A lifer butterfly for me. Very lucky to get a few good shots of it while it was resting, wings open, to take in some sun. They’re small and fast.
The undersides of the wings look completely different. Here’s another one the same afternoon in a more typical pose with the wings folded up.
From the flight pattern, I thought at first it was a Summer Azure, which are common here. Perhaps these are what I’ve been seeing instead.
To me, it looks like a cross between an Azure and a Hairstreak. Took me a while to identify it on BugGuide.
There were two, at least, flying around today. Glad they’re finding habitat in my gardens. I hope they make a home here.
Host Plants
The caterpillars eat the flowers and seeds of plants in the Fabaceae (Leguminosae), Pea Family. Genera and species include:
Lathyrus, Wild Pea
Lespedeza, Bush Pea
Medicago sativa, Alfalfa (I had no idea alfalfa was in this family!)
Melilotus officinalis, Yellow Sweet Clover
Trifolium, Clover
Vicia, Vetch
While there is some clover in my yard, the most prominent Fabaceae I’m growing is Wisteria frutescens ‘Amethyst Falls,’ a cultivar of the native Wisteria that has been reblooming in my garden most of the summer this year. I wonder if this is the plant that has attracted them?
Yesterday, Matthew Wills and I traveled to Staten Island in search of Magicicada, the periodical cicada, specifically, Brood II. We both had examined the online reports and articles; although the south shore of Staten Island is their stronghold, Cloves Lake Park – not that far from the ferry terminal – kept turning up as one of the places they’d been sighted. As a bonus, I had the car, and this park was closest to the Verrazano narrows bridge.
Matthew had some intel that they had been sighted in the northwest section of the park, so we started there. Finding none after scouring the narrow northern end of the park, we packed up and went to the southwestern edge, and parked along Royal Oak Road.
Jackpot!
Once Matthew and I found the evidence, it was hard to miss. The ground in many places had numerous exit holes. These are only six inches apart or so.
Closer to the bases of the trees, there were innumerable husks – shed nymphal exoskeletons – as well as disembodied parts of adults that had been eaten by their numerous predators.
We each collected samples at different locations. I’m hoping I can cobble together enough to identify at least one of the species.
Within a minute after we’d parked. Matthew found one nymph struggling through the long grass, the only live individual we found. We took turns posing with it. Here it is on Matthew’s arm, obligingly depositing a generous drop of honeydew. (We didn’t sample it.)
After our photo shoot, we placed it on the nearest tree, next to my parked car. As we left, we found it again on the tree, just a few feet above where we had placed it. Its appearance had already changed from just an hour or so earlier; it no longer appeared quite so fresh and juicy. It was working on its molt into an adult.
Their distribution was extremely localized. Even venturing away from the street along the margin of the park turned up relatively few husks, although they were abundant along the street trees. Matthew hypothesized, and I concur, that the paved areas of street and sidewalk create a micro-climate that warms the surrounding soil earlier than more shaded, unpaved areas. So what we found is just the advance guard. The deeper and wilder woods that comprise the southern end of Clove Lakes Park is ideal cicada territory. It’s going to be quite a party.
Given the difficulty we had in finding them, I would recommend to other eco-tourists to wait until the warmer weather later this week, when they should emerge in even greater numbers. Once they begin sounding off – which could be as early as this weekend – they will be easy to locate. It would have saved us a lot of time if the little buggers had been announcing their presence!
About Magicicada
Magicicada spend most of their life underground, suckling on tree roots. Every 13 or 17 years – prime numbers – they emerge as nymphs, metamorphosize into adults and molt their nymphal exoskeletons, mate, and die. Hopefully, they emerge in numbers overwhelming to their predators, who gladly feast upon them.
There are seven identified species: three 17-year species and four 13-year species.
The years of emergence are not hard and fast. Some populations of Brood II emerged in 2009, four years “early” or 13 years, instead of 17 years, after they hatched and burrowed underground. Broods that emerge early or later, – almost always exactly four years off their normal cycle – are called stragglers. Because each species is typically tied to its 13- or 17-year cycle, straggling is believed to play a role in species formation.
Atteva aurea, Ailanthus Webworm Moth, on Pycnanthemum, Mountain-Mint, in my garden last weekend. The intense colors are believed to be aposematic, a warning coloration to deter predators, probably because they would be distasteful.
The larvae – caterpillars – feed in communal aggregations, like tent caterpillars. Around the globe, caterpillars in the genus Atteva are known to feed on plants from at least a half-dozen plant families. But they favor plants in the Simaroubaceae, the Quassia Family.
The Quassia Family includes the infamous invasive tree, Ailanthus altissima, Tree-of-heaven, probably best known as “that tree what grew in Brooklyn.” So, as Ailanthus has invaded here, Atteva aurea discovered a new suitable host. It’s likely this has supported an increase in its numbers, and possibly its range, from its original native populations.
Per BugGuide, the family name, and the genus from which it arises, is likely a typographic error:
Family is named for genus YponomeutaLatreille, 1796. That name was apparently a typographic error (!) for Hyponomeuta. That would be a combination of Greek prefix hypo under, plus nomeuta (unknown, perhaps from Greek pno air; breathing, plus meuta?)
The many ecotypes across the wide range of this species give rise to variations of color patterns. These variants have identified under many different specific epithets, and even other genera. (BugGuide notes: “This moth belongs to a species complex that was recently split”). Because of this, searching taxonomic-based resources, such as the Caterpillar Host Plants Database, for this species may not identify all relevant records.
Scolia dubia, Blue-winged Digger Wasp, on Pycnanthemum, Mountain-Mint, in my garden.
Another little jewel of a wasp that is new to me this year. I’ve been seeing it on the Pycnanthemum, but was unable to get decent photos of it until yesterday. I’ve also seen it on the Clethra alnifolia, Summersweet in my garden, which just started blooming in the past week.
With the wings held back, the blue iridescence of the wings might lead one to mistakenly identify this as a small Sphex pensylvanicus, Great Black Wasp.
Scolia dubia
Sphex pensylvanicus
But once the wings spread to the sides, the exposed abdomen distinguishes it. The cinnamon- colored abdomen and two bright yellow spots make for a clear identification, once you know the species.
Adults feed on nectar, which both the Mountain-Mint and Summersweet offer in abundance.
Females dig in search of grubs of June Bugs and Japanese Beetles to parasitize with their eggs. The wasp larva feeds on the beetle grub and overwinters as a cocoon, emerging the next year.
This species is another example of the importance of providing habitat for wasps in the garden; they are natural bio-controls of other insects that might otherwise overwhelm the gardener’s intentions.
One of the great pleasures of gardening is observing the activity the garden invites. I can lay out the welcome mat, and set the table, but the guests decide whether or not the invitation is enticing enough to stop by for a drink, a meal, or to raise a family. While charismatic megafauna such as birds and mammals are entertaining, the most common and endlessly diverse visitors are insects.
The Hymenoptera includes bees, wasps, and ants. Although my garden also provides amply for ants, we’ll stick with the bees and wasps today. Following are some of the few portaits I’ve been able to capture of the many visitors to my gardens. The pollinator magnet, Pycnanthemum, Mountain-mint, in the Lamiaceae, provides the stage for many of these photos. I’m always amazed at the variety and abundance of insect activity it attracts when blooming.
Multiple pollinators on Pycnanthemum
Bees
There are over 250 species of bees native to New York City alone. I’m still learning to identify just a handful of the dozens of species that frequent my garden.
My current favorite is the bejeweled Agapostemon, Jade Bee Bombus impatiens, Common Eastern Bumblebee, on Monarda fistulosa
Coelioxys, Cuckoo Bee. I think I’ve got several species from the genus visiting my garden, but I’ve yet to get identification for the others. These are in the Megachilidae, the Leaf-cutter and Mason Bee family. Bees in this family typically carry pollen on hairs beneath their abdomens, instead of in pollen baskets on their legs. You can see this bee isn’t carrying any pollen; it doesn’t even have the hairs beneath its abdomen to do so. It doesn’t need to, because it takes over the pollen-provisioned nests of other leaf-cutter bees for its own young.
Along with the Hymenoptera come the mimic flies. Many of the seeming bees and wasps, seen from a distance, turn out to be flies on closer inspection. In “the field,” i.e.: my garden, there are two features that provide quick distinction between the two familes:
Antennae: Flies have short, clublike antenna, like feelers, in the center of the face, between the eyes. Bees and wasps have long, segmented antenna arising higher up on the face, almost from the top of the head
Eyes: Flies’ compound eyes are huge, covering nearly all of their face. Bees and wasps have compound eyes that wrap partially along the sides of their heads.
The feet are also different, but I usually don’t notice those until I’m browsing and culling my shots. Finally, bees and wasps have four wings, while flies only have two – Di-ptera, two-winged.
The Syrphidae/Flower-Fly family hosts countless mimics of bees and wasps.
Eristalis arbustorum on Hydrangea
Eristalis transversa, Transverse Flower Fly
Their tactics of mimicry are not limited to patterns and colors. Many species have evolved body modifications to mimic even the shapes of wasps and bees.
Syritta pipiens provides a good example of this. This is the most wasp-like fly I’ve found yet in my garden, though more extreme mimics exist. Glimpsed from behind as it moves quickly over the flowers, it could easily be mistaken for a tiny wasp.
Viewed from the side, or the front, Syritta is more obviously a fly, not a wasp, and a dedicated mimic.
Toxomerus geminatus sports a radically flattened abdomen. This seems to be an adaptation to present a wider area from above, as a predator might view it, for displaying its mimicry, while preserving a smaller volume and keeping weight down.
I wonder what they are mimicing? Might some of these mimics mirror actual target species, not just general “bee-ness” or “wasp-ness”? If so, I would expect to find both the mimic and subject in the same range, and exhibit the same phenology. For example, Toxomerus bears a resemblance to Agapostemon at a quick glance.
Photographing Insect Activity
This is my setup for doing live insect macro photography “in the wild,” i.e.: in my garden. The lens is a specialized macro lens that allows for an extremely close focusing distance, though I’m not taking advantage of it in this example. I target some flowers with lots of insect activity, in this case, a local ecotype of Monarda fistulosa, in the Lamiaceae, the Mint Family. Then I wait for insects to visit the flowers, within range of the camera.
I use the tripod handle to pivot up and down; it turns side-to-side easily. Ease of rapid movement with stability is critical, as the insect subjects move rapidly over each inflorescence, and from bloom to bloom. Still, the tripod only steadies my own shaky hands. The insects, of course, are moving, but so are the plants, which sway with the slightest breezes. A fast auto-focus helps; a quick hand is still needed when automation fails.
The mobility allows me to track a single insect as it moves around, and capture different shots, and perspectives, on the same individual. This is critical for identification, since I don’t know until later what the key features to look for might be. It’s often some tiny detail, only revealed from some obscure angle, that distinguishes the species.
My subjects, while largely oblivious to my actions, are not cooperative. I have to shoot hundreds of photos to get a few good shots that are in focus, free of motion blur, and have enough of the right details to identify the species, or at least narrow down to the family. This was never possible, or at least not economically feasible, before digital photography.
Macro shot of Pycnanthemum inflorescences, with common objects for scale: left, pencil eraser, right, U.S. nickle coin.
Eric Grissell, Bees, Wasps, and Ants: The Indispensable Role of Hymenoptera in Gardens
Douglas W. Tallamy, Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife with Native Plants
The Xerces Society, Attracting Native Pollinators:Protecting North America’s Bees and Butterflies
Links
The bug geeks at BugGuide are awesome. Only through their generous sharing of knowledge and expertise have I been able to identify my little visitors. They cover the United States and Canada.
After readying my backyard native plant garden for its debut tour for NYC Wildflower Week in May, I decided to complete the requirements to register my garden as a Certified Wildlife Habitat (#141,173) with the National Wildlife Federation. With over 80 species of native plants, I easily met three of the four requirements: shelter, food, and places to raise young. All I lacked was water, a requirement satisfied by placing some birdbaths and a terra-cotta cistern.
On Friday, May 27, I mounted the plaque on the entrance arbor.
The morning after I put out this welcome mat, I saw butterflies visiting a vine in the garden. I was puzzled, since the plant wasn’t blooming yet. Closer observation revealed that they were laying eggs on the vine. Battus philenor, Pipevine Swallowtail, ovipositing on Aristolochia tomentosa, Wooly Dutchman’s Pipevine
At first, I thought they were Papilo troilus, Spicebush Swallowtail, a species I’ve encountered before. But one of my tweeps, Marielle Anzelone, id’d it as Pipevine Swallowtail, a lifer butterfly for me. Upon researching the species, I was somewhat relieved to learn my confusion has some scientific basis: both the Spicebush and Pipevine Swallowtails, along with several other species, are members of a mimicry complex. As described on BugGuide, “members of this complex present a confusing array of blue-and-black butterflies in the summer months in the eastern United States.” The arc of orange spots on the underside of the hindwind, clearly visible in the photo above, is a key to distinguishing this species from other members of the complex.
The other key was the host plant. Of course, Pipevine Swallowtail would lays its eggs on Pipevine, in this case, Aristolochia tomentosa, Wooly Dutchman’s Pipevine. This plant was a rare find; I’ve never seen it offered again, or elsewhere. A few years ago, I visited Gowanus Nursery – my favored retail source for native plants in Brooklyn, even New York City – and asked if they had any Dutchman’s Pipe. I was hoping for A. macrophylla, a species with huge leaves, and a Victorian gardener’s favorite. They had some Aristolochia, but neither of us could id the species. Adventurous gardener that I am, I took a chance and brought home a quart specimen with a few, thin stems and small leaves. When it eventually bloomed, I was able to id it.
A few years later, the plant is huge, with dense foliage, though the leaves have remained small. It keeps reaching upward several feet, self-supporting its lax stems, and climbing into the cherry tree above it. It serves to screen the composting area from the rest of the garden. I think the mature growth of this plant, rather than the habitat plaque, is what attracted the butterflies to my garden, and select this plant as a host.
Eggs of Battus philenor, Pipevine Swallowtail on Aristolochia tomentosa, Wooly Dutchman’s Pipevine
Where I could find them, the eggs were laid only on the young leaves and petioles of fresh growth. This growth is abundant on the mature plant. The eggs are small, especially compared to the depth of the “hairs” of the plant. I suspect laying the eggs on young growth is critical to successful feeding by the young caterpillars. As they get larger, they can manage the larger, coarser hairs and leaves of more mature growth. Empty eggs of Battus philenor, Pipevine Swallowtail, on Aristolochia tomentosa, Wooly Dutchman’s Pipevine. Leaf removed from the vine and U.S. quarter coin provided for scale.
Just five days later, on June 2, the eggs hatched. Newborn caterpillars!
One day after they hatched, I found a group of four little caterpillars on the underside of a different, but nearby, leaf. Two days later, the group was down to three, and three days later, only two caterpillars were left on the leaf. The feeding damage visible in the photos is distinctive: other leaves on the vine have showed signs of feeding, or other uses, but nothing like the fine ragged edges left by tiny little mouths. I haven’t caught them in the act of feeding; I wonder if they feed at night, to avoid detection when active, and remain hidden during the day?
I’ve lost track of the caterpillars now. The vine is dense, with layers of foliage, and many twisting stems. I’ll watch for feeding damage to try to locate and photograph some of them again as they get larger. I’ll also look for chrysalises; catching them emerging as butterflies would be fantastic luck.
Aristolochia tomentosa is native to eastern and southern North America.
Battus philenor hosts on all species of the genus, so its range covers most of North America.
So, how is any of this “easy to replicate”? While flowers provide food to, and the plants shelter, adult butterflies and moths, a host plant meets three of the four habitat requirements: shelter, food, and a place to raise young. Most native plant species are known to host something. Both Butterflies and Moths of North America (BAMONA) and the international HOSTS Database from the Natural History Museum in London are online resources you can use to discover Lepidoptera-plant host associations.
A single container of a grass or sedge on a balcony can provide habitat. The whole of the cumulative impact of scores, hundreds of such micro-habitats will be greater than the sum. Even in urban settings, we can create opportunities for nature to return and thrive, and by reconnecting with it, we thrive as well.
Colletes thoracicus, Cellophane Bee, is a native species of solitary, ground-nesting bees. Solitary, because each nest is burrowed out by a single queen, who constructs several chambers in which to lay individual eggs. Solitary, yet communal: where they find the right conditions, the nests can be densely packed.Here’s a short video showing the activity on Saturday morning.
This is the third year for what I’ve come to think of as “my little bees.” I noticed the holes earlier last week, and saw all this activity last Saturday, as I was readying for the Plant Swap. This is the earliest in the year that I’ve noticed them.
Make Your Garden Bee-Friendly
These bees took up residence in a “neglected” spot of the garden, one of the benefits of being a lazy gardener/ecosystem engineer. Different species of bees have different requirements. Here are some things you can do to make your garden bee-friendly.
Avoid chemicals, especially pesticides.
Leave some areas of bare or muddy ground for ground-nesting species.
Set aside “wild” areas, even a few square feet.
Provide bee nesting houses.
Forego that perfect lawn, minimize lawn area, and/or mow less often.
Plant a diversity of flowering plants; bees prefer yellow, blue, and purple flowers.
Provide a succession of blooming plants throughout the growing season, especially early spring and late fall.
Provide a mix of flower shapes to accommodate different bee tongue lengths.
Emphasize native perennial plants. (See plant lists under Links below.)
Minimize the use of doubled flowers.
Select sunny locations, sheltered from the wind, for your flower plantings.
Although I’ve lived in Brooklyn since 1992, I didn’t encounter Sphecius speciosus, the Eastern Cicada Killer, until we moved to Flatbush in 2005. It was summer, and I was working outside in the garden. Suddenly, here was the biggest wasp I had ever seen, large and loud, buzzing around my driveway and digging into the lawn next to it. I freaked out. I hosed out the burrow and destroyed the nest.
I regret having done that. I attribute my over-reaction partially to the stresses of being a first-time homeowner. I now find them beautiful. I consider myself lucky that we live in an urban area where these specialists can thrive. Besides, they are much too busy during their short adult lives to bother with people.
Sphecius speciosus, Eastern Cicada Killer, with prey, just inside the Eastern Parkway entrance of the Osborne Garden at Brooklyn Botanic Garden, August 2009
They have a fascinating, if gruesome by human standards, life history. It could easily be the inspiration for the xenomorph of the Alien movie series. After mating, the female digs out a deep tunnel leading to a multi-chambered nest. They’re impressive excavators. This debris pile appeared overnight alongside our driveway and sidewalk in August of 2012. The concrete curb is 3″ high.
Here’s the entrance to a nest in Cattus Island Park in Toms River, in the coastal pine barrens of New Jersey, in August of 2011. Note there are 4 different colors of sand, showing the different layers, and depths, the female reached.
The female then hunts for and captures an adult cicada, paralyzing it with its sting without killing it. It returns with the cicada to its burrow, dragging it into one of the chambers of the nest. It lays a single egg on the cicada. It repeats this process several times. The female dies soon after egg-laying.
Sphecius speciosus, Eastern Cicada Killer, with prey, at the Flatbush CommUNITY Garden, July 2008
When the egg hatches, the larva feeds on the still-living cicada. When the cicada hs been completely consumed, the larva spins a cocoon and overwinters as a pre-pupa. In Spring it emerges from the cocoon as a pupa, eventually metamorphosizing and emerging as adults, male and female, for mating and renewing the cycle.
Dog-day Cicada (annual Cicada) in Prospect Park, July 2008
Cicada killers are solitary wasps. Males emerge from pupal cases in mid-July to early August, a few weeks before the females. The males tunnel out of the ground, leaving telltale holes, and select a territory that they actively defend. Females mate soon after emerging, and then begin digging burrows in the ground using their mandibles and legs. The burrows can be several feet deep with numerous branches. Once construction is complete, the female searches in trees and shrubs. Upon capturing a cicada, the female stings it injecting venom. Then, she carries the cicada back to the burrow, where she lays an egg on its living, but paralyzed body. Within two weeks, the egg hatches into a larva, eats the cicada, and develops into a pre-pupa, the stage at which it will spend the winter. Cicada killers are active in late summer, the same time that cicadas are present. By September, most adults have died. Although visually alarming, these wasps pose little threat. Females are not aggressive and rarely sting, unless excessively provoked. Males often display territorial behavior and will dive-bomb people’s heads; however, they have no sting and pose no real threat. – Cicada Killer, Master Beekeeper Program, Cornell University
Felis catus ssp. cicadakilleratus ‘Ripley’ on my back porch, August 2009
I was prompted to write this in response to a message sent out on the Flatbush Family Network:
We seem to have an underground yellow jacket nest on our front walkway with a “Queen” that is about 2.5 inches long…..a little frightening to me but will absolutely scare the wits out of my kids- she looks like she can carry her own luggage! Anyone know an exterminator that can come and get rid of this Quick!?
This beautiful creature is not a bee. It’s a fly of the Syrphidae, a family of flies renowned for bee mimics. This is Eristalis transversa, Transverse Flower Fly. I had noticed it in my garden for the first time this summer. yesterday was the first chance I had to capture some photos of it. Consider this a belated Garden Blogging Bloom Day post, but with a native pollinator as the focal point.
The flower it’s visiting is Aster novae-angliae ‘Chilly Winds’, a selection of the native New England Aster from Seneca Hills Perennials in upstate New York. This plant has been a pollinator magnet in my backyard native plant garden for weeks. It’s massive and overgrown and poorly placed, crowding out everything else around it. I’ll have to find it another place for next year.
Monobia quadridens, Mason Wasp, male (I think), on Aster novae-angliae ‘Chilly Winds’ in my backyard native plant garden this afternoon.
Today was my first full day home since last Monday, and I was sick for nearly a week leading up to that. So I took advantage of the beautiful weather in NYC and got out into the garden. The weeds had gotten away from me, and I spent most of my time dealing with them, at least a little bit.
I then turned my attention to the center of activity in the backyard: the massive specimen of New England Aster that just started to bloom in my absence. It’s a selection of the species I ordered from Seneca Hill Perennials, which specializes in New York native plants, a couple years back. It didn’t do much at first. In the full sun it’s enjoyed since I had to take down the last of the weedy maples last year, it has grown to shrublike proportions – 5′ wide and high – mocking the meager 1-2′ spacing I provided between it and the plants around it. Today’s pollinator activity concentrated on just the handful of open flowers. It has hundreds of buds. When it’s in full bloom, the activity will be audible.
I was watching for bees, and there were a lot of different species visiting. This wasp was the most striking visitor. It’s Monobia quadridens, the Mason Wasp. From the antennae, I think it’s a male. Thanks to tangledbranches for the ID!
Judging from the photos on its BugGuide page alone, this is a common species with a wide distribution. It’s native to eastern North America. From a gardener’s perspective, this is a beneficial insect. It provisions its young with caterpillars in nests burrowed into the ground or bored into wood; it’s also known as a Carpenter Wasp. I’ve never noticed it before. I hope to see more of it as the Aster comes into full bloom. [http://bit.ly/imbbO]
