NH Outside: Insects Archives

The room was pitch black as I lay in bed searching the darkness outside my window for the momentary flash of light. As a child, my excitement at seeing the first fireflies of the summer rivaled the anticipation of waiting for Santa or the thrill of waking up to the first snow of the season.

Now, each year I am transported back to my childhood when I first spy lightning bugs gracefully dancing in the darkness of the backyard.

It never ceases to amaze me, that split-second burst of brilliance in which I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. I stop, stand stock-still, and wait for the next twinkle, then another over by the edge of the lawn and yet another higher up near the first flash.

My heart soars, and I run inside to alert my family and insist that, they too, come to watch the show. To me it’s as impressive as the Perseid meteor showers that we watch from our roof, because these lights are alive and that seems even more special.

As children, we spent most of June and July with our maternal grandparents. It was our favorite time of year, filled with the freedom that only comes when you’re young and the summer promises to last forever.

My two older sisters took special delight in the pursuit of fireflies on balmy June evenings, carefully capturing them in a jar with tiny holes poked in the lid. Once they’d collected enough flies, they would silently sneak upstairs to my grandparent’s bedroom. Gently they would slip their jars under the light summer sheets and unscrew the tops, releasing the bugs. Then they would turn off the lights and watch as the sheets lit up in a beautiful ever-changing light pattern.

Racing back to their own bed, they would huddle together and attempt to stifle their giggles when my grandparents discovered the “gift” my sisters had left them. Leaving their windows open usually meant that more mosquitoes entered than fireflies escaped.

Bioluminescence is the name scientists give to the ability of living creatures to use body chemistry to produce and emit light. There are two critical purposes behind the firefly light show. Fireflies (actually beetles in one of several genera) use their tail lights, or lanterns, to attract mates and to lure prey. Flashing in their society isn't only encouraged, but necessary for survival.

Males and females identify each other by the timing of their flashes. The pattern of the flash differs for each species, allowing members of that species to recognize each other. However, the females of the genus Photurus have evolved the ability to imitate the flash patterns of female Photinus (another genus of firefly), to attract Photinus males, whereupon she attacks and eats them. Because of this deceptive ability, Photurus females are often described as the femme fatales of the firefly domain.

By consuming a male Photinus, the female Photurus firefly gains both the nutrition from her prey's body and certain compounds (lucibufagins) it contains, which make her unappealing to certain predators such as the Phidippus jumping spider.

With such great survival mechanisms, you’d think that lightning bugs would outlast us all, but I’ve noticed fewer and fewer lightning bugs in my yard over the years. Scientists are concerned about this, too, and their research reveals light pollution as one reason behind their disappearance.

It seems that the artificial light we produce outside our homes at night confuses the fireflies and shuts them down. When they can’t tell day from night they tend to keep their lanterns off. When they stop flashing, the beetles aren’t attracting mates or their much-needed food sources.

Sadly, scientists predict that in certain parts of the country, lightning bugs may be gone in as little as a decade. One simple solution is to cut down on light pollution-but urban sprawl shows no signs of reversing itself.

Still, if you’re fortunate enough to live away from urban bright lights, try turning off your own outdoor lights. You’ll save money and reduce your carbon footprint. Then, when the weather turns warm, turn off your indoor lights, too, take a seat by the window and be patient. With luck, you’ll be rewarded with a beautiful light show that may transport you back.

By Susan Ferber, Master Gardener

As layers froze over and more fluffy snow arrived, it came to the point that we'd walk a few steps on the snow and then break through and sink to our keesters,occasionally tipping over in the snow. I remember as a child walking to catch a school bus in this fashion. As an adult, I didn't find it nearly so much fun.

Coming nose to nose, so to speak, with the snow forced me to notice I had company: little specks of dirt that actually moved in the clean, fresh snow. This led to further investigation. My online sources told me that instead of minor hallucinations, these tiny, active flecks are one of nature's small miracles: snow fleas. Hardly larger than a grain of pepper, these creatures can survive subzero temperatures, can jump 20 times as high as their body length, and have flourished on this earth since long before the dinosaurs appeared.

I've mentioned these interesting facts to several friends, acquaintances and family members. They had never heard of or seen snow fleas and looked at me strangely as I described the phenomenon I witnessed in the snow. This goes to show, you don't always know what you've got, even when it lives right under your nose.

Members of the insect order Collembola, with more than 6,000 species scattered around the globe, springtails may be the most abundant insects on the planet. The name snow fleas is misleading, as it bears no relationship to fleas.

The springtail gets its name from the spring-like hook (called a furcula) attached to the underside of its abdomen. When these hooks release, the jumping begins. Strangely, however, it may not go anywhere except up and back down in the same position.

Since springtails tend to congregate in large masses and get trapped in crevices and low areas in the snow such as footsteps, watching these tiny guys hopping about can be a bit startling. They will also float in a group on puddles as the snow melts during the day. A non-porous coating on their exoskeletons prevents them from getting soaked.

Springtails don't necessarily appear every day. As this winter progressed, the snowbanks grew to monstrous proportions outside our living room window. It became impossible to ignore them. I began to wonder about a collection of black "dust" that would appear one day and not the next in one corner beneath our eaves. Run-off from our black shingles seemed a possible source, but why one day and not the next? As I was researching springtails it dawned on me that this "dust" didn't come from disintegrating shingles: these black specks were springtails.

Springtails actually have a function in life other than bewildering hapless ladies who have fallen in the snow. They feed on decomposing leaves, fungi, algae, dead worms, insects and other organic debris in the ground. Some sources actually call them most important decomposer organisms in the formation of the earth's soils.

Scientists have also found an unusual anti-freeze protein in springtails' bodies. This protein has been studied to see if it could help increase the longevity of human organs for medical transplants.

Harmless to humans, pets, and structures, snow fleas won't invade your stored food supplies or gnaw holes in your woolens. In most cases, springtails found in or about your house will soon disappear on their own,without the use of pesticides.

Springtails climb from below the snow to the surface as the winter temperatures begin to warm up. I like to think of them as a sign of spring, because they seem to show up when the sun gets stronger. It always pleases me to discover something that can live on and under the snow, defying cold, icy weather.

Somehow I suspect that if life as we know it disappeared from the earth, the tough little springtail would survive. So step outside and see for yourself: Life is where you find it.

UNH Cooperative Extension,Helen Downing, Master Gardener

Invasive plants and invasive insects: purple loosestrife, lily leaf Asian lily beetle. You could probably name far too many of these pests, but the ones that really torment me in the summer are the Japanese beetles. Yes, some people might say they’re attractive, but since I usually find them on a skeletonized leaf, I don’t find them attractive at all.

Around our place, this beetle has many favorite foods. It particularly likes and nearly defoliates one wild shrub that grows around here, as well as pussywillow, streamco willow and my curlicue willow. Every evening, I may find four or five beetles per leaf. Into the jar of soapy water they go.

They like the ferns growing wild in the circle of the driveway and they are very, very fond of our raspberries. Strangely, they don’t seem to enjoy the roses quite as much as they do the malva, hibiscus, hollyhocks, amalanchier, corn and string beans.

From the above list, you can see that our yard is a real beetle attractor. I go out every day during July and August. I carry around a large jar about one-third filled with soapy water. On top of the jar I’ve taped the top portion of a gallon milk jug with the bottom portion cut out, forming a funnel to channel the beetles into the water below. My norm is about 500 beetles a day.

Often on my forays around the yard, I’ve asked myself what possible good these beetles serve. I’ve never seen a bird take one. One spring day I was looking at a large nest of tent caterpillars, up quite high in a tree. I was wondering how I was going to cut the branch down so I could get rid of the leaf devouring critters. Suddenly, a flash of orange and black! A male northern Baltimore oriole had arrived. It feasted for several minutes on the tent caterpillars. After that, I left the tent caterpillars alone. If an oriole will eat them, then they have a purpose in my yard.

But those Japanese beetles. What good are they? I stare at my poor pussy willow and wonder if it will survive the attack. Every leaf is filled with holes and many are nothing but rapidly browning shreds. And look at the string beans! Every upper leaf is so chewed that a fat string bean could fit through it. The hollyhocks haven’t flowered in weeks the beetles have eaten every bud.

Suddenly, a movement on the ground, just where I was about to put my foot so that I could reach up higher to get another beetle. Oh, a garter snake! A big one. Look at those lovely colors. I never would have seen it if I hadn’t been out on beetle patrol. Its tongue flicks out rapidly. Look at those eyes! I wonder what it’s been finding to eat down here under the ferns. Could it catch a beetle? Hmmm.

The snake moves on and so do I. There are still another hundred beetles to get tonight. What’s this on the leaf? Oh, it’s one of those lovely little silvery brown frogs. This one is no bigger than the nail on my little finger. It sits so still on its leaf. It’s at least four feet off the ground. How ever does it get up this high? Its little eyes blink once, but otherwise it never moves. A real beauty of nature hiding here on the leaf of a shrub.

One night on beetle patrol, I saw not one, but a pair of these tiny frogs. They sat facing each other, one moving its head just a fraction of an inch as they stared. What conversation were they having? Was mating the topic? I watched for several minutes but they made no other move. The next night, I found one of the frogs in the same location. Perhaps the leaf is his territory and the other had intruded.

When I think about the little frogs I’ve encountered, the snakes sliding silently along the ground and the hummingbird darting past me on its way to the monarda that grows across the path from the amalanchier, I wonder if perhaps the beetles do have some purpose in my yard.

Because I’m out hunting them down, I’m in the right place at the right time to see these miracles of nature. I’ll have to think more kindly of those shiny imported pests. But I’ll still keep the soapy water close at hand.

By Susan M. Poirier, Master Gardener

Black, barren earth with patches of dying grass spread out across the front of our church in Derry when the snow melted last year - not the image we wanted to project for the season of life, growth and rebirth, but a sight commonly found in lawns during the springtime.

The landscaping committee wanted to change that image fast. Some of the committee members suggested using a strong pesticide as a quick way to get rid of the grubs that had killed the grass by devouring the roots, as well as the skunks that tore up the soil rooting around for the grubs.

A meditation garden sprawls around the higher points of a wetland that sprawls below the hill. I worried that pesticide runoff might harm or kill some of the fish, amphibians and other wetland creatures. Wetlands are the cradle of new life for frogs, salamanders, toads, turtles and insects. I love the song of the spring peepers as I leave from an evening church service. The peepers are one species among the many creatures that add something to life and our experience. For me they herald the hope of spring and warmer days. I’d read that frogs, salamanders, toads, and other amphibians absorb chemicals through their skin, making them particularly vulnerable to the pesticide our committee wanted to use.

I called the Rockingham County Extension office to learn more about the grub control pesticide. Nada Haddad, the agricultural resources educator, informed me that only state-licensed pesticide applicators can treat public spaces with pesticides. She also warned that the pesticide might contaminate neighboring wells if it wasn’t applied in strict accordance with label directions.

I agreed to take on the task of finding an alternative to the product the committee wanted to use. Time was getting short. We had two weeks to find an alternative before the window for the pesticide application would close.

I wracked my brain. During my training as a UNH Cooperative Extension Community Tree Steward, I’d learned that native plant species are typically better adapted to cope with pests. That got me to thinking that perhaps we could solve our problem by replanting the lawn with hardier, more pest-resistant grass species.

Then I remembered a flyer in which the N.H. Department of Transportation (DOT) talked about using tough, low-maintenance grasses and plants in highway median strips.

I called the DOT and talked to Guy Giunta, the department’s landscape specialist supervisor. He told me the DOT uses something called Highway Mix 45—a mix of species that resists salt, doesn’t need watering and needs minimal maintenance.

Minimal maintenance would certainly be a plus for the church. The few dedicated people who water and mow the grass and do other landscape maintenance for the church neither want, nor have the leisure, to spend all their time caring for the lawn. It takes a generous person to interrupt a beautiful summer day to run over to water the church lawn.

I learned that Highway Mix 45 is durable—the indoor/outdoor carpeting of lawns—and available through a local garden supply center. Its one drawback: it doesn’t make a nice, soft lawn you’d want to picnic on. That was no problem for us, though, because this lawn was near the road where no one would want to picnic anyway. The church just wanted it to look nice, and it came up a nice, solid green.

Last spring I heard the peepers, who reminded me spring was coming after such a hard winter. In the fall, I walked with my son in the meditation garden and sat listening to the birds. When we came out of the woods, we met Bob Lehmankuler, the head of the landscaping committee, who told me the grass was growing fine and that the muskrats and butterflies loved it.

The front of the church now radiates new life and growth. There is also new life and growth in the wetlands, and safe drinking water in nearby wells. We solved our pest problem without resorting to pesticides because people were willing to seek out a creative alternative. People were willing to listen to each other, ask questions, and compromise.

The obvious solution isn't always the best.

By Bonnie Barlow, Community Tree Steward, UNH Cooperative Extension

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

I was supposed to be doing the grocery shopping. Instead I waited for a butterfly to emerge from its chrysalis. I didn’t know how long it would take, as I’d never seen it happen before.

My grandmother introduced me to the magic of butterflies when I was a little girl, helping her in the garden. We would “catch” the caterpillars and put them in old mayonnaise jars with holes punched in the lids and lots of food leaves: milkweed for the Monarchs. I would sit and watch the caterpillars munch on leaves and listen to the soft crunch-crunch-crunch. Once the caterpillars had spun their chrysalises, we would carefully remove any uneaten leaves and stems to make room for the future butterfly.

The chrysalis was not so interesting to watch, but one day I would go out to the garage (Mom made me keep my bugs in the garage—but I did manage to sneak fireflies into my room. What good are fireflies in the garage?) to check on the green blob hanging there and find a butterfly in the jar instead. Sometimes its wings would still be wet and we would watch the newly emerged butterfly stretch and dry them before we opened the jar to let it fly away.

This time I’m hoping to see the chrysalis split and the wet insect crawl out. There’s a lot of butterfly in that small space. It must be like a road map. Only one way to fold it to make it fit.

I missed the final shedding of the caterpillar skin. Both caterpillars that I took from a friend’s garden in late August had been hanging upside-down in their J-shapes for a couple of days when my husband and I went to the Hopkinton Fair on the first of September. I checked them before we left, and when we got back the caterpillars were gone and in their places were light green chrysalises accented with gold and black. The caterpillar skins lay on the bottom of the container like discarded Halloween costumes.

For two weeks now the chrysalises have hung from the lattice covering their clear plastic box, jiggling gently as I typed or more vigorously when a dog bumped the table. The other morning I noticed that one looked darker than before. Holding it up to the light I could see the orange and black of the butterfly’s wings inside, and even some of the white spots.

I wondered why the chrysalis is green for the two weeks of pupation. The light green would make the chrysalis inconspicuous on the underside of a leaf during its relatively vulnerable sedentary phase, yet normally the Monarch relies instead on a conspicuous advertisement of its unpalatability. (Milkweed contains a poison which the caterpillar ingests and uses for its own protection.) Why the change in tactics? The mystery of what goes on inside the chrysalis from one day to the next makes my head spin.

I couldn’t put that shopping off forever, but when I got home the butterfly was still in her chrysalis. She waited for the cover of night to emerge. When I got up at seven Saturday morning, there she was. The second, also a female, (the males have a small scent patch on their hind wing that looks like a wide spot in the black veins) came out Saturday night, and I set them both free on Sunday morning. They broke their fast on my Echinacea and fluttered away.

What’s amazing about this fall generation of butterflies is that they won’t simply fly around eating nectar, looking glorious, and then mate and die. They have a long journey ahead of them. Barring unforeseen accidents with speeding cars or any animals that haven’t learned what those bright colors mean, they will fly south to Mexico, feeding on nectar along the way.

They will pass the winter in huge colonies high in the mountains near Mexico City, where it is cold enough to keep them from reproducing, but not so cold as to kill them. In the spring they will mate and the females will head north, probably laying their eggs somewhere in Texas. The generation born of those eggs will fly farther north still, following the milkweed bloom.
 
Eventually butterflies will reach us here in New Hampshire. The females will lay their eggs, only one per plant, on the milkweed. And soon a new crop of caterpillars will emerge and begin feeding on the milkweed, crunch-crunch-crunching their way to butterflyhood.

09/28/2006

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

All it takes is one chance planting of a species favored by butterflies to hook you into trying to attract these lovely, ephemeral creatures for a lifetime. According to an old saying, “Butterflies go where they please and please where they go”— the crown jewels of a beautiful garden. And by planting the right flowers in the right place, you can invite a variety of butterfly species to dwell in your garden.

Adult butterflies come for the nectar, which they sip through their tongues. Butterflies tend to favor plants with large petals or strong stems that provide a perch. Plants with large petals include members of the genus Compositae,such as asters, black-eyed Susans, coneflowers, zinnias, marigolds, cosmos and daisies.

Other good nectar plants have a flower head that consists of smaller blossoms on stems, such as butterfly bush (Buddleia), lantana, butterfly weed, borage, lavender, mints and phlox. Butterflies tend to avoid the showy double flowers, since these are often low in nectar supplies. And since a heavy fragrance appeals to butterflies, it’s best to stick to the old-fashioned heirloom varieties more than the faint-scented, modern cultivars of the same flower.

Purple and lavender flowers seem to be the most attractive to butterflies, followed by pinks, whites and yellows. If you decide to make a few plantings to attract butterflies, keep in mind that large masses of a few nectar flowers are most effective. You’ll attract more butterflies with a bed of coneflowers than you will with one or two coneflowers mixed in with other plants.

Butterflies are sun-loving insects, so choose a site in full sun if you can. It’s even better if the site is protected from strong winds by a wall, a hedge or some shrubs.

Adult butterflies generally live for about two weeks and much of that time is devoted to reproduction and egg-laying. To lay eggs, the female butterfly needs a proper host plant that will nourish her larvae. Host plants are often quite different from the plants adult butterflies use as nectar sources.

Since most butterflies travel only a few hundred yards from where they grew up as caterpillars, it behooves you to plant or encourage a few host plants. You may come to welcome caterpillars you once thought ugly, or even frightening, once you understand that attracting the local butterfly population you’ll also increase your chances of hosting the next generation of butterflies in your garden.

Some of them feed on the leaves of common trees and shrubs, such as aspen, poplar, willow, hawthorn, basswood, wild cherry, birch, ash, mountain ash, Amelanchier, dogwood, meadowsweet, viburnums, blueberry and sumac. Others prefer foods we commonly consider weeds—milkweed, nettles and thistles.

If you live in a rural area, these wild plants are probably already in plentiful supply. If you don’t and you want to supply these larval foods, plant some, or let them grow in obscure corners of your garden or hidden behind your specimen plants. Dill, parsley, fennel, caraway and anise provide larval food for a variety of beautiful swallowtail butterflies.

Occasionally, you’ll find caterpillars, some of them impressive in size and coloring, munching the foliage of prized ornamentals, herbs, or vegetable plants. In some cases, you can gently move the larvae (wearing gloves) to a less visible part of the plant or to another less–visible plant of the same species in your garden.

Butterflies are extremely sensitive to pesticides, even “organic” pesticides (for example, the bacterial insecticide Bt, Bacillus thuringienseis, targets butterfly larvae), so limit or avoid their use if you want to attract butterflies into your garden. Never spray between 10 and 3 p.m., when butterflies (and honeybees) are most active.

Here are a few suggestions for flowering plants that will attract butterflies to your garden:

• Annuals: Alyssum (blooms summer to mid-fall), Cosmos (mid-summer to fall), Heliotrope (summer), Marigold (summer into fall), Nasturtium (late summer), Salvia (summer through fall) and Zinnia (midsummer to fall).

• Biennials: Red clover (summer), Queen Anne’s lace (late spring through fall), Sweet William (spring through early summer).

• Perennials: Asters (late summer to fall), Bergamot (bee balm - summer through fall), Butterfly bush (midsummer to fall), Butterfly weed (summer through fall), White clover (summer), Coreopsis (all summer), Purple cornflower (late summer into fall), Hollyhock (summer), Lavender (summer), Lupine (late spring to early summer), Phlox (all summer), Black- eyed Susan (mid summer to early fall), Salvia (summer into fall), Shasta daisy (summer), Thistle (late spring through fall), Violet (spring), Yarrow (mid to late summer). 

By Margaret Hagen, UNH Cooperative Extension Educator, Agricultural Resources

07/14/06

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

It never fails to thrill me when I identify a plant or animal I’ve never seen before. A recent experience was no exception. I was letting the dog in like countless nights before. Just the ordinary routine, I thought. Then I saw it. It was huge!

I froze. Clinging to the wall of my porch was a colossal insect. It was the size of my thumb, with three distinct black body parts and a bold orange pattern on its back. The thorax, or midsection, resembled a protective shield an ancient warrior might have taken into battle.

The creature looked primitive and performed a dance that seemed prehistoric as well. It bumped and swished, arching its abdomen like an exotic artist. Each body part moved with graceful deliberation. Three pairs of legs held it fast to the dull grey wall. It breathed sensuality. It seemed unfazed by my presence, so I ran into the house for a camera. Halfway out the door, I dashed back in for a jar. Maybe I could catch it.

Under the red light of my camera flash, the dance sizzled with the passion of late-night flamenco. Previously concealed wings unfolded, transparent brown in color and veined. They whisked the body off the wall and glided it to the porch floor. I practically fell down on it, beside myself with the possibility of catching such a beautiful specimen.

I managed to get him into the jar without too much difficulty by using the lid as a scoop. I named him Bug and found him a spot on the kitchen counter tucked in among several bonsais.

While the thrill of my conquest was sweet, this feeling waned quickly as I questioned my motives for holding this living thing prisoner. I pushed aside my guilt, justifying my curiosity in the name of science, and searched the Internet in an attempt to identify my prisoner.

Still unable to identify Bug, by the second day I could no longer deny that he was failing. That evening, I realized he might not make it through the night. While I wanted to release him, I began to anticipate studying him under a magnifying glass the next morning to get an even closer look.

Miraculously, on the third day, Bug rose. I awoke to find him energetically, but unsuccessfully, trying to wriggle up the glass wall. I took this to be a sign and prepared to let him go.

Armed with a ruler, camera and magnifying glass, I released Bug into an old claw-foot tub that sits on my porch. I thought the white backdrop would be suitable to photograph him, but noticed he was having a difficult time maneuvering on the porcelain surface. Feeling I had tortured him enough, I moved him to the porch floor where he would have an easier time adjusting to his new freedom.

Then something unbelievable happened. Before my eyes six or seven tiny, pale-colored insects emerged from under Bug’s thorax. Was he a she? Was she having babies? Maybe this explained why she had tried so desperately to break out of the prison I had put her in. When her wings gracefully unfolded, none of the little ones were disturbed. When she took flight, none fell off.

I trembled with excitement. I called a retired entomology professor who lives in my community. He expressed regret that he couldn’t identify my insect without seeing it. But he did have some thoughts on what I had perceived to be Bug’s young.

“I doubt they were offspring, because most insects lay their eggs in plant material. They may have been parasites.” he said.

He suggested I attempt to catch another one that evening. Now I was getting somewhere.

Several hours later my neighbor called back to suggest I look up carrion beetles. He offered, “I can’t say for sure, but they seem to fit the description you gave me and they fly towards light.”

“Why are they called carrion beetles?” I asked.

“They use carrion to feed themselves and their young. They are also called burying beetles because they will bury a dead carcass, usually a bird or vole, to hide it from competitors. The female will lay her eggs next to the carrion and when the larvae emerge they feed on the carcass,” he explained.

Now I was really getting somewhere.

I returned to the Internet, where I was finally able to determine that, indeed, Bug wasn’t a true bug at all, but a burying beetle. I even found an image of my beetle, Nicrophorus defodiens, with the parasites crawling on its back, just as I had seen.
 

I wondered briefly which was more remarkable, the beetle itself or the fact that I could research it on the Internet without even leaving the house. The beetle. Definitely, the beetle.

by Casey Pike, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.

5/5/06