No particular place to go

snail

Snails are gastropods–a word that translates as “stomach-foot” (Photo: Sally Crossthwaite, Creative Commons license)

.[reprint from March 2011]

Back when I lived in a large apartment community in this southwestern Virginia college town, I stepped onto the sidewalk one morning for a pre-breakfast stroll with my terrier-boy Dash, and saw a shimmering calligraphy on the concrete up ahead. Living in close proximity to undergrads had taught me to watch my step on Monday mornings… but this didn’t look like party residue.

Since it resembled writing, I thought for a moment it might be chalk—a message decipherable only by Greeks (the collegiate variety, not the folks in Athens)— but that didn’t explain the silvery quality of the text.

Finally, I drew close enough to solve the mystery. It wasn’t writing at all. The weather had finally turned warm enough, temporarily, for the local gastropod to take a stroll along a slime trail.

Wait… can you stroll when you have no legs and only one foot?

Stroll, stride, saunter… call it what you will. Snails get from point A to point B by gliding along a secreted track of mucus that hardens into a kind of Slip ‘n Slide® when exposed to air. The animals ride waves created by a band of muscles that travel along a foot that spans from the tail to the head. Surfing the slime they wander over roadways, through the woods, and up the walls of grandmother’s house or any other structure in their path.

snail trail

Snails secrete a mucus trail that serves as a kind of slo-mo Slip ‘n Slide® (Photo: Krstnn Hrmnsn, Creative Commons license)

Progress appears painfully slow to bipeds and quadrupeds, but the meandering trails suggest snail excursions are all about the journey, not the destination. You have to admit, they never rush—unlike many of their harried human neighbors.

Of course, it’s a smaller world for some. An average speed of 0.03 mph must be fast enough for a garden snail to get where s/he needs to go (snails are hermaphroditic, meaning they have both male and female sex organs, so s/he is particularly apt here).

Before you dismiss the lowly snail as too pedestrian to warrant admiration, you should know that the National Science Foundation supported a research collaboration between the University of California at San Diego (USA) and Stanford University (USA) to better understand the locomotion of snails and slugs, their shell-less cousins. The goal was to create robots that mimic snails, propelling themselves up and down walls, along ceilings, and across other challenging surfaces.

An examination of the mucus trail has proven fascinating as well. When common periwinkle snails are traveling along a vertical surface, the secretions have more adhesive qualities than when the animal is moving along a horizontal surface; the chemical structure of the mucus changes depending on the demands of the route.

But wait—there’s more!

A study by researchers at the University of Sunderland (UK) found that snails conserve energy by reusing slime trails. They will retrace their step to return to a previous resting site—a much safer strategy than hoping to stumble on an appropriate new location in time to avoid the dehydrating rays of the sun. Snails will also follow the trails of their cohorts to find dinner and a date. Essentially, they’re playing follow-the-leader.

So maybe a snail’s life is filled with fun and games. And wouldn’t you just love to see a group of gastropods do the Hokey-Pokey?

Start your day with a little Next-Door Nature—hop over to the “subscribe”  link in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!

 

© 2011 Next-Door Nature— no reprints without written permission from the author.

Long-stemmed

Daddy longlegs are the jazz cats of the arachnid world!

This realization came to me as I watched a single backlit note poised on a broken music staff bebop across the asphalt path in front of me. A soundtrack of jazz piano greats immediately began to play in my head — Willie “The Lion” Smith, Thomas “Fats” Waller, Art Tatum, Thelonious Monk, and Dave Brubeck, to name but a few. Chill dudes whose spider-like fingers strode, slid, bounced, and stomped across the keys.

Jazz has evolved and diverged from it’s start in the late 19th century as  ragtime and Dixieland into a genre so diverse it can be difficult to define, or even to list all the variations: Swing, Cool, West Coast, Modal, Free, Fusion, Funk, Cu-Bop, Post-Bop, etc.

The harvestmen, as daddy longlegs are also known (that even sounds like a 1950s jazz band, doesn’t it?) have an even longer and more impressive history. They’re a vast, improvisational set that spans millions of years and many taxonomic octaves, with over 6,500 named species worldwide (experts estimate there may actually be more than 10,000). And while not all the players in this big band have long legs, the ones who hangout in my neighborhood— eastern harvestmen (Leiobunum vittatum)— are definitely long-stemmed.

These invertebrate daddy-o’s are arachnids but they are NOT spiders; they’re more closely related to mites and scorpions.  Harvestmen don’t have a spider’s tiny waist… or venom… or silk (so no webs)… and they have only two eyes instead of eight.

Jazz musicians need to maintain their instruments to get the best sound; piano hammers need to be voiced, strings tuned, reeds moistened and valves lubricated.  Daddy longlegs are similarly serious about the tools of their trade, cleaning each leg after a meal by threading them through the pincers by their mouths.

Harvestmen are a gregarious lot who periodically congregate in the hundreds or even thousands. Scientists have suggested these spontaneous jam sessions might occur in response to climatic conditions or provide some protection against predators… but it’s pretty clear they aren’t making music (that can be detected by the human ear, anyway).

Members of Order Opiliones are exceptional even among arachnids. They can swallow small pieces of solid food, whereas their cousins are limited to a liquid diet. Conversely, daddy longlegs sip oxygen through their legs into a trachea, while other arachnids respirate through a gas exchange organ called a book lung. That’s probably just a warm-up, though. Like jazz, daddy longlegs are both familiar and mysterious. Little research has been done on these species… and who can say why? Maybe they’re a bit too avant garde to have a large fan base among researchers.

Or it could be the hours they keep and the dives they frequent. See, eastern harvestmen have more in common with jazz pianists than an impressive hand (or leg) span. Say what you will about the pleasures of sitting outside at a warm summer evening festival, lounging on a blanket in the grass while listening to a live performance — you’ll hear no argument from me. But to my mind, jazz is an urban art form, and the smokin’ hot licks happen in basement clubs. An intimate corner, low lights, insulated from street noise, maybe just a little damp…

Now that the kind of gig daddy longlegs’ dig.

 

[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: Rob Swatski, Leslie Bliss, Rob SwatskiLuis Fernández Garcia, and schizoform.  © 2017 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]

Oddly Normal

I don’t live far from the eclipse’s Path of Totality, but I decided to stay put just the same. I didn’t even order eclipse glasses. I know there will be plenty of great video to watch throughout the day, and since my sweetheart is a talented professional videographer, I feel like I’ve got that angle covered.  I want to focus on what’s going on down under, here on Earth.

In anticipation, I’ve been reading stories about how the event will impact wildlife. Every single one of these reports has focused on the “strange” animal behavior we can expect to witness as the day goes dark… and I find that very strange indeed.

What these experts are calling odd is considered completely normal activity when it happens each evening. And from the descriptions I’ve read about what to expect, assuming night is nigh would be a perfectly reasonable assumption for any creature—human or non-human—who doesn’t have a television or an Internet connection and, therefore, doesn’t know that the sun will be playing hide-and-seek with the moon for a little while today.

Humans tend to be less familiar with nocturnal species than the ones who are active during regular business hours. I think the eclipse is going to offer a chance to get to know our neighbors who work the night shift… kind of like a rerun of the National Night Out that took place earlier this month.

As the light begins to dim, creatures who are active during the day may start their usual bedtime routines.  Some diurnal birds will sing one last serenade to the daylight as faux-evening falls…

…some will hurry back to nests of eggs or chicks…

…others will congregate for mutual protection, as they do at the end of every day.

Birds who love the night life will wake, possibly feeling less than rested but still ready to boogie in search of an early breakfast (or late dinner, depending how you look at it).

Some wild mammals are active and visible during the day, including a fair number of rodents such as tree squirrels, groundhogs, prairie dogs, and chipmunks. I’m expecting the eclipse to be a great time to see mammals who are usually waking up just as I’m starting to wind down…

Insect musicians will surely want to set the mood with a tune or two.

Fireflies know a little night music calls for romantic lighting…

…and amphibians aren’t about to let the invertebrates steal the limelight!

As the skies brighten we’re also likely to have a second dawn chorus… but without needing to get up before sunrise! So don’t despair just because the eclipse will pass your part of North America by, or because you don’t know how to make and use a pin-hole camera (even after you Google’d instructions). There should be some amazing wildlife sights to see, right here on good ol’ terra firma.

 

[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: Eric Kilby, Dan Dzurisin, Ingrid Taylar, Pat Gaines, Rachel Kramer, Will WilsonTony Oldroyd, Michael Eisen, Elizabeth Nicodemus, USFWStsaiian, David Huth, and Ingrid Taylar.  © 2017 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]

Summer Soundtrack

The eastern gray treefrog is one of many performers in nightly summer concerts.

The eastern gray treefrog is one of many performers at nightly summer concerts.

[I’m working on a number of new posts for the coming weeks, and to provide myself with some breathing room today’s post is a reprint from July 14, 2015… Enjoy!]

 .
One of my favorite things about summer is the free outdoor concerts. I’m not talking about local bands that occasionally perform from the park gazebo even though they can be a pleasant accompaniment to my evening dog walk. No, nothing says summer like the insect-amphibian jam sessions that take place almost every evening.
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I’ve moved quite a lot in my life and have been delighted to learn that each place I’ve lived long enough to grow accustomed to—six U.S. states and a Scandinavian country—has a timbre and cadence all its own, distinctive to that specific habitat in a certain continent on a singular planet in an expanding universe. It’s the soundtrack of home, wherever home may be at that particular time in field cricket 2 by Jimmy Smith, CCLone’s life.
.
The musicians start warming up as the light begins to fade. They’ve been playing the same basic tune since I was a child so I immediately recognize the overture. By 7:00-7:30p the instruments are tuned and ready to swing.
.
Field crickets (Gryllus spp.) establish the beat with their forewings, kind of like a finger-snap that varies from cool to hot depending on the atmosphere.
Common true katydids (Pterophylla camellifolia) shift the accent…
common meadow katydid by Rachid H, CCL
.. and the common meadow katydids (Orchelimum vulgare, not as common as the name implies) chime in with a bit of lawn-sprinkler syncopation. [you might need to boost the volume a bit on this one]
Before long, the dog-day cicadas (Tibicen canicularis) are stealing the show.
dog-day cicada by Roger Engberg, CCL
As the evening progresses, though, the cicadas and other insects cede the stage to the second act—the frogs and toads… possibly because these headliners have been known to devour the opening act!
.
The band is made up primarily of horns and percussion. This isn’t jazz—there’s not much in the way of improvisation and the musicians don’t really take turns letting one another shine during a solo. It can be difficult to identify the featured players, in part because the cast keeps changing; there are fair-weather performers, some northern cricket frog by Andy Reago and Chrissy McClarren, CCLhave stormy temperament, and others don’t like to travel far from their favorite watering hole. Still, there are some easily recognized voices.
.
Northern cricket frogs (Acris crepitant) step in to set the pace abandoned by their namesake insect. I’ve seen their call described as pebbles bouncing against one another but to me it’s a metal cabana—chain wrapped around a wood cylinder and shaken, not stirred.
.
The American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) is a minimalist; not much complexity but the sustain on that single trilling note is impressive.
green frog by Matt Reinbold, CCLThe green frog (Lithobates clamitans), on the other hand, is a true traditionalist—no electric bass for this fellow, or even an upright acoustic. Listen carefully and you’ll hear his homage to a single string and washtub.
 .
Tiny boreal chorus frogs (Pseudacris maculata) play plastic comb call-and-response…
eastern gray treefrog by USFWSmidwest, CCLand the gray treefrogs (Hyla versicolor) are in charge of the upper register. These little guys can blow, plus how about that vibrato!
When the gang’s all here and lettin’ it rip the result is more cacophony than symphony—not everyone’s ideal night music but a lullaby to my ears.
[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: USFWSmidwest (eastern gray treefrog); Jimmy Smith (field cricket); Lisa Brown (common true katydid); Rachid H (common meadow katydid); Roger Engberg (dog-day cicada); Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren (northern cricket frog); AllieKF (American toad); Matt Reinbold (green frog); J. N. Stuart (boreal chorus frog); USFWSmidwest (eastern gray treefrog). © 2015 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]
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Hammers and Hydrangeas

Sometimes green means stop, look, and pay attention.

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Productivity.  A word that has long enjoyed favored status in U.S. culture. Americans are always trying to do more work in less time so we can… do even more work. We purchase time-saving apps and appliances and then fill the promised free-time that closed the deal with new projects and expectations.
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As the saying goes, when you’re a hammer everything looks like a nail. Of course, that assume you stop the work of pounding away occasionally to look around.
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I aspire to a zen “be here now” life but most days I miss the mark by a wide margin. Instead, I hammer down each nail on my to-do list, usually thinking about the next task or the one after that before completing the current one (and often ending up with a swollen thumb as a result). Yesterday was no exception.
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Until, suddenly, it was.
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Exiting my car with plastic shopping bag handles queued up along my forearms I charged down the sidewalk, mental blinders on, jaw set. Still, I did notice the row of tall limelight hydrangeas that hug my red brick building slouching beneath their load of heavy, fragrant, pale chartreuse blooms buzzing with activity.  “Honey bees,” I assumed dismissively, since a nearby restaurant keeps several hives, and continued on without breaking my stride.
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Then I was blinded by the light of a sunbeam reflecting off an iridescent copper-green carapace.
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I stopped in my tracks, oblivious to the increasing numbness in my hands, and watched one green June beetle (Cotinis nitida), then several more, stumble drunkenly around and through the blossoms. Glancing at other blooms I saw all kinds of colorful insects had shown up for the banquet, including other beetles and bees, butterflies, moths, flies, spiders, and wasps.  The realization that I was, yet again, missing my life for the sake productivity hit me over the head like a ball-peen.
 .
Time to take a deep breath and smell the hydrangeas. I rushed inside, left my groceries in a heap on the kitchen table, hurried back downstairs, out the door…
 .
and…
             slowed…
                                 waaaaay…
                                                          down.
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I spent the next hour losing track of time while I conducted an informal census of bug life in the flower gardens around my building and neighborhood. My goal was enjoyment, not identification. Eyes opened wide. Really seeing.
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composite greens
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red-orange-yellow composite
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purple composite
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bright composite
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How easy it is to forget that being unproductive is sometimes the most important work of all.
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© 2015 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work  but please ask). Green June beetle photo by the author (CCL).  Thanks to these photographers for making their work available on Flickr through a Creative Commons license: Jon K.;  Bill Bumgarner; Shellie Gonzalez; Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren; doni19; Vincent Parsons; Photoguyinmo Swatzell; Dave Thomas; and USFWSmidwest.

Summer Soundtrack

The eastern gray treefrog is one of many performers in nightly summer concerts.

The eastern gray treefrog is one of many performers at nightly summer concerts.

.
One of my favorite things about summer is the free outdoor concerts. I’m not talking about local bands that occasionally perform from the park gazebo even though they can be a pleasant accompaniment to my evening dog walk. No, nothing says summer like the insect-amphibian jam sessions that take place almost every evening.
.
I’ve moved quite a lot in my life and have been delighted to learn that each place I’ve lived long enough to grow accustomed to—six U.S. states and a Scandinavian country—has a timbre and cadence all its own, distinctive to that specific habitat in a certain continent on a singular planet in an expanding universe. It’s the soundtrack of home, wherever home may be at that particular time in field cricket 2 by Jimmy Smith, CCLone’s life.
.
The musicians start warming up as the light begins to fade. They’ve been playing the same basic tune since I was a child so I immediately recognize the overture. By 7:00-7:30p the instruments are tuned and ready to swing.
.
Field crickets (Gryllus spp.) establish the beat with their forewings, kind of like a finger-snap that varies from cool to hot depending on the atmosphere.
.
Common true katydids (Pterophylla camellifolia) shift the accent…
.
common meadow katydid by Rachid H, CCL… and the common meadow katydids (Orchelimum vulgare, not as common as the name implies) chime in with a bit of lawn-sprinkler syncopation.

 [you might need to boost the volume a bit on this one]

.
Before long, the dog-day cicadas (Tibicen canicularis) are stealing the show.
dog-day cicada by Roger Engberg, CCL
.
.
As the evening progresses, though, the cicadas and other insects cede the stage to the second act—the frogs and toads… possibly because these headliners have been known to devour the opening act!
.
The band is made up primarily of horns and percussion. This isn’t jazz—there’s not much in the way of improvisation and the musicians don’t really take turns letting one another shine during a solo. It can be difficult to identify the featured players, in part because the cast keeps changing; there are fair-weather performers, some northern cricket frog by Andy Reago and Chrissy McClarren, CCLhave stormy temperament, and others don’t like to travel far from their favorite watering hole. Still, there are some easily recognized voices.
.
Northern cricket frogs (Acris crepitant) step in to set the pace abandoned by their namesake insect. I’ve seen their call described as pebbles bouncing against one another but to me it’s a metal cabana—chain wrapped around a wood cylinder and shaken, not stirred.
.
The American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) is a minimalist; not much complexity but the sustain on that single trilling note is impressive.
.
green frog by Matt Reinbold, CCLThe green frog (Lithobates clamitans), on the other hand, is a true traditionalist—no electric bass for this fellow, or even an upright acoustic. Listen carefully and you’ll hear his homage to a single string and washtub.
.
Tiny boreal chorus frogs (Pseudacris maculata) play plastic comb call-and-response…
.
eastern gray treefrog by USFWSmidwest, CCL… and the gray treefrogs (Hyla versicolor) are in charge of the upper register. These little guys can blow, plus how about that vibrato!
.
When the gang’s all here and lettin’ it rip the result is more cacophony than symphony—not everyone’s ideal night music but a lullaby to my ears.
.
.
© 2015 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work  but please ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license (CCL) or Project Guttenberg License (PGL) (from top to bottom):  USFWSmidwest (eastern gray treefrog); Jimmy Smith (field cricket); Lisa Brown (common true katydid); Rachid H (common meadow katydid); Roger Engberg (dog-day cicada); Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren (northern cricket frog); AllieKF (American toad); Matt Reinbold (green frog); J. N. Stuart (boreal chorus frog); USFWSmidwest (eastern gray treefrog).