[you might need to boost the volume a bit on this one]
.Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake, Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing…
During late October, Shakespeare’s recipe for chaos and conflict comes to mind with the sudden appearance on our very doorsteps of all manner of terrifying witches, ghosts and goblins… and political advertising.
The former can be bought off easily enough with bite-sized Butterfingers (a sticky booby trap that guarantees revenge for the extortion in the form of future dental bills). The latter are a bigger headache, far more demanding, and incredibly persistent. It takes more than a simple head of garlic and the promise of your vote to repel the legions of wannabe legislators. What American needs now, more than ever before, is a magical charm … a powerful protective talisman to ward off bleary-eyed baby-kissing, hand-shaking, promise-making shape-shifters.
The amphibian kind; NOT the mammal and former Senator from Georgia.
“Powerful” is probably not the first word that comes to mind when you spy a newt in any of its four developmental stages. Each egg, attached to an aquatic plant during the main breeding season of June and July, is actually quite vulnerable, even when the female makes an effort to fold it inside a leaf. Nor is the larval tadpole menacing when it emerges about three weeks later. That is, unless you are algae, a small invertebrate, or a sibling (fratricide is an all too common practice in this sweet old eat-and-be-eaten world of ours).
Over the next several months, however, a metamorphosis as extreme as any werewolf’s takes place. Where once only a big-eyed head and tail existed, legs buds sprout and lengthen. Feathery external gills are absorbed, replaced by internal lungs. Fully formed efts, as they are now called, will then drag themselves on stubby legs out of the natal pool and venture onto dry land … but the scene doesn’t evoke Creature from the Black Lagoon panic. At two to six inches in length, adult newts are easy to overlook, generally more slender than their salamander cousins, and not physically threatening in the least.
It’s during the larval transformation that some species also develop a bright, cautionary coloration that hints at their ingenious and formidable defense strategy: toxic slime.
All amphibians carry potentially harmful bacteria, such as salmonella. The California (Taricha torosa), rough-skinned (T. granulosa), and the red-bellied (T. rivularis)—known collectively as the Pacific newts*—aren’t satisfied settling a score by giving their adversaries some stomach cramps and the runs, though. They practice biological warfare, secreting tetrodotoxin (TTX), one of the most potent neurotoxins known to science. TTX, which gets it’s name from the pufferfish (Tetraodontidae) that also carries this poison, is deadly when ingested or when it comes into contact with mucous membranes or breaks in the skin. Within as little as 20 minutes after consuming the toxin the victim will experience respiratory paralysis, and there is no antidote.
Perilous times call for strong medicine but just to be clear, I’m NOT suggesting that poisonous amphibians should be used to rid the world of legislators. Only that in our effort to demand more from elected officials than the ability to raise money and speak in soundbites, we might gain inspiration from a small, seemingly insignificant creature with hidden powers disproportionate to its size.
A newt, perhaps.
Or a voter (not to belabor the point).
But maybe we should heed the lesson of Macbeth’s witches, who certainly knew a thing or two about politics and ambition, and take precautions to insure that newt-power is used exclusively for good and never for evil. After all, Order Caudata, with their ability to regenerate limbs and tail, as well as eyes, hearts, intestines, jaws, and spinal cord, are the envy of many a zombie… and any politician who wants to transform (temporarily) into a more centrist candidate following a contentious primary season.
This blog, like so many activities that foster support and appreciation of the natural world, is a labor of love. If you’ve enjoyed learning about the creatures who share our built environment, consider becoming an NDN Benefactor with a donation of any amount you’re inspired to give. If you’d like to find a little Next-Door Nature surprise in your inbox just click the Subscribe! button in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!
© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: [starting from the top]: Janetcetera (red-bellied newt); Judy-and-Ed (rough-skinned newt); Mark Kilner (newt tadpole); and Ben Amstutz (California newt).
Fifty years ago, Rachel Carson asked the world to consider a simple question: imagine springtime without birdsong.
Silent Spring addressed an unlikely subject for what was to become a best-selling book—the effect of DDT and other pesticides that persist in body tissue, becoming more and more concentrated as they move up the food chain (a process known as biomagnification). Yet nearly everyone could easily understand that their own quality of life would be diminished should they step outside one sunny May morning to find the dawn chorus had been replaced with a deafening stillness.
Thanks to Carson’s courageous stand—and the subsequent public outcry—songbirds and other avian species dodged a bullet.* Now there’s another set of wild voices in the spring choir who could use a hand—the amphibians.
More specifically, frogs.
There are now over 1,800 threatened amphibian species. At least 168 species have gone extinct in the last two decades due to factors such as habitat loss, water pollution, disease, climate change, and invasive species. Additionally, many areas in the U.S. have recently experienced severe drought, and England is currently experiencing its worst drought in decades.
Many frog species depend on ephemeral (temporary) water sources for breeding since they don’t support fish that would eat the eggs and tadpoles. If the ephemeral pools dry up before the young amphibians have time to metamorphose, or if there isn’t enough rain to create pools in the first place, it can result in a missed generation… and a fragile future for frogs.
Frogs are essential to the health of wetland, riparian, and coastal ecosystems. Tadpoles feed on algae, preventing blooms that can reduce oxygen levels. Frogs consume millions of insects each year, including mosquitoes and ticks carrying diseases that threaten the health of humans, their companion animals, and livestock. A wide variety of wild mammals (raccoons, opossums), birds (herons, hawks, geese), and reptiles (snakes) rely on frogs as part of their diet.
April 28th was the 4th Annual Save the Frogs Day, established to raise awareness and funds for amphibian conservation. Since many frog species are comfortable living in cities and suburbs, I thought I would pass along suggestions for homeowners who would like to offer some hoppin’ hospitality, courtesy of yesterday’s event organizers:
Fall and spring are the best times to create a permanent oasis for frogs. Kits are available at many garden and home improvement stores, or simply use a container or dig a hole that is deep enough (at least 1 foot at one end) and line it with sand or a flexible plastic liner before adding water. Keep in mind, you must provide a sloped ramp so the frogs can get out easily. Slope the liner or build one out of rocks to gradually allow the frogs to get to ground level or out of the pond. (Some nurseries also have floating devices for swimming pools that can allow amphibians who might jump in a way out.)
Don’t clean the water. In fact, add floating plants such as lily pads or leaves to provide cover. Refill slowly and carefully if water levels get low.
Don’t put fish in your pond, as they will munch on your tadpoles and frogs.
2. Shade & Shelter
Place your pond in a shady spot, preferably surrounded with native plants to attract a tasty bug feast of ladybugs, bumblebees, and other pollinators to also help beautify your yard. You can stack some rocks or turn over a half of a flowerpot beside the rim of the pond to give your frogs a place to sit and eat their lunch as it flies or crawls by.
Don’t use pesticides or weed killers. Amphibians absorb water—and any chemicals in it—through their skin. Pesticides and weed killers can run off from land into water and can be lethal to amphibians. Certain weed killers also can alter hormones, changing male frogs into females and reducing the potential of frogs to perpetuate thriving populations.
4. Patience, Grasshopper
Don’t be tempted to relocate frogs from other areas or stock your pond from pet stores. You may introduce diseases or invasive species and domestically raised frogs will not necessarily adapt to wild habitats. If you build it, frogs will come.
5. Look & Listen
Become a frog watcher. You will appreciate these wonderful animals more if you can see them in action, and you can help their conservation in the process. The National Wildlife Federation’s Wildlife Watcher program allows citizen scientists to contribute to a growing database of North American wildlife, learn about the animals living in their region, and build a printable checklist of sightings.
* Although the focus of this post is frogs, wild birds still face many challenges and threats to their long-term survival. You can check out one such hazard here. Others will be addressed in upcoming NDN posts.
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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: [from top to bottom] Jackie Dougan (Pacific tree frog in rose); sarowen (green treefrog); Sascha Gebhardt (poison dart frog); ucumari (bullfrog); Josiah Townsend (glass frog).
The holidays are well behind us now. Shorter days and Jack Frost nipping at your nose have lost their novelty. It’s the start of a more serious season, filled with snowplows, tire chains, and 10-pound sacks of litter that will never feel a kitty’s caress. In many parts of the northern hemisphere, it’s a long slog through snow, sleet, and freezing rain to get from January to jonquils.
Understandably, we look to Nature for role models. Native people aren’t unique in their ability to draw a connection between human and non-human animals—Madison Avenue is especially canny at choosing charismatic creatures to impersonate our enviable and endearing (or at least humorous) characteristics. Particularly at this time of year, when the mercury can’t seem to bootstrap its way past 32°F, you’ll find a lot of furry salespeople pitching warm and cozy wares in magazines and newspapers, on television and online. I assume the general idea behind this trend is that raw, gray days bring out the hibernator in all of us mammals.
Not to split hairs, but that’s not technically correct. Humans don’t hibernate. That’s not to say we don’t go through some behavioral changes at this time of year—we do (at least so far as jobs, school, and the other routines and rituals of modern life allow)—but those cold weather coping strategies look strangely… reptilian.
See for yourself—next time the Weather Channel predicts a cold front, with or without a “wintery mix,” ask yourself if the people peeking out from fleece hoodies, swaths of scarves, turned up coat collars, and balaclavas as they hunch toward the warmth of home look more like bears… or tortoises.
Now, there’s a bit of Class warfare at play here, because homeothermic (body temperature largely uninfluenced by the surrounding environmental) hominid mammals aren’t often flattered by comparisons to scaly, poikilothermic (body temperature influence by the surrounding environment) cold-bloods. Knowing this, and well aware that my claim will face considerable skepticism, I’ll use an example to back it up: a familiar and easily identifiable semi-aquatic turtle called the red-eared slider (Trachemys scripta elegans).
Even nature neophytes will immediately recognize this species, a common resident of lakes and ponds in urban and suburban parks, as well as in pet stores. Shell, legs, head and tail are inscribed with stripes and nested ovals of green and yellow, the “elegant script” referenced in its Latin name (although the vibrant colors do tend to fade somewhat with age and a thick coat of algae). The red “ear” on either side of the head distinguishes the slider from all other North American turtle species and allows for a quick and definitive ID as they sunbathe on stones and logs. “Quick” being the operative word here; sliders don’t hear well, but they are very sensitive to vibrations that alert them to the presence of potential predators, and they can slip back into the safety of the water with surprising speed.
In the wild, the slider’s life cycle begins with courtship and mating as early as March or as late as July, depending on the region and the weather. Subsequently, the female heads for dry land to deposit a clutch of eggs, excavating with her hind legs to create a nest in the soil. Then she turns for home with nary a backward glance, and the turtles-to-be she leaves behind are on their own from that point forward. Two or three months later, depending on the average ambient temperature, hatchlings emerge from the nest and set out to conquer the world.
Most of them don’t make it past the first year—such is Testudine life… and death. Those who live to see their 2nd birthday, however, can reasonably expect a couple decades of celebrations, getting bigger with each passing year (females reach 10-13 in (25-33 cm), while males max out at 8-10 in (20-25 cm)).
In addition to predation, winter is one of the biggest barriers to longevity that young turtles must navigate in the wild (HA! I’ll bet you thought I’d lost my original train of thought, didn’t you?). No one expects to see a slider in a snowstorm, so it’s natural to assume they use sleep as a survival strategy. Hey, it works for two of the most diverse Orders on Earth—Chiroptera (bats) and Rodentia (rodents), so why not?
But reptiles take a different road. Brumation is a period of decreased activity, but it doesn’t involve the extreme metabolic changes that occur during hibernation. ‘Round about October, as temperatures dip below 50°F, sliders begin to settle in at the bottom of their preferred body of water, or in some cases under stream banks and tree stumps, and just… hang out. They’re less social, they move a little more slowly, sleep a little later, watch more television (I’m sure there must be a turtle equivalent), and generally feel lethargic and unmotivated. On warmer days, they’ll drag themselves up from the depths to stretch their limbs, have some lunch, and catch some rays with a few friends… but as soon as old Sol goes into hiding they follow suit, retreating into their shells to become stick-in-the-muds until spring.
Social commentators have come up with any number of marketable catch phrases to describe the human desire to turn our backs on a less than hospitable world—cocooning, burrowing, vegging out, even hibernating. The admen (and women) may argue that it doesn’t have the same sizzle, but what we’re really talking about here is brumating.
Sound like anyone you know?
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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: Asterio Tecson (blizzard people); M. W. Fisher, Jr. (hatchling); and Alan Vernon (sunning sliders).
My mole Tboy (that’s spy, not insectivore) tells me Valentine’s Day has had its intended effect on the wood frog population in southwestern Virginia. On February 18th the first early-bird male appeared at a nearby pond, floating patiently and quietly. Four days later, 50 guys had found their way to the gene pool and were warming up for karaoke and the start of happy hour. Any time now, the ladies will arrive and that joint be jumpin’!
The watering hole has been silent for the last few months. Winter is a time for amphibians to lie low. Really low. Aquatic frogs hibernate on or partially buried in the mud at the bottom of ponds and lakes. Terrestrial frogs, including the wood frog, hibernate on land. Some burrow down below the frost line, but wood frogs are not adept diggers so they seek out crevices in rocks, crawl beneath a log, or just huddle in the leaf litter. These hibernacula don’t always make for a cozy inglenook. When the temperatures drop below freezing, so do the wood frogs. But not to worry—wood frogs have what it takes to best Old Man Winter.
No, I’m not talking about well drinks. A high concentration of glucose keeps the frog’s vital organs from freezing, so even though the animal stops breathing and doesn’t have a heartbeat, it’s not dead. As soon as things heat up again, the frog thaws and life goes on.
The wood frog club scene is cool. That’s because it usually begins in January or February, sometimes before the ice has disappeared from vernal reproduction pools. The whole rave lasts for about two weeks. A female steps onto the dance floor—I mean into the water—and a male grabs her and holds on tight. The process is called amplexis. That’s Latin for embrace. Yeah. Kind of like the way sumo wrestlers embrace. Because once the male has her in his arms, he’s not letting go without a lot of… persuasion. Sometimes not even then.
The process is highly competitive and not without hazards. “Satellite” males hang out beyond the water’s edge so they can grab a gal while she’s in transit. In this way, he avoids jostling with the boys at the pool while also scoring a ride to the party. Also, male wood frogs are stimulated by movement so they’re not always discriminating about who they grab. Sometimes they grab the wrong species of frog, and sometimes several males will grab the same female. This can cause her to be squeezed to death or drown.
But, assuming there aren’t any bar brawls, the female will lay large masses of 1500+ eggs, choosing a site where they receive sunlight and protection from predators. When she releases her eggs, the male—who has been waiting for this opportunity and is now in the perfect position—fertilizes them with a sperm-containing fluid and soon the eggs begin to develop.
Eventually, the tadpoles hatch and begin their metamorphosis, absorbing the nutrient reserves in their tails to fuel their makeover.