calycula

Microleafhopper, Hymetta anthisma

Microleafhopper, Erythridula sp.

Microleafhopper, Balclutha sp.

Microleafhopper, Erythroneura elegans

Leafhopper, Pediopsoides distinctus

Walking the fence line in our back yard, I stir a myriad of tiny leafhoppers that alight briefly on the weathered, algae-stained boards. Despite their size, they are riotously colorful, with streaks and bands across their slender wings. Fireworks come in both bright and muted colors that echo the changing foliage.

A male Fork-tailed Bush Katydid, Scudderia furcata.

Earlier in the season, katydids and lacewings were vivid green. Now, they are dull brown, maybe reddish, with bursts of purple or pink. Little orange skipper butterflies pop as I stroll by the tiny lavender asters that grow low enough to dodge the mower blade, along the very edge of the curb by the busy four-lane. Yellows in the form of Cloudless Sulphurs, on a partly cloudy day, flitting from one cryptic flower to another in someone’s front yard.

A little worn, a Fiery Skipper sips nectar from an aster.

Flowers, too, bloom again. The goldenrod, and taller white asters reboot themselves for one more round of Can I Get a Pollinator?. They do, in flies and bees mostly. Wild Carrot never gave up to begin with, still looking fresh as a daisy, courting potential pollinators. They succeed, in the form of two metallic flies. The flies depart when a lone ant appears to steal nectar.

A flower fly, Helophilus fasciatus, and a Spotted Cucumber Beetle, Diabrotica undecimpunctata, enjoy goldenrod nectar.

Another October surprise….no, wait, today is November the second already….is an immature Carolina Mantis, sitting stock still among our backyard goldenrod. It is probably one molt away from adulthood, but I can’t decide if it is male or female. I wonder if there are any larger insects left to feed it, get it over the hump, or if it will die young, perishing as the teenage equivalent of its kind.

Immature Carolina Mantis, Stagmomantis carolina

There has finally been rain lately, including today, so perhaps there will be yet another burst of activity in its wake. There will still be ground beetles crossing the sidewalks, and grasshoppers basking on the pavement on warm days, to be sure. Fall Cankerworm has yet to even take the stage, but they don’t always, not every year, and I might not see them if the timing isn’t right.

Leaf-footed bug, Leptoglossus oppositus.

There is no metaphor here. This is just how nature works. It varies, it adapts, takes chances, weighing risks at a molecular level. Emerge now, or snooze another calendar year. We are slower to act, built to react instead of evolving to be proactive, and to accept whatever weather befalls us. The warm, sunny days seem to encourage our lazy nature, while nature bustles around us, unnoticed by most.

Aphid, Drepanaphis sp.

Book Review: The Cicadas of North America

Chris Alice Kratzer begins her new book with a deeply personal memory and dedication, then proceeds to deliver another comprehensive treatment of a common, yet complex, category of insects: cicadas. The book is the second for Kratzer, whose debut work was The Social Wasps of North America. With memories of this spring’s periodical cicada event still fresh in the public mind, this book could easily eclipse the wasp book in popularity, but both volumes deserve your attention.

The Cicadas of North America is essentially a monograph of all members of the family Cicadidae found north of South America. The scientific community should certainly respect it as such. If this sounds intimidating for non-scientists, you need not fear. Kratzer is a master science communicator, with sincere empathy for those of us who avoided hardcore subjects in high school and college.

Part of the genius in her approach is that she is self-publishing through Owfly Publishing, a subsidiary of her company Owlfly, LLC. This allows her to set her own limits, if any, and prioritize what she sees as most important for her audience. She takes creative license that serves to enhance the readability and overall presentation of the book. The digital artwork alone is enough to recommend the book, but wait, there is more.

Kratzer’s trademark continues to be exceptionally thorough coverage of background information on life cycle, anatomy, evolution, classification, ecological relationships, and impacts on humanity, both positive and negative, past and present. Even if cicadas are not your favorite insect (but really, why are they not?), you will find yourself referring to the front of the book for understandable explanations of genetics, taxonomy, and other scientific concepts that apply broadly across all organisms.

Once again, Kratzer expands her region of focus to include Latin America as, ideally, all such manuals should in the interest of geographic accuracy that respects biomes but not borders. This might be the final nudge I need to renew my passport. I mean, look at that Sparse Emerald Cicada, Zammara smaragdula. A turquoise cicada (it is on the cover, too)?

Each digital rendering is split from left to right to show the degree of variation in color, density of markings, and other morphological features to help identify a specimen of either form. Some species are treated twice if they exhibit strong regional differences, with corresponding range maps delineating their geographic distribution. Everyone contributing reference photos, and community science records resulting from those images, is acknowledged on each species page.

If you are a stickler for minute details, and/or get hooked on studying cicadas yourself, the “taxonomic notes” in the back of the book give you the most current assessment of the standing of various species. Kratzer readily admits that what is in the book could be wrong, but there is no argument as to how much is completely unknown to anyone, at least in the community of Western scientists. The book is thus both a treatise and a booster designed to ignite further research.

If I sound like a paid shill, or an infomercial, I hope I can be forgiven for my enthusiasm for a quality example of natural history literature. Meanwhile, I hope Kratzer continues turning out more such references for whatever creatures catch her fancy. I’m subscribed to the Owlfly newsletter, so I should be among the first to know.

The Cicadas of North America is a hefty 573 pages, retails for $27.99 U.S., from the publisher, and is shipped in sustainable packaging from EcoEnclose. You can request a signed copy when you order.

Fly Day Friday: The Good Mosquito

Believe it or not, there is a mosquito species I look forward to seeing every year. You may think I'm crazy, but hear me out. There are at least three reasons to love elephant mosquitoes in the genus Toxorhynchites. They are pretty, beneficial in the larval stage, and do not bite as adults.

A male Elephant Mosquito

Elephant mosquitoes are also known as giant treehole mosquitoes, so you can sense a theme here. They are indeed large for mosquitoes, averaging about seven millimeters in body length. That does not include the mouthparts and antennae. Their long legs make them appear larger still. Why the name "elephant mosquito?" It may be a reference to the long, upcurved palps of the males, which suggest elephant tusks.

Notice the tusk-like palps (part of the mouthparts), and bushy antennae on this male.

There is no denying the beauty of our single North American species, Toxorhynchites rutilus. They are iridescent blue and purple, with silver and gold highlights, and white tips on the hind legs. It seems that no one photo captures all the colors all at once. Despite their brilliance, they are surprisingly cryptic in the dimming light of dusk, when they are most active (though they are considered day-fliers).

As their other name indicates, elephant mosquitoes breed mostly in water-filled treeholes. The larval stage, at least in later instars, is predatory on other aquatic insects, including....wait for it....the larvae of other mosquitoes. Yes, you heard that correctly, they are a natural biological control of the mosquito species that pose a threat to human health. The larvae are reddish in color, with a short anal siphon (bearing the spiracle that permits intake of air at the water surface), and a broad, black head with strong mandibles. There are four larval instars, an instar being the interval between molts.

The female Elephant Mosquito has straight palps, and simple bristle-like antennae.

The adult elephant mosquito has a distinctive proboscis, bent strongly downward near the middle of its length. Instead of using their beaks to draw blood from other animals, elephant mosquitoes of both sexes feed only on flower nectar. As flower visitors, they are also pollinators of wildflowers. Some other species in the genus may also feed on fruit juices, and honeydew (the sugary liquid waste of aphids, scale insects, and various planthoppers).

The female again, showing that long,sharply-curved proboscis.

Here in northeast Kansas, on the Missouri border, I have found Toxorhynchites rutilus only in late autumn, and only on the flowers of White Snakeroot. I have only seen them in our yard, in fact, but I am not usually exploring elsewhere as sunset approaches. The species ranges from the eastern half of Texas and Oklahoma diagonally northeast to southern Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and Delaware.

Can you tell which sex this one is?

There are roughly eighty species of Toxorhynchites, occuring mostly in tropical regions around the globe. Due to their unique appetite for other mosquitoes, they have been employed as biological controls for container-breeding mosquitoes in Japan, southeast Asia, the Caribbean, and in some cities in the United States.

Are you a new fan of elephant mosquitoes yet? If not, please see the resources and links below for additional information on the biology of these remarkable flies. Mosquitoes, like most insects, and people, defy neat categorizing as "bad" or "good." Entomology is a great place to learn lessons like that.

So handsome!

Sources: Alomar, Abdullah A. and Barry W. Alto. 2022. "Elephant Mosquito Toxorhynchites rutilus Coquillett, 1896 (Insecta: Diptera: Culicidae)," Ask IFAS EENY-787/IN1380. University of Florida.
Coin, Patrick, et al. 2004. "Species Toxorhynchites rutilus - Elephant Mosquito," Bugguide.net
Donald, Claire L., Padet Siriyasatien, and Alain Kohl. 2020. "Toxorhynchites Species: A Review of Current Knowledge," Insects 11(11): 747.
McAlister, Erica. 2017. The Secret Life of Flies. Buffalo: Firefly Books. 248 pp.
Ricciuti, Ed. 2019. "Meet the Mosquito With a Big Appetite - for Other Mosquitoes," Entomology Today.

Orthoptera Thursday: The Katydid's Menu

Carnivorous katydids? That might come as a shock, but in reality, many members of the order Orthoptera, which includes katydids, grasshoppers, and crickets, are omnivorous to at least some degree. This broad diet is one reason these insects are so successful. Let’s take a closer look at one subset of katydids in particular.

A female Orchelimum sp. meadow katydid.

Katydids are also known as longhorned grasshoppers, for their exceptionally long, thread-like antennae, in contrast to true grasshoppers that have shorter, thicker antennae. Katydids are in the family Tettigoniidae. Most katydids are green, brown, or gray in color, though tropical species can be stunningly colorful.

Meadow katydids and conehead katydids form the subfamily Conocephalinae. They are among the most abundant of orthopterans in the eastern United States and adjacent Canada. At this time of year they have reached maturity and are seeking mates. Taking a stroll through tall grass, especially in wetlands, lush meadows, or prairies will flush countless individuals.

A female conehead katdid, Neoconocephalus sp.

A substantial portion of the diet for these katydids is grass seeds, and they have mandibles (jaws) powerful enough to crack them. Conehead katydids are the largest, some members of the gens Neoconocephalus exceeding seven centimeters (nearly three inches). I can tell you from personal experience that you do not want to get bitten by one of them.

A male conehead katydid peers from dense grass.

Meadow katydids and coneheads also feed on forbs, defined as any flowering herbaceous plant that is not a grass, sedge, or rush. The insects feed on the leaves and flowers of those plants.

The impact of katydids on plant communities is not negligible. One study revealed that a population of three meadow katydid species turned nearly 16% of the biomass of a rush species (Juncus) into katydid biomass (Parsons and de la Cruz, 1980).. Damage to seeds developing in flowers resulted in a 30-50% decrease in in seed production of rushes and grasses, too.

A female lesser meadow katydid, Conocephalus sp., feeds herself a grass seed.

Watching a katydid eat is a delightful experience. They are surprisingly nimble, and will use their front tarsi (the “feet” on their front legs) like hands to direct the morsel into their mouths. It is very much like any mammal feeding itself, using its paws.

A male Orchelimum eating an acanoloniid planthopper.

Plant matter has relatively little protein and fat, so those compounds need to come from elsewhere for a katydid to prosper. Consequently, some species, especially the meadow katydids, have evolved to become opportunistic predators on other insects, especially if those insects are injured.

The insects usually encountered by katydids are other species that are herbivorous in the same habitats occupied by the katydids. This includes leafhoppers, planthoppers, and even smaller katydids.

A female Orchelimum feeding on a female smaller meadow katydid, Conocephalus sp. The victim had just mated.

Female katydids need extra protein to nourish the development of eggs, and they get a surprising assist from males. During copulation, the male delivers a sperm packet called a spermatophore. The spermatophore consists of the sperm container (ampulla) and a gelatinous mass called a spermatophylax. This is an expensive gift for the male to produce, but it is less likely that a female will mate again once she is provided this nutritious investment. This is especially true for larger meadow katydids, genus Orchelimum.

The spermatophylax consists of protein, water, some carbohydrates, but few lipids (fatty acids). The female consumes this after mating occurs, along with the rest of the spermatorphore, which protrudes from her genital tract after its insertion by the male.

A pair of meadow katydids, Orchelimum sp., just beginning to mate.

The spermatophore is perhaps one step away from sacrificing yourself entirely to your mate. Science weighs the concrete costs and benefits of such transactions, but perhaps something more meaningful is lost in the translation. The more we learn about the insect nervous system, the shorter the distance between “them” and “us.”

The jelly-like spermatophore forming where the pair are joined.

Sources:Gwynne, Darryl T. 2001. Katydids and Bush-Crickets: Reproductive Behavior and Evolution of the Tettigoniidae. Ithaca: Cornell University Press (Comstock Publishing Associates). 317 pp.
Parsons, K.A., and A.A. de la Cruz. 1980. “Energy flow and grazing behavior of conocephaline grasshoppers in a Juncus roemerianus marsh,” Ecology 61: 1045-1050.
Thornhill, Randy and John Alcock. 1983. The Evolution of Insect Mating Systems. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 547 pp.

I Am Not a Scientist

It’s cute when someone mistakes me for a scientist, presumably because I have written books about insects, made public presentations, and am active on social media. There are occasions, though, where the confusion wastes the other party’s time, and for that I am truly apologetic. I am still a reliable source of factual information, but please allow me to set the record straight.

This post is prompted by an email exchange I had recently with a dear friend and colleague who truly is a scientist, seeking my help with a project.

Them: “I have a favor to ask….

For the past [few] years I have been conducting a long-term….survey at different nature preserves….in the hopes of trying to get a better idea of conservatisms of these insects….Ultimately I want to be able to look at a species list of insects found within a natural community or natural area and determine….which sites provide high quality critical habitat for plant community specialist insects, separate from the plant C values ranks.

The problem is few people are familiar with a wide diversity of insects. Most experts just know a particular family of insects….I have ranked all 371 taxa based on my field expertise. I'm teaming up with a dragonfly specialist for the statistical analysis. [They have] some experience with developing conservatism ranks for dragonflies and is trying to apply this to my data.

Would you be willing to take a look at the list and provide numerical ranking for the species you readily recognize? I know [specific region] isn't your main stomping ground, but you do know many of the more common species, and your ranks would be most helpful.

If you are interested in getting involved and reviewing our work for a future publication, and possibly coauthoring with us, we are open to that….My goal is to bring attention to the insects here in [specified state].

Let me know if you have any questions.

Thanks so much.”

Me: “I am flattered by the request, and would be willing to help....if I understood the assignment. I have no idea what a "C value" is. I could potentially rank them in terms of the frequency with which I see that particular genus or species on a particular plant. That can still vary significantly from one year to the next. This year, in our area, insect numbers are down significantly. I am not seeing many insects….

If there is a concrete definition of C values, then please provide it. I may or may not be able to assist. Math is my greatest weakness, and I never took statistics (not that it would even be useful given that I was in college in the early 1980s).

I am a writer and sci-comm professional, all else comes in no particular order after that.”

Them: “Yeah, don't ask me to explain statistics either. That's why I team up with the survey biologists.

As far as I know the concept of the C value (or coefficient of conservatism) came about in 1979 to reduce subjectivity in the evaluation of plant communities by placing the subjectivity up front. All plant (or other taxa) are assigned a numeric value that [provides] assessment natural quality repeatability.

In basic terms, ‘how likely is this taxa found in a high quality community?’….It's not just how common it is, though that is a factor as high quality (conservative) species are typically found only in rare habitats and thus are less likely to be encountered. The numbering is from 0-10. Almost all state-listed species are assigned a value of 10….A goldenrod soldier beetle (Chauliognathus pensylvanicus) might be a 1 or 2 as they are common [pretty much everywhere].

We also ask that you rate your confidence level 1 - 3 (3 being very confident in your rank and 1 being much less familiar with the species).

Does that help?”

Me: “Yes, that does help. I am not qualified to undertake that, being unfamiliar with [those] ecosystems at *that level*….I'm sorry, but I would potentially be doing more harm than good if I took a stab at this.

Sorry!”

Them: “….

The point is to ask. I realize it's specialized. If others are unable, then that's part of our argument - we get the best data we can. I don't know if any of this is possible but I'm going to keep at it. The more I do the more I learn.

Thanks”

Me: “My comment wasn't an indictment, apologies if it sounded that way.

You are vastly more capable than I am, and have much more experience in that kind of habitat. Maybe someone at [non-profit organization] can help?

Maybe I do not make it clear enough to anyone that I am not as much an entomologist as an ‘insect identifier.’"

Them: “I didn't take it that way. No worries.”

There is another aspect of my personality at play here. I am inherently lazy. Community science is hard work, with demanding and specific requirements for projects aimed at collecting data. That is not what interests me. I am all about recruiting potential community scientists by sharing fascinating facts and personal experiences. Heck, if I can get someone to put down the fly swatter in favor of a magnifying glass, mission accomplished.

I want to change the behavior of the average Joe or Jane who despises insects and wants them gone. Humanity as a whole, and the entire planet, for that matter, cannot survive the continued loss of biodiversity and insect abundance. More to the point, I can’t survive it. Exploring the natural world and finding insects is one of the few exercises keeping me reasonably sane, and giving me a sense of purpose. Without the “bugs,” I vanish, too.

Spider Sunday: Red Velvet Jumper

Whenever I discover a species new to me, I am compelled to illuminate the known biology of the organism for anyone who will listen, or read. This happened recently, when I encountered a little jumping spider on a sidewalk during a late afternoon walk here in Leavenworth, Kansas, USA, on August 20.

I managed to capture the creature in a plastic vial, to take home for closer observation. At the time, I anticipated that it would be an immature male in the genus Phidippus, as they are common, especially along this pathway through lawn and wannabe prairie that parallels a major street on the north end of town.

I am prone to neglecting or procrastinating in taking photos of captive specimens, so it was August 25th before I finally sat down for a spider photo shoot in the white casserole dish we have dedicated as a “studio” for insects and arachnids. I was fortunate the spider was still alive, albeit perhaps a little more slender than when I first found it.

Throughout the process of capture and photography, the spider was surprisingly slow, which is not at all like most of the fast, bouncy jumpers that I am familiar with. Viewing my photos, it became apparent that whatever this spider was, it was a mature male (fully formed terminal segment on each pedipalp); and it lacked the iridescent chelicerae (jaws) of most Phidippus species.

Puzzled, I uploaded some of the photos to my Facebook page in hopes that some of my friends who are spider experts might be able to point me in the proper direction. It was after posting that I tried looking in some of my books to see if there was anything remotely similar to my specimen. The family Salticidae is highly diverse, and not every book about spiders will include every genus, let alone species. This time I got lucky.

I soon received replies to my social media post, the first of which was from Sarah Rose, author of Spiders of North America from Princeton University Press. That field guide does not include the species she suggested: Ghelna canadensis, but I reached the same conclusion in perusing Common Spiders of North America by Richard A. Bradley. Ian Wright also suggested the genus in his comment on the Facebook post, and Alicia Lips and Dani Marie agreed. Alicia included images of a female of the species that she found on her front porch in June of this year.

Ok, more about the actual spider. The community science platform iNaturalist gives a common name of Three-lined Ground Jumping Spider for Ghelna canadensis. Somewhere I recall reading the name “Red Velvet Jumper,” but that could apply to many other species, even though it is appropriate to the color and texture of this one. Most sources offer no common name. Mature males measure 4-5 millimeters in body length, females 4.6-6.4 mm. Females are darker, gray or brownish, with indistinct markings.

This is a ground-dwelling species, unusual compared to the arboreal species in its cohort, the subtribe Dendryphantina. It occurs over much of the eastern United States, except for the southernmost tier. Data points on iNaturalist have it as far west as Minnesota in the north, and near Dallas, Texas in the south. The "Checklist of Kansas Jumping Spiders" mentions records in Douglas and Jefferson counties, but not Leavenworth. Older references may use the former name, Metaphidippus canadensis. There are also three other species in the genus Ghelna, at least one of which, G. barrowsi, also occurs in my area.

After I finished the photo session, I provided the spider with some water from the tip of a soaked cotton swab. He was thirsty! Then I took him back to where I found him, releasing him well off the sidewalk this time.

Sources: Bradley, Richard A. 2013. Common Spiders of North America. Berkeley: University of California Press. 271 pp.
Guarisco, Hank, Bruce Ctuler, and Kenneth E. Kinman. 2001. “Checklist of Kansas Jumping Spiders,” The Kansas School Naturalist 47(1): 1-13.
World Spider Catalog
GBIF
Bugguide

A One Millimeter Mystery

Sometimes a minor disaster turns into something positive, like a fallen tree limb revealing a hidden relationship between a wasp, a fly, and a saw blade. All of this in the front yard of our house in Leavenworth, Kansas, USA.

Yikes!

Upon returning from a week-long road trip in late June that took us into Arkansas, southeast Missouri, and southern Illinois, we pulled up in front of our home to discover that a massive tree limb had broken off the ancient Pin Oak, miraculously landing between our house and the neighbor’s house, with no significant damage to either structure. This makes the third such incident since we moved here in May of 2021.

Ugh, I've got a big job ahead of me.

We do not own a chainsaw, so I started cutting off the smaller branches with a couple of manual saws that we have. The odor emanating from the cuts attracted several wood-boring beetles right away. Close behind them were parasitoid wasps looking to oviposit on the eggs or larvae of their beetle hosts. While this was entertaining, and resulted in adding a new longhorned beetle to our home list of animal life, a more intriguing scenario attracted my attention.

My saws bring all the wood-boring insects to our yard.

Awhile later, I noticed several minute black specks moving over the surface where I removed the branch. They had to be insects, but I could not tell what kind. I took a few photos, and was shocked to find they were miniscule wasps. Some had greatly elongated abdomens, others did not.

At least the long-bodied wasp is a Synopeas sp. platygastrid wasp.

I submitted a couple of photos to the Hymenopterists Forum, an interest group on Facebook, to solicit an identification from true expert specialists. They did not disappoint.Bob Zuparko suggested they might be in the family Platygastridae, and that was confirmed by Kendrick Fowler. He also suggested a genus, Synopeas, and subgenus Dolichotrypes. He wasn’t sure the wasp with the “normal” abdomen was even a male of the same thing. It might be something else entirely.

Fowler went on to explain that this is a known behavior, the attraction to freshly cut oak, and that the host is presumably some sort of fly in the gall midge family Cecidomyiidae. That floored me because until then I thought all gall midges attacked foliage and/or stems. Also, how did this behavior evolve? There weren’t saws of any kind until recently, in the evolutionary sense. Beavers?

I decided to dig a little deeper and discovered that there is a genus of gall midges that oviposits in this situation: Xylodiplosis. I went back out and looked at some of the branch stumps again. Amazingly, I managed to find a few gall midges laying eggs. They were much more difficult to photograph than the wasps, and not as numerous, either. Why the wasps arrived before their hosts is a mystery to me. Oh, and there is also Ledomyia, another genus of gall midge that lives in freshly cut wood like this. I’m honestly not positive which one I documented.

Female gall midge, probably Xylodiplosis sp., ovipositing.

It turns out that Xylodiplosis gall midges have all kinds of enemies. They are attacked by nematode worms (family Ektaphelenchidae), mites (family Tarsonemidae, tribe Pseudotaesonemoidini), even another kind of gall midge (Lestodiplosis xylodiplosuga). Most of the research on these has come out of Europe, by the way, so it may not apply here in North America.

Back to the wasps. Synopeas larvae do do not begin to develop until after the host gall midge larva leaves its lair in the xylem wood to pupate in the soil. The adult wasp emerges about fourteen days after the unparasitized adult of the host gall midge, according to one source (Rock and Jackson, 1985). In their findings, the rate of parasitism was about five percent, and that included another platygastrid wasp in the genus Leptacis.

In at least one of my photos of the wasps (first photo of them in this post), I can barely make out the short spine on the scutellum (top rear of thorax) that separates Synopeas from similar genera of platygastrids. Identification of species is not possible without examination of a specimen under high magnification. There are currently forty-four known species of Synopeas found in the Nearctic (North America more or less north of Central America). I will leave you to go farther down the research rabbit hole.

Sources: Awad, Jessica N. 2020. “Building a diagnostic framework for the genus Synopeas Forster (Hymenoptera: Platygastridae: Platygastrinae) based on reared specimens from Papua New Guinea.” Master of Science thesis, University of Florida.
Crawford, J.C. and J.C. Bradley. 1911.”A New Pelecinus-like Genus and Species of Platydateridae,” Proc. Ent. Soc. Wash. 13: 124-125.
Gagne, R.J. 1985. “Descriptions of new Nearctic Cecidomyiidae (Diptera) that live in xylem vessels of fresh-cut wood, and a review of Ledomyia (s. str.),” Proc. Ent. Soc. Wash. 87(1): 116-134.
Hooper, D.J. 1995. “Ektaphelenchoides winteri n. sp. (Nematoda: Ektaphelenchidae) from wood fly larvae Xylodiplosis sp. (Diptera: Cecidomyidae),” Fundamental and Applied Nematology 18(5): 465-470.
Khaustov, Alexander A., Arne Fjellberg, and Evert E. Lindquist. 2022. “A new genus and species of Pseudotarsonemoidini (Acari: Heterosstigmata: Tarsonemidae) associated with xylophagous gall midges in Norway,” Systematic and Applied Acarology 27(6): 1020-1034.
Rock, E.A. and D. Jackson. 1985. “The biology of xylophilic Cecidomyiidae (Diptera), Proc. Ent. Soc. Wash. 87(1): 135-141.
Skuhrava, M. and K. Dengler. 2001. “Lestodiplosis xylodiplosuga sp. n., a predator of Xylodiplosis sp. (Diptera: Cecidomyiidae): morphology of developmental stages, biology and behaviour,” Acta Societatis Zoologicae Bohemicae 65(1): 57-68.