Showing posts with label Walkingstick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Walkingstick. Show all posts

End of October



Late October,  2015 

The year that our sixteen year old Henry David Thoreau entered Harvard College, the German explorer and naturalist Prince Alexander Philipp Maximilian zu Wied-Neuwied worked his way to the edge of the American frontier, studying Indians, plants, animals, geology, and just about anything else he came near. Maximilian concluded his American explorations a year later and eventually published the account of his travels (the London edition came out in 1843, two years before Thoreau went to live at Walden Pond). 


While Thoreau was still at the Pond, he began studying Indians as, perhaps, a way to connect to his idea of The Wild.  This was his primary interest for the rest of his life. And as he poured over the Harvard library’s collection of books on native Americans, Thoreau kept detailed notes (his twelve Indian notebooks run somewhere around 3000 to 4000 pages). One of the books he eventually found was Philipp Maximilian’s. And I can’t help but imagine Thoreau’s heightened interest in this intelligent explorer’s account of all things Indian and all things Nature.

All of this is a dreadfully boring lead-up to our observation last week of what is for us here at The Creek a new flower: Helianthus maximiliani, the Maximilian Sunflower. Right. The idea is that our German friend encountered this native to the Great Plains on his explorations, and so he gets his name attached to the plant’s binomial name (along with several other plants and animals).


The generous Project Gutenberg has put online some of the writings of Maximilian.  For those at all interested in early 19th Century naturalist writing or amazingly detailed firsthand accounts of Indians, these links would be hard to beat:

Helianthus maximiliani,
Maximilian Sunflower






A few days back (Oct 21), I squatted near the shallow yet quickly running piece of Creek about 30m upstream of the Pool. There, on a foot-wide stone half-submerged, loads of damselflies were perched or hovering in their famous reproductive posture known at the wheel or the heart. The male has sought out his mate and, perhaps while in-flight, grabbed her thorax right behind her head with the clasping structures of his tail-end. She then swings her tail-end back under herself and forward to a segment of the male’s tail where he has prepared his sperm for her taking. The pair will remain attached as the female deposits her eggs, generally into plant material under water or near the water surface. The whole time, the male (still grabbing her thorax with his tail claspers) is guarding the process from rivals, helping the pair to fly here and there (freeing up female energy so she can focus on egg-laying), and sometimes balancing himself at the water’s edge while his mate remains underwater to deposit eggs. 

Depending on the anthropomorphic bent of the human observer, it’s a process that involves beauty and ugliness. And absurdity. Three days ago, healthy damselfly eggs by the hundreds were inserted into Creek plants with the hope of filling this stream with larvae and other flying generations. But last night the rains began in earnest. When I looked out the windows this morning, I could not even see the Creek, it was still so low from our drought. But no less than ten minutes later, it was churning with white foam and tree limbs, spanning almost a hundred feet in width. Flash. Flood. And all those countless damselfly eggs somewhere down in the Colorado River and on the way to the Gulf. Many of the larvae that have attached themselves to the bottom of larger stones will emerge here again in a few days. Those that attached themselves to stones smaller than a boulder will also find themselves in the bellies of River fish soon. 

But when I think of what a single damselfly of a mated pair had to go through just to be washed away, my anthropomorphic mind cannot un-conclude that the whole show is absurd. The female herself had to feed and fight underwater for a year to three years as a nymph. Then she emerged one sunny morning and pulsed fluids through her newly expanding wings, morphing into the flying wonder we associate with these and similar waters. And then the quickly maturing process, the formation of eggs, the mate-clasping, the air-borne copulation, and the final and unlikely placement of tiny eggs into calm waters beneath my gaze. Now, though. The torrential loss just seems absurd.









And other images...







       Praise
1
Don't think of it.
Vanity is absence.
Be here. Here
is the root and stem
unappraisable
on whose life
your life depends.

2
Be here
like the water
of the hill
that fills each
opening it
comes to, to leave
with a sound
that is a part
of local speech.

(Wendell Berry, The Country of Marriage)


Butcher Paper



Walkingstick (Insect Order: Phasmida)


Missing that second left leg.

This one at rest on a paint roller in the creek house.

Texas Giant Centipede or Giant Redheaded Centipede (Scolopendra heros)
Both photos above feature the same friend.  After we found him inside the house, we gently transplanted him outside where we hurried a photo as he himself hurried off into the grass.

Some more background to enhance viewer appreciation:
"This species of centipede has powerful jaws — modified front legs, termed maxillipeds — and its venom is known to produce significant pain and swelling that, when combined with infectious organisms acquired in its travels and feeding (this centipede is known to feed on putrefying flesh and fecal matter, and thus is subject to microbial contamination), can produce serious complications. Their bites should, therefore, be considered at least nominally dangerous. It has a cluster of simple eyes (ocelli) on either side of the anterior head. These primitive eye clusters apparently provide no assistance in hunting, as the animal hunts nocturnally and , and are not necessary for the animal to respond to light. When the eyes are covered with opaque paint, no difference is noted in its immediate negative response to bright light stimulus.

Scolopendra heros has six cephalic segments, which are closely fused in the adult, but observable under magnification in the embryo. A segmented antennae is attached to the anterior portion of the second cephalic segment. This structure is the animal’s primary sensory organ, and is extensively used when hunting for food.

It has 21-23 body segments, consisting of sclerotized tergal plates dorsally, and sternal plates verntrally, which are connected laterally by softer pleural membranes from which erupt the coxal segments of each leg, and on which are found (on some segments, but not on all) open spiracles for respiration. A single pair of legs, each with seven segments (coxa, trochanter, femur, tibia, and 3 tarsi) is attached to each body segment, save the first and last segments. Legs attached to the first body segment are modified into a pair of four-segmented poisonous jaws. The last body segment comprises the anus of the male, and in the female is further modified into a gonopod with a pair of diminutive, articulating ovipositors. The posterior pair of legs is the longest and most robust, and is modified for grasping."  http://bugsinthenews.info/?p=1145

The following two passages both involve a Dr. Baerg.  Seems as though the good physician was a curious one at least.

"Scolopendra heros is purported to make tiny incisions with its legs while walking across human skin. When the animal is irritated, a poison is supposedly produced near the base of each leg and dropped into the wounds causing inflammation and irritation. According to one story cited by Dr. Baerg, an officer in the Confederate Army, while sleeping in his tent, was suddenly aroused by the creepy feeling of a large centipede crawling on his chest. A number of spots of deep red, forming a broad streak, indicated the arthropod’s passage across the man’s chest and abdomen. Violent pain and convulsions soon set in, accompanied by excessive swelling in the bitten area. The victim fought with death for two days and then succumbed. The agony suffered by the bitten officer was described by an eyewitness as the most frightful he had ever observed."

"The prey is captured and killed or stunned with the poison claws. Poison glands are located in the basal segments of the claws or fangs, sometimes called maxillipeds. Each gland drains its toxic contents through a small opening near the tip of the fang. In the mid 1920s, Dr. Baerg tested the effect of the venom by inducing a centipede to bite one of his little fingers, leaving the fangs inserted for about four seconds. The bite was followed by a sharp and strictly local pain, which began to subside noticeably after about 15 minutes. In about two hours the pain was only very slight, but there was a general swelling in the finger. Three hours after the bite, most symptoms had disappeared."
Just barely enough white petal in focus to justify including this one
(White Prickly Poppy,  Argemone albiflora)





Blue Curls (Phacelia congesta)

Here's an interesting site to explore:   http://www.usanpn.org/


     So phenology is the study of when we see the first walking sticks, centipedes, prickly poppies, or blue curls.  It's the calendar we read when we see nature breaking out into sticky buds or laying speckled eggs.  
     About fifteen years ago I kept a long piece of white butcher paper taped to a hallway door in our home.  Each time I witnessed a flower blooming for the first time during the year, I'd write its name and the date on the butcher paper.  As the seasons progressed, I tried to also mark the last time I saw that species blooming on our piece of prairie.  I found that yellowed scroll last week while packing up boxes to move out to the Creek.
     Of course, phenology is an immensely important tool in our construction of aA theory of global warming because if we can document in specifics the arrival of spring or summer a week or two earlier, then we have something else to go on.  And if we can detect subtle changes in the relationships between animals and plants, for instance, and see how climate change might be disrupting their symbiotic relationship, then we have something wise to go on.  And maybe disheartening.  Who can tell?






And I heard this piece on the radio yesterday evening:

Looking for Consequences of Shifting SeasonsBY CLARK BOYD ⋅ APRIL 6, 2012

In a small park at Wageningen University, biologist Arnold van Vliet points out the signs of spring that are all around—a prunus tree, with nice white flowers, a hazel bush unfolding its leaves. It’s a lovely sight on a beautiful spring day.

The only problem is that these flowers and leaves really shouldn’t be here yet.

“Everything is now two to three weeks ahead of schedule,” van Vliet says. “Butterflies are appearing very early—extremely early because of the very warm March we had.”

But a warm March here isn’t that much of an anomaly these days. Van Vliet says spring is regularly coming weeks earlier than it used to in the Netherlands. In fact, he says, with temperatures on the rise the whole climate of the country has shifted in the past 10 years to become more like southern France.

Van Vliet has been following this climatic shift for more than a decade as head of an effort here called “Nature’s Calendar.” The program enlists the help of more than 8,000 scientists and ordinary Dutch citizens to track changes in the seasons through what’s known as phenology. That’s an old-fashioned word for the study of the timing of seasonal, life-cycle events, such as the first flowering of a particular plant, or when a species of bird first lays its eggs in spring.

People who work close to nature have been tracking this kind of data for centuries. But environmental scientists in the Netherlands and elsewhere are more concerned about it than ever, because the shifting of the seasons is having real environmental effects.

“We see that the length of our growing season is already one month longer than before 1988, when the temperature started to change,” van Vliet says. “We see already an enormous change in species diversity in the Netherlands—very many southern species that live in Belgium, France and even farther south, that (now) appear in the Netherlands. And the more cold-loving species are significantly decreasing. So we see that signal.”

And the Dutch aren’t alone. As the planet warms up, scientists are seeing a similar trend around the world. Jake Weltzin, an ecologist with the US Geological Survey in Tucson, Arizona, and coordinator of the USA National Phenology Network, says spring has been coming earlier in much of the United States.

Weltzin says maple sap started running earlier than normal this year, and species as different as butterflies and horseshoe crabs turned up earlier as well.

Many plants and animals can adapt to earlier springs, Weltzin says, but he adds that what’s really important is how these shifts in timing can affect an entire landscape.

“We’re starting to get a handle on that as a complex system,” he says. Among other things, he says there’s more potential for what he calls “mismatches” in an ecosystem.

“If you have a plant, and an animal, and the animal depends on that plant for nectar, or forage or food, and if the plants are coming early, and the animals aren’t arriving at the same time, you can end up with this mismatch. So there may not be enough pollination, there may not be enough food. There may not be enough milkweed for the Monarch butterflies.”

In some cases, these mismatches that are coming with the shifting seasons could even affect food crops for people.

Weltzin says what’s needed to better understand these trends and changing relationships is greater cooperation and data sharing among national phenology networks.

Like the Netherlands, many European countries have such networks, and in fact there is now a European database of historical phenological data.

Kjell Bolmgren, who directs Sweden’s National Phenology Network, says the data suggest that spring is coming a week earlier there than it used to. But he notes that isn’t necessarily bad news for all of Sweden’s plants and animals.

“My prediction would be that most organisms in Sweden will benefit from the improved growing conditions,” Bolmgren says, “simply because the difficult part in Sweden is the winter. So once that gets shorter, it’s going to be easier for most plants.”

Bolmgren says it also means a longer growing season in Sweden, but he cautions that the Swedish summer might get so long that drought becomes a problem.

There’s also no guarantee that important parts of the country’s ecosystems won’t get out of whack.

Arnold Van Vliet at Wageningen University says he’s already seeing winners and losers in the Netherlands.

Plants and insects seem to be adapting fairly quickly to the earlier Dutch springs, he says, but migratory birds do not seem to be getting the clue to come back sooner. And he says that could mean trouble for some ecological relationships.

Still—what’s the big worry about all this?

“Yeah, why worry, that’s one of main questions asked,” van Vliet says. “You have to look at the bigger picture. And if you look on a global scale, 40 to 50 percent of all the plant and animal species are located on two percent of the earth’s surface. And if 50 percent of all the plant and animal species are in danger because they are in a climate zone they’re not used to, then I think we have a major issue there. Many species will be lost.”

Van Vliet says the trick to driving home the importance of phenological data, and what it’s telling us about the impacts of climate change, is to enlist the help of the public. To the end he has set up websites where citizens can help scientists track the tiniest changes in nature—things like the time and place of new hay fever symptoms or tick bites, or even the number of bugs smashed on a license plate after a summer drive.

They could all contain clues about how local environments are changing as the world warms up and the seasons continue to shift.