Life Cycles in the Bush

This bush in front of my house is where the entire drama plays out..

Praying mantis egg case from 2012.

I hope you like complex stories with lots of twists and turns full of treachery and just a touch of gore. If so, you have come to the right place. That place is a single bush in front of my house. This year the bush has gotten a reprieve from the hedge clipper, mainly because I didn't want to disrupt what I thought might be happening there. It did not disappoint.

Mantis shedding exoskeleton.

Last year I saw several praying mantis egg cases attached to this and other nearby bushes so I was expecting a big year of mantis sightings. well, that didn't happen. Instead I was treated to something I had never seen before, a single female praying mantis molting for the last time, her final instar, the one that would reveal her final majestic form and give her the power of flight with long newly revealed wings. There she was slowly working her way out of her penultimate exoskeleton. She would finally work herself free then wait for those wings to unfurl and for her soft shell to harden into a protective armor. For the next hours, though, she was vulnerable to anything that spotted her and wanted a soft insect meal. It was a risky time. I watched for a long time before I realized something was going wrong. Her transparent wings never seemed to completely unfold and the beautiful green and brown outer wings didn't fold neatly against her body.

The molt that didn't go right.

This mantis was never going to be the beauty I had anticipated but she would be the only one I would see on this bush this year. After a few days she disappeared and I was left to face a mantis-free Summer, at least as far as that bush was concerned. Sure, I would see others elsewhere but it was not the same as seeing one in my special bush.

The mantis may have gone somewhere but that didn't mean that the bush had nothing to offer. If the mantis is the top arthropod predator on the bush, the spiders, dragonflies, and robber flies are close behind. The bush is teaming with tiny spider webs housing an unbelievable variety of spiders whose names I don't know. There are also larger ones. One day came across a green lynx spider feasting on a brown stinkbug.

A green lynx spider consumes a brown stinkbug.

I had seen these beautiful spiders hiding on the undersides of larger leaves or lying in wait in some other place on the plant. The are lightning quick and rely on ambush attacks and even chasing their prey. No web traps for these guys. They are the real deal. With eight eyes facing front, up, and sideways, their depth perception is exceptional. Formidable indeed. This one, however had company. If you look closely you can see a swarm of flies helping themselves to the bounty of the stinkbug. They are parasitic flies who are particularly fond of spider kills, especially stinkbugs These kleptoparasitic (Isn't that a great word?) bugs feed almost exclusively off the captures of spiders. I am sure there is much more to this story than I know now but rest assured I am going to find out. In any case, this would not be my last encounter with parasitic flying things.

One day on my way to make my daily check on the bush, I noticed a large moth hanging out near my front door. In some ways, no surprise since I keep my porch light on all night for security purposes. It attracts all sorts of bugs and consequently many spiders as well but that is another story.

Hawkmoth

This moth, though, was quite something. As it turns out, it was intimately connected to my bush. It  was a hawkmoth, a beautiful creature that spends part of its life as a tobacco hornworm caterpillar (closely related to the tomato hornworm). Well since I have no tobacco and no tomato plants in my yard and none that I know of anywhere nearby, what to make of this moth? The bush provided the answer.

A tobacco hornworm denuding a stem.

I may not have had any tobacco or tomatoes growing in my yard but I certainly did have a tobacco hornworm. I found this one pausing to swallow his meal and look over his work as he made his way down one stem of my favorite bush, denuding it as he went. That stem was stripped clean from the tip down to where he was. Other nearby stems had already been stripped. Should I kill it to save the bush? Maybe later. For now my reflex was to get the camera and so I did. I resolved to just watch for a couple of days to see what would happen. After all, how much damage could a single caterpillar do? I looked for others just in case but found none so this one was safe, at least from me. Some bird might consider it to be a tasty morsel but not likely. Most caterpillars either taste bad to birds or resemble those that taste bad. This guy should be there for a while.


Well he might have been safe from me and the birds but he was far from safe. In fact when I first saw him, his fate had probably already been sealed. It was just not apparent to me. A few days later, I looked for the caterpillar and found him or one like him having a really bad day. He was covered with tiny white egg-like structures that made him stand out from everything else around, a flash of white in the sea of green.

Tobacco Hornworm with Empty Wasp Cocoons

 
 They were not eggs though, They were cocoons from which dozens of tiny wasps would emerge and fly
away to continue a bizarre life cycle. This caterpillar had been host to these wasps and paid for it with its life. After some time, the wasps did emerge from the tiny cocoons and most flew away to begin the cycle all over again.

Wasps and cocoons to show actual size.

The whole story is like something out of a science fiction horror story. Let's start with the tiny female wasp. At just over an eighth of an inch long, she flies around until she finds a well developed tobacco hornworm in which to deposit her eggs. With her sharp ovipositor, she penetrates the tough skin of the caterpillar and lays dozens of eggs beneath the skin. That would be bad enough but there is more. While she is depositing the eggs, she is also infecting the hornworm with a virus that attacks its immune system so it cannot protect itself from the newly laid eggs and the larvae they will produce. The same virus also attacks muscle (to slow the caterpillar's movement) and the central nervous system (to change its behavior). The wasp larvae hatch inside the caterpillar and begin feeding on blood and other tissues, all the while avoiding damage to any vital organs or systems. When they are mature and ready to become wasps, they chew their way through the tough outer skin, weave those tiny cocoons around themselves and start the metamorphosis into flying wasps. Now the caterpillar changes behavior (remember that virus?} and becomes the defender and protector of the firmly attached cocoons. It will strike violently and repeatedly at any disturbance to its body. It is probably enough to ward off at least some predators who might approach.  In some other species of caterpillar/wasp parasitism, the caterpillar actually uses its own silk supply to weave a second protective cocoon around the emerging larvae. There is something very scary about viral control over behavior. Great fodder for the sci-fi writer but absolutely based in the real world.


Needless to say I was being naive to think that there was only one hornworm in that bush. They tend to crawl up the undersides of stems and blend in very well with the colors. Stripped stems are the main giveaways. Well, the naked hornworms may be hard to see but those that have been parasitized are easy to spot. It is like seeing small white flags waving in the green foliage. There were several more in the bush so I decided to watch the story unfold again. I already knew the sequence. The caterpillar was going to have some very bad days then die, my bush would suffer some leaf loss, and the little wasps would emerge from their cocoons, fly away, and start the cycle all over again. They would do something like "live happily ever after."

Then out of nowhere an old friend showed up, bad wings and all. The mantis was back. It was like in the movies. A character is casually introduced at the beginning then fades away for the entire flick only to reappear at the end looking for something, . . . .in this case, an easy meal. She consumed the caterpillar and most of the silken cocoons including the tiny wasps inside. A few of the cocoons fell off the hornworm and into delicate spider webs below below but all the rest were eaten along with the host. Who knows? Maybe she is why I hadn't seen many other hornworms on the bush. Now, who gets to live happily ever after? The apex predator of course.

Neither the hornwom nor its parasites will survive this time.

End of story? Well not quite. You see, there is another kind of small wasp with long grasping legs who latches onto the backs of praying mantises, out of reach of those grasping claws. There she sits and simply waits. When the mantis is ready to lay her eggs, the wasp lets go and deposits her own eggs in the newly formed but still soft mantis ootheca (egg case). Her young will hatch early and feed on the developing mantis larvae . . .  and so it goes.

By the way, that first caterpillar continued to chew on leaves even after the little wasps had emerged. It was a futile effort to develop into a pupa. One day it just let go and fell dead from the stem, empty cocoons and all. I picked it up for a closer look. Like so many other things from my front yard adventures, this ended up in my studio as part of a new still life.

Still Life with Tobacco Hornworm and Parasitic Wasps.       21" x 14"  Print

Frogs in the Fridge, Frogs in the Marsh

Beaver Marsh Bullfrog

The Earliest Frogs
I used to love visiting my dad's office in the basement of the Science Building at NCCU. I was just a little boy, maybe eight or nine when I saw something there I had never seen before. It was a whole box of live frogs. They had just arrived from Carolina Biological Supply. The box, full of round air holes, was still sealed but I could hear them scrambling around inside. 

I could not wait for that box to be opened. I can't be sure what kind of frogs they were. Maybe small bullfrogs, maybe leopard or green frogs. I just know they were mostly green and brown and not very large. There must have been twenty or more of them in the box. A few were dead. That made me sad for two reasons. First of all I didn't like to see animals suffer and die. Second, the chances that I might get to keep one of them as a pet diminished with every dead body in the box. The others seemed to be doing well. Some seemed to be thriving. Dad put the box on a table near a refrigerator he kept in the lab next to his office. That cold place was going to be their new home. He pulled out one of the vegetable drawers, filled it with some damp wood shavings and put all of the living frogs in the drawer. He said the cold and dark would slow them down and keep them from eating each other. Then I understood why some of them looked so big and robust. He wrapped the dead ones in wax paper and put them in the freezer. All of them were destined for dissection and temporary preservation in formaldehyde. I still remember the smells of the lab.

I didn't know it at the time but my own turn with the frogs would come a few years later when I got to Mr Davis' biology class at Hillside High School. Yes, we did the whole drill of pithing, pinning and dissecting. I'll spare you the details but you probably know anyway.

Swim Like a Frog
Johnny McLendon, son of the famous NCCU basketball coach, John B. McLendon, and I were sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house playing with a frog we had caught earlier that day. We had him in a tub of water from which there was no escape. All he could do was swim around as we amused ourselves by making waves in the water and occasionally putting him on the ground so we could catch him again. I know now that it was no way to treat anything but that is who we were at ten.

Johnny's dad happened by on his way to work at the gymnasium. He stopped to see what mischief we were up to. This time we were innocent. Then, the coach and teacher that he was, recognized a teachable moment. He asked if we noticed how the frog swam with just his legs. He called attention to the webbed feet that looked like swim fins. He pointed out how long he could glide in the water by keeping his arms by his side and his legs straight behind.. It was the "frog kick."  "People can swim like that," he told us.  "Come on down to the pool this afternoon and I'll show you. You can swim just like that frog."

A Long Time Ago

Later that afternoon Johnny and I rounded up the Handy boys, Maurice and Butch and headed for the pool. We took our trunks just in case we might get invited to actually get in the water. It wasn't everyday that they let kids in the pool. Mostly we stood outside the wall looking longingly at the cool water. This, however, was a lucky day. Coach beckoned us in. I won't go through all the details. But I will say that after some amazing demonstrations and some masterful teaching we could all do a passable frog kick. I think that is when I first knew I could swim, I mean really swim. In a way my very first swimming lesson came from a frog. In later life, though, I had to unlearn that first lesson as the biomechanics of the frog kick became better understood. Now in competitive circles it is better known as the whip kick, a better reflection of what is really going on. Well, even though I now do it the correct way, it is still the frog kick to me. Thanks Coach!

Tadpoles
Ms Glenn's eight grade science room at Whitted School always had at least one aquarium. I remember especially the angel fish that she kept. I always thought they moved very stiffly despite their very graceful appearance. I can say that for my money they were not graceful at all. They just never seemed to really glide. But compared to the bumbling bullfrog tadpoles that she kept in the same tank, angel fish were ballerinas extraordinaire. I think that in the aquatic world there are no clumsier critters than bullfrog tadpoles. They waddled to swim and seemed to bump into everything in the tank. Their tiny mouths pouting in front of those enormous heads constantly nibbled at some unseen algae film. What was remarkable about them, or so it seemed at the time, is that they never grew up. My memory may be tricking me but I could swear Ms Glenn had those same three tadpoles in that tank for a whole year or more. Sure, they developed those little tadpole legs but they never became frogs. It remains one of the mysteries of my childhood.

Those bullfrog tadpoles were so much different from the tiny black toad tadpoles I used to catch. They would thrive on fish food, become tiny toads in a few weeks, climb up on the rocks I provided, and inevitably escape only to be found dried up and dead and full of dust somewhere on the floor of my bedroom.

So there is some history with me, frogs, and toads. They don't have the same place in my heart as turtles but they are pretty high up there.

The Beaver Marsh Bullfrogs

Wander along the edge of the Beaver Marsh Preserve in Durham, NC and one will always hear some scampering and splashing as small frogs leap into the water to safety. Sometimes the splashes seem especially loud meaning you have disturbed one of the local bullfrogs. They almost always see you before you see them. It is no doubt how they avoid becoming meals for herons, snakes, and even raccoons  who also frequent the edges of the marsh.

The Culvert

There is one place at the marsh where people are not likely to wander and herons are not likely to land. It is a little pool, fed by a large drainage culvert and runoff from the roadway through a couple of openings in the curb. It is behind a fence and heavily overgrown with vegetation, making at almost impenetrable. At the least it is uninviting. But that little pool seems to support a surprisingly large community of bullfrogs. They are the quintessential "big (relatively speaking) frogs in a little pond."

Into the Secret Life of Frogs

I stumbled upon this little place during one my routine trash pick-ups at the marsh. As I reached in under some brush with my tongs to pick up a plastic bag, I heard a big splash.  I froze then slowly moved closer to the edge of the culvert for a closer look. There they were. Two large bullfrogs still sitting on the bank of a little pool, seemingly not phased by the sudden escape of their companion or my presence. I watched motionless for a while then slowly pulled back. They didn't buy it. Both took the leap into the pool. One thing for sure. Next time I would bring my camera.

A Camera Sniper's View

As it turns out, bringing the camera was one thing. Getting the pictures was something else altogether. The first couple of times I approached the pool, there was a flurry of splashes as everybody scrambled to get back in the water. Once they jumped in, that was it for at least a couple of hours. This was going to take some time. The first lesson was that I would get nowhere approaching the pool standing up. Maybe I was too much like a heron to them or perhaps just anything big was enough to spook them. Maybe they expect to be harassed by some of the local kids. Who knows? For me, there was only one way. I had to crawl like a sniper, camera in hand, over the curb to the edge of the culvert, moving as slowly as I could until I could get a view of the pool. Eiko and Koma would have been proud. The truck drivers who passed by just gave me a knowing wave and kept on going

If it Fits, Eat it.

At first I thought the little pool might be home to two or three large bullfrogs, mostly the ones I had seen earlier. After a few visits I understood that there were at least half a dozen of them that hung out in that small space. It was surprising because I know them to be aggressively territorial, especially the males. They are also cannibalistic. In fact they will eat just about anything moving thing they can catch and stuff into their wide mouths including insects, fish, small birds, snakes, and other frogs. They are eating machines who occupy a place pretty high on the food chain. Well, to truncate this story, I never figured out what these frogs were finding to eat in that small place but nearly all of them appeared to be well fed. One even appeared to have eaten too much. Her belly was distended and she still had traces of something around her mouth. There was a story there but I had missed the action so all I could do was imagine some poor critter crossing the path of this voracious mouth. Ambush. One highly accurate, open-mouthed, engulfing leap and it was captured. Then the front legs start to stuff the meal in alternating with right and left pushes until the final gulp. Gone. I still don't know what they are eating.

Stand-off

Once while focusing on a larger frog sitting on the bank of the pond I saw a smaller one swim up to the bank from underwater. It was a moment of high drama. For the little one, it had to be an "Oh S--t" moment. Imagine coming up for air only to be confronted by something almost big enough to eat you and fast enough to try. For the larger frog it was measuring time. "Can I really get that one in my mouth and if so, can I turn slowly enough so that I don't spook him?" The smaller frog's calculation was different. "Should I make a break for it or just sit here motionless and hope she looses interest? If I break for it, which way should I go, back to the water or over land?" It was high drama and I dared not move a muscle. The three of us stayed frozen for the longest time. The larger one made the first move. It was an almost imperceptible turn to the right. That was it. In a flash the little one scrambled onto the land behind the larger on and in two bounds was out of sight. In the meantime the larger on had quickly turned toward a target that was no longer there. Not fast enough. End of story. At least I knew one thing. They will eat each other.

Over the Summer the area became more and more impenetrable as the vines and shrubs thickened. My visits became less frequent as I became less willing to navigate the terrain. Now it is even more difficult because of a new fence around the culvert. Nevertheless, it remains one of my favorite places to check on when I visit the marsh. It still holds mysteries to solve and stories to tell. There will be more to come.

In the meantime Here is a little slide show of some my images of bullfrogs of the beaver marsh. It will open in another window on your browser. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed capturing them.

Spring at the Beaver Marsh

A visit to the Beaver Marsh Preserve, the hidden jewel behind an old shopping center in Durham, NC, is like a visit to an exotic wilderness  in some other part of the world. Click on this image or any other one in the blog to see a larger version.

It is that time of year again. The time when I emerge from the dark and cold of Winter and feel life again in the way I like it best. The cycle is reliable and consistent. I know what to expect. This year I have been spending much more time at the Ellerbe Creek Watershed Association's Beaver Marsh Preserve. It is a lush green oasis nestled behind a run down shopping center in a part of Durham that could use some attention. The marsh itself is something like a secret public jewel. It is a secret kept by many, most of whom talk freely about the jewel at the slightest prodding. I am one of those secret keepers who tells everybody he meets. "Do you know about the beaver marsh behind Big Lots and Compare Foods?"

There is so much to tell about the marsh. Anything from the politics of urban nature conservation to an accounting of all the various plant and animal sightings would make for a good story. Then there are the people who frequent the place from the dedicated and scholarly birdwatchers to the homeless bike rider who makes sure baby turtles don't get stranded in the street. Of course there are also the litterbugs, trash dumpers, and the many volunteers who pick up after them to keep the place as pristine as possible. But these are not stories for this time.

This time it is about Spring and the reality of new life at the marsh. I wander all over the marsh going from the easily accessible observation fence to the thickly wooded and swampy areas on the other side where most people don't bother to go. This Spring, though, I have been really taken by how much there is to see in the most public of places right at the edge of the preserve. All the signs of new life are there. Spring is speaking loudly as Summer approaches and all of that new life matures through its inevitable cycles.

A Young Black Racer with New Skin

Very early on while walking very slowly and quietly near the marsh's edge I startled an absolutely beautiful young black racer. Actually, we startled each other. Even after a lifetime catching and playing with snakes, I am easily startled by one I am not expecting. This one had obviously just shed his skin. The shiny new scales showed an amazing iridescent blue. Time for one shot with my camera. A single click and he was gone. I could not have been happier but I knew some small frogs and other creatures would not be sharing my joy over such a sighting.

New life was emerging everywhere. For the few weeks before I had been watching a pair of Canada geese nesting right on the side of the beaver lodge in the center of the marsh. It struck me as being too much in the open and unprotected. Not the most secure place for a nest. A pair of crows seemed to take an interest in the nest too. They would perch on top of the lodge facing the nest and make a racket clearly intended to disturb the geese. I don't know if they were after eggs or goslings but I do know they kept a vigil, I even imagined I heard one of the say something like "Nevermore."  Okay, not really, but you get the picture. It did not look good for the goslings.

Four of Seven Wait for the Others

Imagine my surprise when a few days later I saw the whole family of geese out for a stroll. There were seven goslings following the goose and gander around the edge of the marsh trying to graze just like the grown-ups. It was so good to see them all survive the schemes of the crows and reach the point where they could keep up with the adults and, like these four, wander off for short distances to explore the huge new world. In case you are wondering, these are too big for our serpentine friend in the previous section to take on. That doesn't mean life for them is without risk. Nevertheless, life had prevailed and I was looking for more.

It came in the form of a nesting painted turtle. The ground was soft following a long overnight rain; just right for making a nest. Like most turtles who are well into the nesting task, this one was not disturbed by my presence. It is almost as if they go into a trance. They spend hours carefully digging the nest, laying the eggs, and covering them up in a way the makes the site almost invisible. When she is done she leaves and doesn't look back. In a few weeks, half a dozen tiny hatchlings will poke their way out of the shells, dig out of the nest, and scramble through the brush to the relative safety of the water. No parenting for these little ones. They are on their own..

Slider Finishing a Nest

On the same day, I ran across a yellow bellied slider putting the finishing touches on a nest she had made right next to the observation fence. Her muddy backside was the only clue to what she had been doing. I watched as she carefully tamped the damp soil and pulled old vegetation over the place where she had dug the nest. It was slow meticulous work. When she finished she simply walked away without so much as a glance back to inspect the work.

The Finished Nest

In a few days the spot would be practically invisible, like nothing had happened. Hers was only one of dozens of such nests scattered along the edges of the marsh and in the surrounding area. Some are as far away from the water as fifty feet. In one case a large snapping turtle was seen nesting across a street from the marsh. One thing is for sure. Once the nest is made it is all but invisible unless you know what to look for. The eggs are safely hidden underground until it is time to hatch and dig out.

All is well at the marsh. The snakes have shiny new skins. The goslings are following their parents around like the little "ducks on wheels" toys they inspired. Dozens of embryonic turtles are starting to develop in their eggs, nestled away in warm underground nests. Dragon flies are flitting about and there is more green stuff coming up than one can imagine. The bullfrogs are calling as are their cousins the tree frogs, green frogs, toads, and who knows what else. It is Spring and all is well. I can almost hear Disney music . . . Listen.

Okay, cue the sound of the needle scratching across the grooves of a vinyl record! (I am hoping this still counts as a signifier, regardless of age) Maybe this idyllic place is not so idyllic after all. I went back the very next day mainly to see if the overnight showers had further camouflaged the turtle nests. The first one was altogether invisible. Nobody would ever know a nest was there. I only knew where it was because I had made note of some small stones on the ground nearby.

The Next Day: Predation

Still More Predation

I wish I could say the same for the other one. Somebody other than me and the turtle knew it was there.Those little turtles never had a chance. It was breakfast or more likely, a midnight snack time for somebody and there was plenty to choose from. I didn't  have to wander far to see another ravaged turtle nest, this one a little neater but devastated nevertheless. There were others scattered around. I wondered how many nests had been raided, how many little turtles would never see the beautiful green of the marsh.

Night Raider

I didn't have to wonder much about who or what might be responsible. I thought the night raider would probably look something like this. This is not the actual egg predator but I know from personal experience that this very one has a definite taste for turtle eggs and turtle hatchlings. She was captured in my backyard last year and sent into exile. I also know that opossums, skunks, and even foxes are possible suspects but my money is on the masked bandit.

What about the goose family? It wasn't long before I had my answer. First there was the familiar quiet honking sound. Then the sighting. Just a few yards away, marching from the nearby parking lot back toward the marsh, came the parade. Two adult geese followed by seven little waddling wannabes. It made me smile. These guys were going to be okay.

Bullfrog at the Beaver Marsh

Then next day I went back, just to see what I could see. Maybe a new sighting of some sort. This time it was a frog that caught my eye. She was a relatively large bullfrog who did not seem to mind my presence. I was able to get close enough to get a pretty good shot. She watched as I tried to move even closer then decided that enough is enough. As I took one more slow step, she  reoriented her body toward the pool, paused for a second, and took one long graceful leap, making barely a ripple as she entered the water. This was not a panic escape. More like a case of discretion being the better part of valor. There is much to say about the frogs but I will save that for the next entry.

Of course I had to check on my little goose family. After a few minutes of looking around, I found them again. This time there wasn't much to celebrate. The parade was much shorter.

The Last Parade

All but one of the goslings was gone. By the next day, even it had disappeared. I could only speculate about what happened. In this case there are many suspects. On land, there are the feral cats who hang around the marsh and nearby restaurants. Raccoons and opossums are not off the hook either. Then there are the larger snakes, especially the rat and water snakes. In the water, there are snapping turtles. While they are not likely to pursue or stalk water fowl, they would be more than happy to snag one passing by. Who knows? Maybe the crows didn't give up after all.

What I do know is that the marsh for all of its beauty, is a very dangerous place. It is a place easily misunderstood and over romanticized by those of us who work to preserve it. We see the beauty of the place and wonder at its presence in an urban setting. We watch the seasons come and go, each with its particular aesthetic and charm. We adore the beavers and cherish the rare sightings of those little engineers who created the marsh in the first place. We visit and watch and record and admire it from the distance afforded us by human civilization. We decide what is cute, what is beautiful, what is graceful, what is interesting, what belongs, and what doesn't. What we don't do is live in the marsh. For those that do it is another reality altogether.

The Magicicadas of Brood XIX

I didn't hear the phone. Or maybe I heard it and assumed it was my friend Alfred from Liberia who frequently calls at odd hours, ignoring the time difference between there and here. No matter. I missed the call that would certainly have gotten me out of bed at 2:30 in the morning and out of the house, camera in hand, to witness something I had never seen before.

Photo Malik Lee

My youngest son, Malik, was frantically trying to reach me to tell me about something he had never seen before either, the emergence of the Brood XIX cicadas right there in his back yard. He could hardly contain himself but in between the calls, he did have the presence of mind to grab his camera and start shooting. It was exactly what I would have done. Some of his pix are included in this blog along with my own.

The ground was full of the holes they had come out of and little brown cicada nymphs were crawling up every vertical surface they could find; tree trunks, vines, deck posts, chimneys, brick walls, lamp posts, anything that would get them off the ground. There they could shed those confining exoskeletons and free themselves to be those amazing flying, singing, adult red-eyed creatures that we only get to see every thirteen years. These very cicadas had been deep underground all this time, since 1998, feeding on the sap in tree roots, growing into adolescence, and waiting for just the right moment. Now was the time.

Photos: Malik Lee

The shedding of that exoskeleton takes time during which the young adults are soft and vulnerable. It is something best done under cover of darkness to avoid predators and dehydration (or worse) from sunlight. They may look a bit strange, even alien at times, especially up close with spooky bottom lighting. But eventually the whole insect emerges with bright red eyes and very little visible pigment, It looks like a ghostly representation of its future adult self . Mark Doljes has posted an nice time lapse video of the whole process.

Photo: Malik Lee

 I was more excited for Malik than I was for myself because I knew that it would be something he would remember and recount for a long time. For him it would be one of those "Do you remember where you were when . . . ?" moments. I knew he could now count himself among the very few people who had actually witnessed the synchronized emergence of swarms of  those fascinating insects.

It was made all the more special because of the opportunity it gave my grandsons, Julius and Langston (Jules and Yaya). At first there was some fear to overcome. Those were "bugs" after all, and probably meant to be feared, disdained, avoided, or probably killed for daring to exist in the same space as humans. It was special to see it turn into fascination and maybe even respect. I hope this is just the beginning of a special relationship of curiosity and respect between them and the natural world. Cicadas are probably a good start. They don't bite, sting, or carry infectious diseases. Very cool little beasties.

I have always been fascinated by the cast-off shells of the emerging nymphs. They always looked much tougher than they actually are. As a child, I never really connected them to cicadas or any other bug that I knew of. When I found them, I imagined them to be rugged little suits of armor that were durable and somehow useful. Maybe they could decorate something or be used to make jewelry. How about making a slide for one of those bolo ties that I thought were so cool. It was never to be. The little shells were always too light, too thin, and way too fragile to be used for anything that my young mind could conceive. But, never give up. I still pick them up whenever I see them . . . and to this day they remain too light, too thin, and way too fragile. They do have this going for them. The tiny spines on the tips of their legs will cling to almost anything. Perfect temporary adornments to Summer t-shirts.

The cicadas we normally see and hear in this part of the country are called annual cicadas or dog day cicadas. They are the ones that, thanks to my dad, I knew as Grandpa Cricket when I was growing up. It is a story I have told in a previous blog. Some of them emerge and mature every year. They do spend long periods of time underground as nymphs but not as long as the magicicadas and they don't have a synchronous emergence. The males are much larger and their calls are individually loud. The late afternoon chorus is composed of easily distinguishable individuals, each taking his turn in that unmistakable rising and falling call.

Adult Male Dog Day Cicada and Adult Male Brood XIX Magicicada

 The Brood XIX cicadas are different. They come out all together every thirteen years. The males are smaller and not as loud. Their numbers are so great that distinguishing individuals (at least for humans) is difficult. The chorus envelopes the ear with an ocean of cicada love songs that sounds like something from a B-grade Sci Fi movie.  Here is a sample recorded in mid May near the Eno River State Park in Durham.


Here is a version of the same scene with some of the closer cicadas and and other chirpers filtered out. To my ear it is more like what I heard in the park.


While this year's Brood XIX cicadas were a special treat for me, it is still the dog day cicada  that holds that special place in my heart. I count on seeing and hearing them every year, much later in the Summer,  even as they signal the beginning of the end of warm weather and the coming of another dreaded Winter. It was the dog day cicada, Grandpa Cricket,  that first taught me about the complex web of life that we know as nature. Things are never as simple as they seem. There is always more for us to observe, another set of things to be discovered, and another story to be told .

Nevertheless there was something special about the Brood XIX this year. I was aware of the 1998 emergence but I didn't experience it directly. This time, I actually saw some of the brood and I paid close attention to them . I photographed them and recorded their sounds.  I helped to introduce my grandchildren to them and I shared my youngest son's fascination with them. I can think forward to the next time they come. The grandkids will be teenagers, Malik will be in his fifties, and I . . .? Well, . . . thirteen years is a long time!

The Last Mantis

 

I have to say that for me there is something totally fascinating about praying mantises. I never tire of seeing them as I always do in late Summer and early Fall. Take a look at this one. On the one hand they are kind of comical. On the other hand they seem alien, almost like they are not from this planet. They are slow moving but capable of flight. They are clumsy afoot in their chosen habitats but swift of "hand" when it comes to capturing prey. They are masters of stealth and camouflage but easily seen once the eye is trained to look for them. So, permit me one more entry about mantises. Actually this one is about a particular praying mantis whom I got to know over the course of a few weeks, right outside my front door. I call her "The Last Mantis." The story is not pretty and a few of the images may be upsetting to some. Click on any image to see a larger version. Reader/viewer discretion is advised.

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The Last Mantis

As the season stretched toward Winter without showing the slightest hint of what is to come, I continued to watch this one praying mantis just outside my front door where she had taken up residence in a large boxwood bush. Normally by this time of year all of them are gone. The females have deposited their last eggs into those tough brown egg cases and cold weather has weakened or killed them. Sightings are rare. The Last Mantis had already outlived her expected time. Her lifespan was extended into early November by the unseasonably warm temperatures of this year's Fall. For weeks, I had counted on seeing her in the same bush almost every morning as she basked in the early sun.

Sometimes it was not all that clear who was watching whom. At first when I approached, she would immediately turn and look at me with that typical mantis stare; the one that says, "I am watching you and I hope that's enough to keep you from getting too close." After a while, though, she seemed to get used to my presence and more often than not she just ignored me. Most days I did nothing more than just stand and look at her for a while. On a few occasions, I brought my camera out with me just to capture a few shots of whatever she was up to at the time. Sometimes she was moving slowly toward some other position. Other times she was eating. Mostly, though, she just seemed to be sitting there waiting and watching.

I suppose one could say she was hunting, but for her the hunt was not much of an active stalking, at least not at first. It was more like being in the right place at the right time. It meant being someplace where there was some reasonable likelihood that another insect would land nearby or perhaps crawl within striking range of those extremely quick forelegs. If something landed a bit too far away she would creep toward it but speed-of-leg was not her strength. It was the speed of those forelegs that really did the trick. She hung out in the upper parts of that boxwood where her favorite perch was at least four feet above the ground. That was something of a puzzle for me. Why was she so high in the bush when all of the good stuff seemed to be on the ground?

On several occasions, I had seen The Last Mantis consuming either a cricket or a grasshopper. No surprise that she would catch and eat them. The surprise was where she caught them. For some time I had wondered why I never saw the mantises down on the ground in the very thick grass where, it seems, all the grasshoppers and crickets lived. Instead mantises seemed to prefer the higher perches in bushes and heavier brush, at least during this time of year. Perhaps it has something to do with preferred egg laying sites. Whatever the choice, it did seem to work. Enough grasshoppers, crickets, and other insects ventured toward the upward reaches of the bushes to make large and presumably tasty meals for the mantises that waited there.

--- The Last Days ----

One day in late October, The Last Mantis managed to catch a really huge grasshopper,  much bigger than she could normally hope for in that bush and much larger than anything I had seen her tackle before. As it turns out, this largest meal was probably be her last, at least as far as I know.

Normally they eat from one end to the other. Everything goes down. This time it would be different. She removed one hind leg and ate the juiciest part of the large muscle before just dropping the rest of it to the ground. Then she moved to the soft body parts in the abdomen and thorax and ate her fill there. A little fly who, at any another time might, itself, have been a tasty morsel for the mantis, now sat right in front of her watching the feast, perhaps hoping to share some of the leftovers.

But this was not going to be a windfall for the fly, not that day. As I watched, The Last Mantis suddenly lifted her head from the open cavity, released her grip, and dropped what was left of the grasshopper to the ground. She was done. It was time for some preening to remove the spatters of the meal. I watched as she carefully wiped and licked every part of her face, eyes, forelimbs and anything else that had been soiled during the capture, struggle, and subsequent meal. She reminded me of a cat. The meticulous preening seemed such a counterpoint to the rather brutal scenario that preceded it.

Within seconds of hitting the ground, the grasshopper was discovered by dozens of ants who may already have been alerted by the earlier droppings from the meal. It was amazing. They dispatched the entire corpse in less than an hour. It was like it never happened. The ground was absolutely cleaned of any trace.

As for The Last Mantis, after cleaning herself all over, she just hung in the same place for a long time, upside down, her quick and powerful forelimbs just drooping, as if they were limp. She was looking down, almost reaching, toward the fallen grasshopper, now teeming with ants. She seemed to watch as they consumed the remains particle by particle. It was as if she were contemplating her own future; a future that would come sooner rather than later.

A few days later it got very cold. Nighttime temperatures fell into the thirties. I knew what that would mean for The Last Mantis but on the following days I went looking for her anyway. Nothing. I probed the bushes, gently pulling the branches apart so I could peer into the lower areas. To be honest, at this point I was looking for her remains, hoping to take her inside for some last photographs. Nothing. She was gone. Perhaps a bird picked her off or perhaps she dropped to the ground and the ants took her away. In any case I know I will never see her again.  She is now a memory, a collection of photographs, and another source of deep gratitude for my many experiences that come from just watching.

Oh, there is one more thing. In rambling through the branches of the bush looking for her body, I discovered one more fresh egg case left there by The Last Mantis. She had not wasted the nutrients she took in during her final days. Something to look forward to next Spring.

Praying for Mantises

I don't remember much about praying mantises from my childhood. I have to think that I didn't see very many of them if I saw any at all. Surely anything that fascinates me so much as an adult would have grabbed my attention as a curious youngster. Oh, and rest assured I was curious if nothing else. I examined everything and brought way too much of it home. Many of my childhood fascinations have followed me into adulthood. Since I cannot remember them from childhood, I have to assume that praying mantises came relatively late into my life. Oddly, though, I don't remember when that might have happened. But  it did happen and for a long time since they have occupied a prominent place in my consciousness, especially at certain times of the year.

It is usually in the late Summer and early Fall. I go into a state of high vigilance as I go on the lookout for one of those most interesting of insects, the praying mantises. When the weather is hot and the vegetation is lush in mid season, I almost never see them. It is not that they are not there. It is that they are secretive, stealthy hunters who are well camouflaged in the vegetation they use for ambush. They are busy eating and growing in the run up to the mating season when their normally solitary existence begins to change to something more social. Once the Summer starts to fade into Fall, I know I can count on seeing one or two of them, usually females, somewhere in my yard.  Nevertheless, there is always an element of suspense to my annual search. I never know for sure when and where I will have that first sighting. I just know I can't wait.

Perhaps I should call it a hunt even though that sounds too predatory for the way I feel. If I am the hunter or predator in this case, it is only with my eyes and my camera. My shot does not ring out with the explosion of gunpowder and my target does not fall fatally wounded from a high tech projectile hurled from ambush. I do not stuff their murdered bodies and mount them in my den for all to see and I don't eat them. I am only after the image and maybe the connection with this most interesting creature, not the body and not the soul. I have to trust that those are simply wrong who believe that by capturing an image I am imprisoning a soul .

The first sighting of an adult mantis is always a thrill. This year it was a real bonanza. There were three different mantises in one bush at the same time. They were in a place I always check because at least one seems to show up there every year. I worried that these three might encounter each other and that some sort of conflict might ensue. Nothing happened that I could see. The three of them stayed there for most of the last part of Summer. They were all females and it was egg laying time. Conflict with others was probably the last thing on their minds.

Finding that first mantis is one thing. Getting the photograph I want is another. Don't get me wrong. It is very easy to get a picture of a mantis  once you have found the insect. They are very cooperative in that way. It is almost as if they can't wait to pose for the camera. And that is precisely the problem. Getting a candid shot of a mantis is a bit of a challenge because the are difficult to sneak up on.  Here I have spotted one deeply concealed in a bush but I can get only one shot off before she turns  and looks me straight in the eye. So much for mantis candids.

 They are very wary but show little or no fear of humans. If they do feel threatened, they either move away or turn toward the threat and show a threatening posture of their own. Even though they can fly, that doesn't seem to be their first impulse when confronted.

This one has assumed a threat/defense posture which is telling me that I have gotten too close and should back off. Students of the martial arts, especially Kung Fu, will recognize the classic raised arms of the Praying Mantis Style. If one persists in getting too close, some mantises might actually attack by jumping toward the threat. That despite the fact that they represent absolutely no real danger to humans. They have no stingers and the grasping forelegs that are deadly to smaller insects can barely penetrate human skin. Nevertheless, the quick strike of a defensive mantis can be an intimidating experience, even for old school nature lovers like myself. I am forever grateful that they do not get much bigger. A two-foot mantis would be something to contend with.


Both of the adult mantises in this entry (one brown and one green) are female and both are heavy with eggs. Hence the large abdomens. In late Summer they lay their eggs in foamy secretion that forms a surprisingly tough bell-shaped case once it is dry. The foam comes out as a very wet, bubbly, sticky foam not unlike that expandable foam used by builders to insulate and fill cavities in home construction. It hardens quickly to form a tough, almost impenetrable place for the eggs to develop. The small case shown below was deposited late in the season by the very same female shown above in threat posture.  The case is small as she was nearing the end of her egg supply and the end of her life cycle. Her last few eggs were probably laid in the smaller, incomplete case just to the right. She will spend the remaining days in a weakened state and vulnerable to predation by other creatures seeking provisions for the upcoming Winter.

If all goes well and some pesky parasitic wasp doesn't find the egg case right away, the little ones are safe for now. Over the cold months of Fall and Winter, they begin their slow development, accelerating when there are warm spells and slowing down during the coldest periods.

(I once made the mistake of bringing one of these egg cases home after finding it during a fall hike. I left it out on a warm window sill in my kitchen. You can guess what happened. One day in December I noticed lots of little grayish "ants" crawling all around the egg case and well beyond. They weren't ants at all. They were what seemed like hundreds of little praying matises busy trying to make a life for themselves. Sadly none of them survived. The few I managed to capture just ate each other until only one or two remained. They did grow a bit but finally succumbed despite my best efforts to feed them fruit flies and some small bugs that I managed to find outside in Winter.)

By Springtime they are ready for the world and the end of anything even close to safety. The little ones hatch as soon as it starts to get warm in early Spring. They emerge by the dozens, maybe hundreds, from the egg cases and begin life as formidable little hunters. Barely over a quarter of an inch long, they come out as nymphs, fully formed preying mantises except for the wings. They are complete with over-sized eyes and those lightning fast front legs that have inspired martial artists for centuries. They emerge as minuscule but very effective little predators.  The little ones will attack and eat anything that moves as they disperse quickly from the egg case. Often that means attacking and eating any of their kin they happen to encounter. For many of them, life is a simple zero sum game to be played out first with siblings and later with other small creatures. Eat or be eaten is the rule. One is either the diner or the dinner. It is just that simple. These two youngsters are in just such a standoff. In this mini-drama, the one on the left must decide whether to turn and face the advancing sibling or leap for the closest branch. In this case discretion proved to be the better part of valor. He made the leap.

Most mantises don't survive their infancy. Those that do have made it through a gauntlet of spiders, wasps, birds, big raindrops, their own kin, and lots of other potential misfortunes. At least they do not have to worry about adult mantises. None of those will have survived the previous Fall or Winter. The big ones are all gone. Some of the new ones will grow up to be adults in their own rights and take their places among some of the top predators of the insect world.

Here is one of the adult females at work gathering in the last bits of nutrients for the season. She has caught a grasshopper. This is the same mantis that was looking so threatening in one of the photos above. For now she is getting just enough nutrition to see her through the physically demanding process of laying her eggs. While it might be difficult to tell them apart by color and some elements of structure, there is no mistaking their different roles. Mantis and grasshopper are diner and dinner respectively. It may not be pretty but it is what there is to be seen. So I watch and learn and share, another carryover from childhood.

And so it goes every season with little variation. I plan to be there again in the Spring to watch it unfold all over again. Maybe next time I will get lucky and see something I have never seen before. That, after all, is why I keep looking. If I am really fortunate I'll have my camera close at hand. In any case, you know I will share.