Posts Tagged ‘entomology’
“In the natural world, anything that is colored so brightly must be some kind of serious evolutionary badass”*…
There are an estimated 10 quintillion (10,000,000,000,000,000,000) individual insects alive on earth today; they’ve been around for over 350 million years and ihabit nearly every environment, from deserts to snowy mountains. Their total biomass is massive, estimated to be around 70 times more than all humans combined. Often considered pests, only about 3% of species are harmful to humans; the vast majority are crucial for pollination, decomposition, and as food sources for other animals. (More insect data.)
“Loren” (and here) is a microbiologist fascinated by bugs– and ready to share…
I am incredibly fond of insects. They’re small and usually pretty fast, so it’s rewarding to successfully capture a photo of one. from 2017 to 2023, I was fairly consistent about chasing down bugs and sharing the photos on instagram, but sticking them all in a square grid can only do so much for me (or you). Here, I want to have a little more fun with my photos, and share other bug-related things that I like. There’s a lot! I am not an entomologist, merely a bug fan, so this page in its current state skews more towards the entertaining than the informative, but who knows what it may turn into. Right now there’s an entomology textbook sitting on my coffee table, and plenty of time to read it while the bugs overwinter…
Browse and learn: “The Bug Zone,” via Matt Muir (@mattmuir.bsky.social) and his always-illuminating Web Curios (@curiobot.bsky.social).
* Neal Stephenson, Cryptonomicon
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As we creep and crawl, we might spare a thought for a man concerned with “bugs” of a different sort, Joseph Lister (1st Baron Lister, OM, PC, FRS, FRCSE, FRCPGlas, FRCS); he died on this date in 1912. A surgeon, medical scientist, and experimental pathologist, he was a pioneer of antiseptic surgery and preventive healthcare. Just as John Hunter revolutionised the science of surgery, Lister’s revolutionized the craft of surgery.
Lister researched the role of inflammation and tissue perfusion in the healing of wounds, and advanced diagnostic science by analysing specimens using microscopes. But his biggest contributions were a function of his application of Louis Pasteur‘s then-novel germ theory. Lister introduced carbolic acid (modern-day phenol) as a steriliser for surgical instruments, patients’ skins, sutures, surgeons’ hands, and wards, promoting the principle of antiseptics. And he devised strategies to increase the chances of survival after surgery by reducing post-operative infections (e.g., segragating post-op patients from pre-op patients who had germ-riddled wounds).
“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite”*…
As Rodrigo Pérez Ortega reports, that admonition has a very long history…
Long before rats roamed sewers and cockroaches lurked in kitchen corners, another unwelcome guest plagued early civilizations. A new genomic study published today in Biology Letters suggests that bedbugs—the blood-feeding insects that haunt our hotel stays—were the first urban pests, proving an itchy menace for tens of thousands of years.
“This is really amazing,” says Klaus Reinhardt, an evolutionary biologist at the Dresden University of Technology who was not involved in the new study. “I think the hypothesis is quite solid.” Still, other researchers quibble over whether bedbugs can indisputably claim that title.
Many species of bedbugs depend on us—and our blood—to survive, but long ago, their prey of choice was probably exclusively bats. Genetic evidence suggests that about 245,000 years ago, some bedbugs made the jump to early humans.
This split led to two genetically distinct bedbug lineages. One kept feeding on bats and today remains largely confined to caves and natural habitats in Europe and the Middle East. The other followed humans into modern dwellings. Exactly how that scenario played out remained a mystery, however. That’s why Warren Booth, an evolutionary biologist at the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, and his team set out to study the genome of the common bedbug (Cimex lectularius) in depth…
… [Their findings make] bedbugs strong contenders for the title of the world’s first true urban pest that relies solely on humans, the researchers claim. Unlike more recent urban interlopers that feast on our stored food and enjoy our cozy homes—like the German cockroach (Blattella germanica), which formed a close association with humans just 2000 years ago, or the black rat (Rattus rattus), whose commensal relationship began about 5000 years ago—bedbugs may have started parasitizing humans just as our ancestors started building permanent settlements…
… the new findings underscore how humans have shaped the evolution of urban insects. Compared with their bat-feeding cousins, human-feeding bedbugs are smaller, less hairy, and have larger limbs—adaptations likely suited to navigating smooth walls and synthetic bedding. Today’s bedbugs also carry many DNA mutations linked to insecticide resistance, a relatively recent trait that reflects the pressures of modern pest control. “They’re a remarkable yet horrible species,” Booth says.
Understanding how these pests evolved together with us could help improve strategies for controlling them, especially as cities continue to grow—and as bedbugs now feed on the poultry we raise. Further research could also help us understand how our own immune system evolved, since some people develop allergies for bedbug bites. As a start, Booth and his team are analyzing centuries-old bedbug specimens in museums, to track how the insects’ genomes—and populations—have evolved over the past century alongside us.
“There’s a pretty intimate association, whether we like it or not,” Booth says. “That’s not going away anytime soon.”…
“Bedbugs may be the first urban pest,” from @rpocisv.bsky.social in @science.org.
* common children’s rhyme
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As we contemplate the chronicle of a co-evolved curse, we might recall that it was on thus date in 1789 that Richard Kirwan published his essay in support of the phlogiston theory (the belief, that dates to alchemical times, in the existence of a fire-like element (dubbed “phlogiston”) contained within combustible bodies and released during burning. Kirwan was among the last of its advocates.
A well-regarded scientist in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, Kirwan met and corresponded with Black, Lavoisier, Priestley, and Cavendish. Indeed, while scientific history remembers him as a defender of an incorrect theory, his work probably spurred Priestley and Lavoisier, who respectively discovered and named the actual elemental agent of combustion, oxygen.
But Kirwan is also remembered for a personal eccentricity (one of many) relevant to this post: he hated bugs (especially flies). He paid his servant a bounty for each one they killed.
“I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath”*…
E.O. Wilson once observed that “Ants have the most complicated social organization on earth next to humans.” John Whitfield explores the way in which, over the past four centuries, quadrillions of ants have created a strange and turbulent global society that shadows our own…
It is a familiar story: a small group of animals living in a wooded grassland begin, against all odds, to populate Earth. At first, they occupy a specific ecological place in the landscape, kept in check by other species. Then something changes. The animals find a way to travel to new places. They learn to cope with unpredictability. They adapt to new kinds of food and shelter. They are clever. And they are aggressive.
In the new places, the old limits are missing. As their population grows and their reach expands, the animals lay claim to more territories, reshaping the relationships in each new landscape by eliminating some species and nurturing others. Over time, they create the largest animal societies, in terms of numbers of individuals, that the planet has ever known. And at the borders of those societies, they fight the most destructive within-species conflicts, in terms of individual fatalities, that the planet has ever known.
This might sound like our story: the story of a hominin species, living in tropical Africa a few million years ago, becoming global. Instead, it is the story of a group of ant species, living in Central and South America a few hundred years ago, who spread across the planet by weaving themselves into European networks of exploration, trade, colonisation and war – some even stowed away on the 16th-century Spanish galleons that carried silver across the Pacific from Acapulco to Manila. During the past four centuries, these animals have globalised their societies alongside our own.
It is tempting to look for parallels with human empires. Perhaps it is impossible not to see rhymes between the natural and human worlds, and as a science journalist I’ve contributed more than my share. But just because words rhyme, it doesn’t mean their definitions align. Global ant societies are not simply echoes of human struggles for power. They are something new in the world, existing at a scale we can measure but struggle to grasp: there are roughly 200,000 times more ants on our planet than the 100 billion stars in the Milky Way…
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The more I learn, the more I am struck by the ants’ strangeness rather than their similarities with human society. There is another way to be a globalised society – one that is utterly unlike our own. I am not even sure we have the language to convey, for example, a colony’s ability to take bits of information from thousands of tiny brains and turn it into a distributed, constantly updated picture of their world. Even ‘smell’ seems a feeble word to describe the ability of ants’ antennae to read chemicals on the air and on each other. How can we imagine a life where sight goes almost unused and scent forms the primary channel of information, where chemical signals show the way to food, or mobilise a response to threats, or distinguish queens from workers and the living from the dead?
As our world turns alien, trying to think like an alien will be a better route to finding the imagination and humility needed to keep up with the changes than looking for ways in which other species are like us. But trying to think like an ant, rather than thinking about how ants are like us, is not to say that I welcome our unicolonial insect underlords. Calamities follow in the wake of globalised ant societies. Most troubling among these is the way that unicolonial species can overwhelmingly alter ecological diversity when they arrive somewhere new. Unicolonial ants can turn a patchwork of colonies created by different ant species into a landscape dominated by a single group. As a result, textured and complex ecological communities become simpler, less diverse and, crucially, less different to each other. This is not just a process; it is an era. The current period in which a relatively small number of super-spreading animals and plants expands across Earth is sometimes called the Homogecene. It’s not a cheering word, presaging an environment that favours the most pestilential animals, plants and microbes. Unicolonial ants contribute to a more homogenous future, but they also speak to life’s ability to escape our grasp, regardless of how we might try to order and exploit the world. And there’s something hopeful about that, for the planet, if not for us.
The scale and spread of ant societies is a reminder that humans should not confuse impact with control. We may be able to change our environment, but we’re almost powerless when it comes to manipulating our world exactly how we want. The global society of ants reminds us that we cannot know how other species will respond to our reshaping of the world, only that they will…
Bracing: “Ant geopolitics,” from @gentraso in @aeonmag.
* David Lynch
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As we investigate insects, we might spare a thought for Sara Josephine Baker; she died on this date in 1945. A physician, she was a pioneer in public health and child welfare in the United States in her roles as assistant to the Commissioner for Public Health of New York City, and later, head of the city’s Department of Health in “Hell’s Kitchen” for 25 years. Convinced of the value of well-baby care and the prevention of disease, in 1908 she founded the Bureau of Child Hygiene– and decreased the death rate by 1200 from the previous year. Her work made the New York City infant mortality rate the lowest in the USA or Europe at the time. She set up free milk clinics, licensed midwives, and taught the use of silver nitrate to prevent blindness in newborns.
Baker is also remembered as the public health official who (twice) tracked down “Typhoid Mary.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you”*…
The wages of anxiety…
A large Swedish study has uncovered a paradox about people diagnosed with an excessive fear of serious illness: They tend to die earlier than people who aren’t hypervigilant about health concerns.
Hypochondriasis, now called illness anxiety disorder, is a rare condition with symptoms that go beyond average health worries. People with the disorder are unable to shake their fears despite normal physical exams and lab tests. Some may change doctors repeatedly. Others may avoid medical care…
The researchers found that people with the diagnosis have an increased risk of death from both natural and unnatural causes, particularly suicide. Chronic stress and its impact on the body could explain some of the difference, the authors wrote…
“In hypochondria paradox, Swedish study finds a higher death rate in those who fear serious illness,” by @CarlaKJohnson in @AP.
* Joseph Heller, Catch-22
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As we stew over self-fulfilling prophecies, we might recall that it was on this date in 2021 that Paul E. Marek, et al. published a paper in Scientific Reports reporting the discovery of the first millipede species that lived up to its name. Although called millipedes, meaning 1000 legs, never before had a species been found with truly that many legs.
In fact, the new species, Eumillipes persephone has 1306 legs. This diminutive animal has a greatly elongated, thread-like body (0.95 mm wide, 95.7 mm long) with 330 segments, a cone-shaped head with enormous antennae, and a beak for feeding. It was found 60 m below ground in a drill hole created for mineral exploration in Western Australia. Living as a troglobite, it lacks eyes and pigmentation.
“The lovely flowers embarrass me, they make me regret I am not a bee”*…
… But then, what would it be like to be a bee? In the tradition of Thomas Nagel (bats), Peter Godfrey-Smith (octopuses), and Kristin Andrews (crabs), Lars Chittka explores…
Understanding the minds of alien life-forms is not easy, but if you relish the challenge, you don’t have to travel to outer space to find it. Alien minds are right here, all around you. You won’t necessarily find them in large-brained mammals—whose psychology is sometimes studied for the sole purpose of finding human-ness in slightly modified form. With insects such as bees, there is no such temptation: neither the societies of bees nor their individual psychology are remotely like those of humans (figure 1.1). Indeed, their perceptual world is so distinct from ours, governed by completely different sense organs, and their lives are ruled by such different priorities, that they might be accurately regarded as aliens from inner space.
Insect societies may look to us like smoothly oiled machines in which the individual plays the part of a mindless cog, but a superficial alien observer might come to the same conclusion about a human society. Over the course of this book, it will be my goal to convince you that each individual bee has a mind—that it has an awareness of the world around it and of its own knowledge, including autobiographical memories; an appreciation of the outcomes of its own actions; and the capacity for basic emotions and intelligence—key ingredients of a mind. And these minds are supported by beautifully elaborate brains. As we will see, insect brains are anything but simple. Compared to a human brain with its 86 billion nerve cells, a bee’s brain may have only about a million. But each one of these cells has a finely branched structure that in complexity may resemble a full-grown oak tree. Each nerve cell can make connections with 10,000 other ones—hence there may be more than a billion such connection points in a bee brain—and each of these connections is at least potentially plastic, alterable by individual experience. These elegantly miniaturized brains are much more than input-output devices; they are biological prediction machines, exploring possibilities. And they are spontaneously active in the absence of any stimulation, even during the night.
To explore what might be inside the mind of a bee, it is helpful to take a first-person bee perspective, and consider which aspects of the world would matter to you, and how. I invite you to picture what it’s like to be a bee. To start, imagine you have an exoskeleton—like a knight’s armor. However, there isn’t any skin underneath: your muscles are directly attached to the armor. You’re all hard shell, soft core. You also have an inbuilt chemical weapon, designed as an injection needle that can kill any animal your size and be extremely painful to animals a thousand times your size—but using it may be the last thing you do, since it can kill you, too. Now imagine what the world looks like from inside the cockpit of a bee.
You have 300o vision, and your eyes process information faster than any human’s. All your nutrition comes from flowers, each of which provides only a tiny meal, so you often have to travel many miles to and between flowers—and you’re up against thousands of competitors to harvest the goodies. The range of colors you can see is broader than a human’s and includes ultraviolet light, as well as sensitivity for the direction in which light waves oscillate. You have sensory superpowers, such as a magnetic compass. You have protrusions on your head, as long as an arm, which can taste, smell, hear, and sense electric fields (figure 1.2). And you can fly. Given all this, what’s in your mind?…
Further to an earlier post, “What it’s like to be a bee,” from @LChittka and @PrincetonUPress, via @TheBrowser.
* Emily Dickinson
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As we buzz, we might spare a thought for a successful entrepreneur whose empire depended on bees (and their capacity to pollinate plants), Washington Atlee Burpee; he died on this date in 1915. A horticulturist, we turned his childhood interest in the selective breeding of poultry, and his passion for research in the genetics of breeding into Burpee Seeds, the world’s largest mail-order seed company.
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