Author Archives: David George Haskell

Evening

Venus and Jupiter swing past each other, but don’t connect. No luck seeing them. Cloudy Sewanee.

To make up for it, about two hundred robins fly right past my face in a storm of dusky wings as the light fails. They are headed to roost in the evergreens.

This week, robin numbers are building as wintering birds from AL and FL move northward. Robins get little respect from birders — too common — but I find their abundance and ubiquity impressive. There are over three hundred million robins in North America. They live in almost every habitat that has trees and some open space (from urban parks, to scrubby deserts, to the edge of the tundra). Tremble, earthworms, tremble.

Toad song

Click below to hear…

…the sweet trill of amorous American toads (Anaxyrus americanus). Half a dozen males have been chorusing in the small pond at our house for the last week or so. For a warty ol’ amphibian, they sure make a nice sound. The recording has several individuals calling, some sweeter than others. Female toads, I’m told, prefer males that can produce low-pitched trills over many hours. I’m not that fussy. Any trill will do: the song of these toads is one of my favorite sounds. Winter is done. The acoustic world expands.

Last night, the male toads were joined by a couple of females. Amplexus ensued and now the pond is festooned with long strings of eggs.

I’m pretty sure the female in the photo above is the same one that has been here the last several years – she’s a rich chestnut color, quite unlike most local toads. She is also about twice as big as the males, a dream-mate because size correlates with egg number, and egg number correlates with numbers of toadlings, and toadlings are what natural selection cares about, and dreams are made by brains, and brains are made by natural selection. Happy slumbers.

The eggs are neatly lined up in jelly strands. Usually these strands are coiled, but they straighten out when pulled out of the water for a photo. The eggs hatch in about a week (depending on temperature) and the tadpoles graze on algae underwater for a couple of months before emerging onto land.

The future.

Down under

Several weeks ago I posted a short homage to the Sign Bandit of Jumpoff Road who had defaced public property with a turtle-honoring artwork. Today, I received a postcard that lifts the carapace on this mystery. Shortly after the Deed was Done, the honorable malfeasants entered the Turtle Witness Protection Program and were relocated south, far south.

Bandidas: you make me proud. If you ever sneak back into this country, a beer awaits you. In the meantime, go find a tuatara. Although New Zealand has no native turtles (a few marine ones visit the coasts), the tuatara more than makes up for it. These lizard-like critters have been lumbering along on their own branch of the evolutionary tree for 220 million years.

I made a drive-by check-in of the installation just to check on its status last night…still there.

 

Four-toed salamander with her eggs

This week’s theme seems to be salamanders, perhaps appropriate given that it is early springtime in one of the world’s hotspots for amphibian diversity. (An aside: when will TN sports teams figure this out? Titans, Predators, Kats, Tigers = yawn; Cave Salamanders, Spadefoot Toads, Barking Treefrogs, Mudpuppies = oh yeah, very memorable). I stopped by the Brakefield Rd ephemeral wetland this afternoon with the “Field Investigations in Biology” class. We found larvae of marbled salamanders, an adult mole salamander, and this four-toed salamander (Hemidactylium scutatum) guarding her eggs.

Her eggs are visible on the underside of the log which we temporarily lifted up to take a look. She'll stay with them for about two months, defending them from predators and keeping fungi at bay. The young will hatch, then move to the adjacent pond for a month, before finally taking the woods for the rest of their lives.

Four-toed salamanders are relatively small, with mottled brown backs and a constriction at the base of their tails.

All four-toed salamanders have bold black spots on their white bellies -- very distinctive. (We flipped her back upright after this five second demonstration of her spotty belly.)

This species builds its nests at the edge of ephemeral pools, in sphagnum moss, and along stream banks. Because of its specialized habitat requirements, it is listed as “vulnerable” and “in need of management” in Tennessee.

I did not have my camera on me, so special thanks to Julia Galliher who took those photos with her phone. (iPhones are this week’s subplot on the blog, it seems)

Microsafari bycatch

Our search for the mini-creatures of the world also turned up some interesting macro-organisms. Spend a few hours in the woods with a bunch of biologists and you’ll see a good array of remarkable critters. Here is a selection.

Zigzag salamander (Plethodon dorsalis/ventralis -- can't tell which without a DNA-o-tron), found under a limestone slab. This species is strongly associated with karst limestone, especially along streams and near springs. The females lay their eggs in caves and brood the eggs until they hatch. These are long, skinny salamanders, like pencils.

Slimy salamander (Plethodon glutinosus), also found under a rock. Black with silver spots: beautiful. When handled, they produce gluey defensive slime that gums up your fingers.

Admiring Plethodon glutinosus

...and slimy makes her escape

Box turtle (Terrapene carolina) shell. The colored plates are made from keratin, the same material as our hair and fingernails.

The same turtle shell seen from below. The animal’s spine is visible and, above that, the carapace which is made from fused ribs combined with dermal bone. So, evolution has flipped the ribs of turtles onto their backs and fused them into a solid plate.

The tail of a spotted salamander...evidently a raccoon or some other predator ate well. We found spotted salamander eggs in a nearby pool, so life goes on, the torch has been passed, etc, etc ...fill in your own favorite death-surmounting cliche here...

Hepatica nobilis. Most Hepatica here are white or pale purple. This one was unashamedly ultra-purple. Yeah, the torch got passed to this one alright.

A nematomorph, also called a “horsehair worm.” These are parasites inside the bodies of insects. When the worm is ready to exit, it causes its host to jump suicidally into water, then the worm rips open the insect and emerges. These lovely critters feature in the first chapter of my book, The Forest Unseen -- nematomorphs surely embody one pole of nature’s range of cooperation and conflict.

Microsafari: Bear hunting

I spent much of Saturday on a trip organized by the Sewanee Herbarium, led by Paul Davison from the University of North Alabama. In addition to being a botanical expert, Paul is a master of finding the “wee beasties” (a phrase used by the pioneering microscopist Van Leeuwenhoek) that surround us: the micro-world of single-celled protists and tiny animals, all existing just beyond the limits of our vision. But, with some simple equipment and a hand lens or microscope, this world opens up for us. About 24 people came on the trip, a good mix of Sewanee biology students and faculty, along with community members.

Paul Davsion discussing the "pin cushion" moss, Leucobryum.

Curious structures growing in the Leucobryum moss: undescribed in the North American literature, apparently. Perhaps micro-male mosses growing within the larger female parts of the plant (the Archegonia, for lovers of botanico-jargon).

Leafy liverworts creeping across tree trunks.

Seen close, the alternating scale-like flaps (not true leaves) of the liverwort are visible.

After a foray into Lost Cove, we returned to the lab to pull open the door to another world (amazingly, also the same world) by looking at critters under microscopes. We found legions of algal cells, whizzing crustacea, lumbering protists, and gliding flatworms.

By holding my camera up to the microscope lens, I snapped a few shots of a couple of my favorites.

A rotifer, or "wheel animal". Its head is pointing down and its rear end is clasping some dead plant material (aka crud). the two Mickey Mouse ears are ciliated (cilia = hairs that stir the water) feeding devices, moving food into the mouth.

A close look at this shot shows the grinding pharynx that pulverizes food as it moves through the gut (look for the round structure to the left of the "60" mark).

Commercial break: go buy Apple products. Chris Waldrup sent me this photo that he took through the scope with his iPhone. Pretty darn good. Yes, I want one.

Now for the bear: this is a tardigrade, also called "waterbear" or "moss piglet" (with some crud to the left and below -- the waterbear is at the top). It was indeed living in some moss. They have eight little legs and amble along like bears. This one is stranded on its back with its front legs pointing to the left and its hose-like mouth just visible. Don't let the rolly-poly cuteness fool you: these are the toughest animals in the world, able to enter suspended animation and survive the deepest cold imaginable, vacuums, radiation blasts, utter dryness for years, and exposure to temperatures above the boiling point of water.

Tardigrade feet, equipped with claws for clinging to their mossy homes. They'll still be hanging on when Homo sapiens has turned to a layer of dust in the geological column. So far, tardigrades have been around for 600 million years. Modern humans, less than one tenth of one percent of that.

Thank you, Paul Davison, for leading the hunt. Thank you also to Jon Evans and Mary Priestley for organizing the event.

Cute larvae. Adults are a different story.

Looking down on this fast-flowing stream in Shakerag Hollow we see wavy lines on the submerged rocks. Moss? Algae? No, ...

...these are clusters of blackfly larvae (Fanily Simuliidae). Each larva is attached to the rock with claspers on its rear end; silky threads provide additional anchorage. They prefer the fastest flowing parts of the stream, so these attachments are strong.

With a flash photo, we can see the larvae leaning with the current. They thrive in the oxygenated water of unpolluted streams.

Two fan-like feeding appendages crown each animal. The fans are used to sieve bacteria, algae, and small pieces of plant material from the flowing water. In good conditions, every few seconds the fans sweep food into the animal's mouth.

After a few weeks, the larvae pupate underwater (still attached to the rock in flowing water), then emerge as the infamous flying adults. Males feed on nectar, but females want blood. Unlike the swarms that emerge in northern states, blackflies are seldom numerous here.

To turn, turn will be our delight…

…’till by turning, turning we come ’round right.

This venerable cedar stands at the base of Shakerag Hollow, on the edge of an overgrown old pasture that has now turned to woodland. The tree’s original apex is pointing directly to the right and is almost rotted away. Decades ago another tree must have fallen on the main stem and bent the trunk down. Side branches then took over, growing straight up from what was formerly the side of the tree. The grain of the wood is contorted and twisted like old rope. Gnarly.

Waxwing invasion

Flocks of hundreds of cedar waxwings descended on Sewanee this week. They travel in nomadic groups, searching for sugary fruits. Unlike most birds in our region, waxwings feed almost exclusively on fruit for much of the year. In Sewanee, they are sporadically common in the spring and fall, but very scarce in summertime. Most of the birds that are here this week will move north and east to breed. Look for them perched in tight clusters in the treetops or fluttering around fruiting shrubs.

The waxwings’ high-pitched calls (up to 8kHz, nearly twice as high as the highest piano note) are distinctive, but they test the limit of our hearing. For many people, the calls are inaudible except at close range when the sound gets loud enough to cross the ears’ detection threshold. As we age, we naturally lose hearing in the high range, although this can be accelerated by exposure to loud noise (earplugs are a naturalist’s best friend…).

Waxwings are named for the tiny red “flags” on the end of some of their wing feathers. Although these little flags look like wax, they are made of the same material, keratin, as the rest of the feather, infused with red pigment. Young birds have fewer flags, so these red marks may act as social signals through which older birds can avoid breeding with inexperienced youngsters. Older birds have higher breeding success, so it is to their advantage to stick together.

The yellow bar across the end of the waxwings’ tails is also produced by a pigment in the feathers. Over the last forty years, waxwings with orange-banded tails have appeared, especially in the north-eastern parts of the continent. At first, scientists speculated that this was a new mutation, spreading through natural selection. Further study showed that no genetic change was involved. Instead, the waxwings were feeding on the fruits of an invasive plant, Morrow’s honeysuckle, that contained orange pigment. If a molting waxwing feeds on this honeysuckle, the new feathers will pick up the orange pigment. In addition, all the fat in their bodies gets stained. I think of waxwings every time I see someone sucking on a blue slurpee. Surely their insides must be turning blue; maybe the hair will follow.

The photos on this page show the various ways that the waxwings use their silky crests to signal to each other — flat, cocked, and spiky. This expressiveness, combined with their eye-bands and overall silky plumage makes them one of the sharper-dressed birds in our region. Classy.

My account draws on information in: Witmer, M. C., D. J. Mountjoy and L. Elliot. 1997. Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. doi:10.2173/bna.309  The lead author on this paper is Mark Witmer, a colleague from grad school. He showed me the orange insides of a waxwing once — very cool.

Some early stirrings in Shakerag Hollow

After work yesterday I headed down into Shakerag Hollow to see what was stirring at the end of the warm afternoon. It was a pleasure to walk with just a shirt on my back — discarding the wintry weight and confining clutter of jackets and gloves and fleeces and hats. Ah!

Scarlet cup fungi (Sarcoscypha sp.were fruiting in one or two places on the side of the trail. They feed on decaying plant matter and grow their striking red “cups” throughout the year, but especially in cooler months. Spores are produced from the inner surface of the cup. These blow away (or are carried on mouse feet) to colonize more dead vegetation, of which there is no shortage on the forest floor. The scarlet cup is a favorite of mine –saturated with color at a time of year when the rest of the forest is mostly muted.

Bloodroot plants were poking up their flowers. Most were still tightly closed, but one or two had cracked open a little. The deeply incised leaves are held clasped against the stem, only relaxing into an open posture when the flower is mature or dead.

I was not the only mammal out and about in the balmy woods. Junebug the Hound found this skunk, but fortunately she paid attention to my bark: leave it! The skunk had its tail arched, ready to express its opinion.