I’m smaller than dust, yet ancient and wise, I thrive in the harshest of lows and highest of highs. No mate, no death, no fear of the cold, I borrow new genes when my own get too old.
Our world follows certain rules. Or at least, that’s what I was taught growing up. Falling objects accelerate at 9.8 meters per second squared in a vacuum. Warm air rises. Diagonally cut sandwiches just taste better. Living things, too, evolve a certain way, survive a certain way, die a certain way.
Or so I thought, anyway.
I was not taught that there are some creatures out there that cheat death, that rewrite their own DNA and survive in conditions that should render said survival impossible. At a moment when humans are trying to hack biology in an effort to live younger, longer, there are creatures out there that have been doing it for millions of years.
Meet the rotifer.
You’ve probably never seen one, but they’re everywhere: in puddles, moss, soil, and freshwater lakes. They look like something from Pandora, spinning through water with wheel-like cilia. Hardly larger than a speck of dust, they don’t roar, they don’t tower over landscapes, and they’re not exactly at the top of any food chain as I know them. But they’ve outlived entire species, survived mass extinctions, and continue to defy the rules of biology we thought we knew.
While rotifers may be practically invisible to our eyes, their impact is not. They play a fundamental role in freshwater ecosystems, drifting through aquatic environments and feeding on algae, bacteria, and other organic debris. Remember my little quip earlier about food chains? Well, it’s sort of a half-truth. They feed on algae, bacteria, and bits of organic debris—basically whatever’s floating around at the microbial level. In doing so, they turn microscopic life into something usable for everything else. They’re one of the first stops in the food web, sustaining creatures far bigger than themselves. Take them out, and the whole darn thing starts to wobble.
Life is full of exceptions, and even the smallest creatures can upend our understanding of what survival, and life itself, really means.
Rule #1: It Takes Two to Tango
A fundamental principle of biology I thought I understood is that species need genetic diversity to evolve and survive. Sexual reproduction is nature’s way of mixing genes, creating stronger offspring that are better adapted to changing environments. Without this reshuffling of DNA, plant and animal species alike face genetic stagnation and, over time, possibly extinction.
Rotifers see it differently.
For tens of millions of years, the bdelloid class of rotifer has lived without sex. They reproduce by cloning themselves over and over, spawning genetically identical offspring generation after generation.
By my logic, this should have led to their extinction long ago. They should have faced great difficulty adapting to changing environments, vulnerable to disease, and trapped in a state of evolutionary stasis. Instead, they’ve flourished.
But how?
By stealing DNA from other organisms. Instead of relying on traditional sexual reproduction, bdelloid rotifers are actually able to absorb genetic material from bacteria, fungi, and even some plants. This process, known as horizontal gene transfer, allows them to patch together their own genes with foreign DNA, essentially hijacking useful traits from unrelated life forms.
It’s a complicated process that, to be honest, I don’t fully understand. But that’s okay, because neither do the scientists studying this stuff. Here’s what they think is happening.
When a bdelloid rotifer dries out (usually in a harsh environment), its DNA begins to crumble and break apart into pieces. When it rehydrates, something strange happens: its cell walls become more permeable, just enough to let in snippets of DNA floating nearby, bits from bacteria, fungi, even plants. Once inside, the rotifer’s cellular machinery picks them up and patches them into its own fragmented genome. It’s like a genetic repair job using whatever foraged parts are lying around. Instead of mixing genes through sex, bdelloids build their genetic diversity by borrowing from the world around them. It’s a little messy, a little miraculous, but it works.
Rotifers can get nutrients from algae they can’t eat directly. A parasitic fungus infects algae and releases spores, which the rotifers can eat, allowing energy to pass from the algae to the rotifer through the fungus. Image Credit: Virginia Sánchez Barranco, et al. 2020
Rule #2: Death and Taxes
I remember my parents quipping throughout my childhood that there are only two sure things in this life, death and taxes. But while I can’t speak for their fiduciary responsibilities, rotifers have been able to generally cheat the former.
When an organism is deprived of water, it usually dies. Cells shrivel, biological processes shut down, and life ends.
When conditions turn hostile for rotifers, when droughts dry up their ponds, when ice encases them, when the world around them becomes unlivable, rotifers don’t really die. They shut down, entering a sort of paused or stalled state, called cryptobiosis. Their bodies lose nearly all water content, their metabolism grinds to a halt, and for all practical purposes, they are lifeless husks of a microorganism. But give them a single drop of water, and they wake up, pretty much just as they were before.
Some rotifers can survive in this suspended animation for decades. Others have gone far longer. In one of the most staggering discoveries, scientists revived a 24,000-year-old rotifer from Siberian permafrost, and it immediately resumed life, eating, cloning itself, and otherwise carrying on as if it had just taken a nap. I’m not too well-versed on Marvel films, but I’m 99% sure this was basically the plot of a Captain America movie.
Most creatures don’t get a second chance at life, and this individual superpower bodes well for the species as a whole. Limited though it may be, fossil evidence suggests they’ve been around for tens of millions of years, enduring planetary shifts, ice ages, and environmental catastrophes that wiped out far larger and more powerful creatures. I think it’s safe to say they’re well positioned for another few dozen million years, come what may.
Rotifers challenge what I thought I knew about survival itself. They don’t evolve the way they should, they don’t die when they should, and they have little regard for the biological limits we assume all creatures must adhere to.
Despite their microscopic size, rotifers keep ecosystems running, breaking down organic material, cycling nutrients, and supporting food webs that stretch far beyond their little dominion.
Science is full of rules. They help us understand how the world works. But rotifers are proof that rules aren’t always as rigid as we think. They remind me that life’s possibilities are bigger, weirder, and more resilient than we might imagine.
BrendanKelly began his career teaching conservation education programs at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. He is interested in how the intersection of informal education, mass communications and marketing can be retooled to drive relatable, accessible climate action. While he loves all ecosystems equally, he is admittedly partial to those in the alpine.
What creature is able to control blood flow to their extremities, has eyes adapted for underwater vision, and spends 75% of its life at sea?
Adélie penguins, Pygoscelis adeliae Image Credit: Nidhin Cyril Joseph via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
Now that I’ve been writing for Biodiversity for a Livable Climate for a while, I’ve received several requests from friends and family for creatures to feature. This piece is the result of a request from my close friend’s two children, who, after listening to their parents read my feature on sloths, emphatically asked if I could write about penguins next.
Who am I to deny such an impassioned request?
While many penguins live in more temperate climates, today we’re putting the spotlight on the species that live in Antarctica and its surrounding islands.
When people share their ideas with me, it always gives me inspiration and prompts me to ask myself:
“What does this creature have to teach me about its life on Earth?” If you’re a penguin, the answer is, “quite a lot!”
If you play charades and act out the word “penguin,” you will probably start waddling, right? While the tendency to teeter back and forth on land is one of penguins’ most widely known (and adorable) characteristics, there is a lot more to them than that. Their countershaded plumage, flippers, and underwater vision are all features that make life as a penguin possible – and unique. But before we get to that, let me introduce you to our flightless friends.
Out of the 18 species of penguins, only eight of them live in the Antarctic. Out of those eight, only two species, Emperor and Adélie penguins, live exclusively on the ice shelves of the Antarctic continent. The rest of these cold climate birds – Macaroni, Gentoo, Chinstrap, Southern and Northern Rockhopper, and King penguins – live on the Antarctic Peninsula and surrounding sub-Antarctic islands.
In addition to their typical black and white feathers, many have distinctive features like red-orange beaks, or pale pink feet. Red eyes and yellow crests identify species like Macaroni penguins, and King and Emperor penguins can be recognized by the orange and yellow plumage on their chests and cheeks.
Here’s something you might not know: one in every 50,000 penguins are born with brown, cream-colored feathers rather than with black plumage. This washed-out look is called isabelline. While it’s not the same as albinism (which is defined by a complete lack of pigmentation) isabellinism is the partial loss of pigment.
Isabelline King penguin, Aptenodytes patagonicus Image Credit: Sebastian Traclet via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
The Birds that Swim
Penguins are highly specialized for life in ocean water, and have many adaptations that suit their lifestyle in their environment. These beautiful birds have streamlined bodies that are equipped with a well-developed rib cage, wings that have evolved into flippers with shorter and stouter bones, and a pronounced keel, or breastbone, which provides an anchor for the pectoral muscles that move the flippers. Penguins might not be able to fly in the air, but they propel themselves with incredible agility into “flight” underwater with their flippers. In the water, Gentoo penguins (pictured below) are the fastest of all penguins, and of all swimming birds. While searching for food or escaping predators, they reach speeds up to 36 km (22 miles) per hour.
Their eyes, which are their primary means of locating evasive prey and avoiding predators and fishing nets, are adapted for underwater vision. And these aren’t the only traits that make penguins incredibly well-fit for aquatic life. Their short feathers, which minimize friction and turbulence as they swim, are denser than most other birds, with up to 100 feathers per square inch in some species, such as the Emperor penguin. This close spacing helps keep penguins warm, preserving a layer of air under their plumage that not only insulates them from the cold water, but also provides them with buoyancy.
Gentoo penguins, Pygoscelis papua Image Credit: Laura Babahekian via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
Penguins also conserve heat in other ways. They possess this remarkable vascular countercurrent heat exchanger called a humeral arterial plexus – a system of heat exchange between opposing flows of blood. This allows cold blood to absorb heat from outflowing blood that has already been warmed, limiting heat loss in their flippers and feet, ultimately helping these small animals survive in such cold.
What Else Do Penguins Have to Teach Us?
We already know that most penguins have darker feathers on their backs and wings, and lighter-colored feathers on their bellies, but why? Called countershading, it’s actually a form of camouflage. For predators like orcas, it is difficult to look up from below and distinguish the white belly of a penguin from the water’s surface and sky above it. Similarly, from above, the bird’s dark back blends into the darker ocean depths. It’s speculated that birds with extreme plumage irregularity, like isabelline penguins that don’t have the advantage of camouflage, have a decreased life expectancy as a result of increased predation. However, research shows that isabelline individuals have survived for many years.
Young Gentoo penguin, Pygoscelis papua Image Credit: Hugo Hulsberg via iNaturalist (CC0)
While most penguins share incubation duties (one parent broods while the other forages at sea, switching when the other returns) species like the Emperor and King penguins have unique strategies where the males take on greater, or even sole, responsibility. But, the parents’ warm bodies are not the only thing protecting their babies: the eggs of cold-climate penguins are well-adapted to their adverse nesting environment too, with thick shells that reduce the chick’s dehydration and the risk of breakage. Once a clutch hatches and the parents go out to hunt, on their way back to their colony, some penguins use the sun as a directional aid while others rely on landmarks or even the Earth’s magnetic field to navigate, like a built-in gps. Once safely on land, parents use unique vocal calls to locate and reunite with their baby.
Did you know that even though a group of penguins is called a colony, they can also be called a “waddle” on land, and a “raft” in the water? Still, penguins don’t waddle all the time. Besides their awkward and amusing side to side rock, penguins also jump with both feet together to move more quickly across steep or rocky terrain. Can you guess what the Southern and Northern Rockhopper penguins were named for? If penguins want to conserve energy while moving quickly, they’ll do something called tobogganing, sliding on their bellies across the snow while using their feet to propel and steer themselves.
Regardless of which ecosystem a creature calls home, Earth’s organisms always have a more significant role in their environment than we first realize. Penguins are an important part of land and ocean ecosystems. Adult penguins are prey for sharks, orcas, and leopard seals, and penguin eggs/chicks serve to sustain other land predators like pumas, mongooses, and many seabirds like skuas, petrels, and sheathbills. Our aquatic fliers use their powerful jaws and spiny tongues to grip their quarry, eating krill, small fish, crabs, and squid, and getting nutrients from the rich, well-oxygenated waters of their ecosystem. Penguins then in turn fertilize the landscape with the nutrients like nitrogen, phosphorus, and organic carbon from their ocean foraging.
Penguins also play a key role in their colony’s survival. They are incredibly social creatures, and as a result of the extreme Antarctic conditions they live in, huddle together to stay warm during violent winter storms, even rotating so each penguin gets a turn at the center of the heat pack. Many penguin species form long-term pair bonds, fostering better collaboration, sharing of responsibilities, and improving the success of breeding over time. But, some have high divorce rates, switching mates in different breeding seasons.
Most penguin specie populations are declining, with nine out of the 18 species classified as endangered or vulnerable on the IUCN Red List.
While the Antarctic Treaty has provided some legal protections for penguins, these birds are still at risk. You might have already guessed one of the reasons why: climate change. The rapid increase in temperature around the globe is altering oceanic conditions and melting sea ice, threatening penguins’ food supply, breeding grounds, and the delicate natural infrastructure of water and ice that sustains their way of life. In fact, we’ve recorded a correlation between record low sea ice in 2022 and the first-ever known large-scale breeding failure of Emperor penguins, an episode in which few (or nearly none at all) chicks are born.
Penguins are also at risk from pollution, caused by the usual suspects: littering and ecological disasters like oil spills. Development projects threaten nesting sites, and unsustainable and irresponsible fishing practices increase competition for available food in the sea.
And just last year, H5N1, so-called “bird flu,” was detected in the Antarctic region. Due to their dense breeding practice, the looming threat to penguin colonies is significant if the virus continues to spread around the region and continent.
Some of these risks are more dangerous or difficult to combat than others, but doing our part to help protect penguins is not a hopeless cause. We can support marine protected areas that provide refuge for vulnerable species like penguins and conservation organizations that focus on preserving penguin populations and their habitats. We can spread awareness about the threats they face, advocate for the nature-based solutions that keep the Antarctic cool, and do our part to keep our oceans clean.
I’ve come to understand that these penguins that dwell in some of the coldest places on Earth are some of most resilient animal species on Earth. Despite the challenges their environment throws at them, they are strong and patient, and work together to survive and thrive.
Now, join me if you will in taking a deep, collective breath before I present this to some tough critics, my friend’s children. 🙂
Abigail Gipson is an environmental advocate with a bachelor’s degree in humanitarian studies from Fordham University. Working to protect the natural world and its inhabitants, Abigail is specifically interested in environmental protection, ecosystem-based adaptation, and the intersection of climate change with human rights and animal welfare. She loves autumn, reading, and gardening.
What plant thrives in the harshest landscapes, conserving water like a desert camel, and produces a sweet yet spiky fruit enjoyed for centuries? The Prickly Pear Cactus!
Credit: Hub JACQ via Pexels
When I’m in the south of France, nothing makes me happier than spending the day by the ocean, taking in the salty breeze and strolling along the littoral. After a long afternoon on the beach, as I make my way home, I always notice prickly pear cacti scattered throughout the local fauna.
Prickly pear cacti are everywhere in the south of France, where I’m from. My mom, who grew up in Corsica, used to tell me stories about how she’d collect and eat the fruit as a kid. So, naturally, last summer, when I spotted some growing along the path home from the beach, I figured—why not try one myself?
Big mistake.
Without gloves (rookie move), I grabbed one with my bare hands. The next 20 minutes were spent with my friends painstakingly plucking hundreds of tiny, nearly invisible needles out of my fingertips. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but watching my hands transform into a pincushion was… unsettling. And to top it all off? The fruit wasn’t even ripe.
For the longest time, I just assumed prickly pears were native to the Mediterranean. They grow everywhere, you can buy them at local markets, and my mom spoke about them like they were an age-old Corsican tradition. But a few weeks ago, while researching cochineal bugs (parasitic insects that live on prickly pear cacti), I discovered something surprising—prickly pears aren’t native to the south of France at all. They actually originate from Central and South America, and were introduced to the Mediterranean from the Americas centuries ago. They’ve since become naturalized.
Curious to learn more, I dove into the biology of prickly pears—and it turns out, these cacti are far more than just a tasty (and slightly dangerous) snack. Their survival strategies, adaptations, and ecological impact make them one of the most fascinating plants out there.
Prickly Pear Cactus Fruit Credit: Maciej Cisowski via Pexels
Prickly pear cacti belong to the Cactaceae family, and they’re absolute survivors. In spring and summer, they produce vibrant flowers that bloom directly on their paddles, eventually transforming into edible berries covered in sneaky little thorns (trust me, I learned that the hard way).
These cacti thrive in drylands but adapt surprisingly well to different climates. They prefer warm summers, cool dry winters, and temperatures above -5°C (23°F).Their ability to store water efficiently and withstand long dry periods has earned them the nickname ‘the camel of the plant world.’They can lose up to 80-90% of their total water contentand still bounce back, an adaptation that allows them to endure long periods of drought.
They are designed to make the most of their access to water whenever they get the chance. The cactus can develop different types of roots depending on what they need to survive, making them masters of adaptation. One of their coolest tricks? “Rain roots.” These special roots pop up within hours of light rainfall to soak up water—then vanish once the soil dries out.
And then there are their infamous spines. Prickly pears have two kinds: large protective spines and tiny, hair-like glochids. The glochids are the real troublemakers—easily dislodged, nearly invisible, and an absolute nightmare to remove if they get stuck in your skin. (Again, learned this the hard way.)
The term “nopal” refers to both the prickly pear cactus and its pads. It originates from the Nahuatl word nohpalli, which specifically describes the plant’s flat, fleshy segments.
These pads are highly nutritious and well-suited for human consumption, packed with essential vitamins and minerals. They are especially rich in calcium, making them an excellent dietary alternative for populations with high rates of lactose intolerance, such as in India.
Beyond calcium, nopales also provide amino acids and protein, offering a valuable plant-based protein source. They are rich in fiber, vitamins, and minerals, making their nutritional profile comparable to fruits like apples and oranges, explaining their long-standing role in traditional cuisine. From soups and stews to salads and marmalades, they are a versatile ingredient enjoyed in a variety of dishes
Ever wondered how to clean and grill a prickly pear pad at home?
The Fruit – Sweet & Versatile
Prickly pears produce colorful, juicy fruits called tunas, which range in color from white and yellow to deep red and orange as they ripen. Their flavor is often described as a mix between watermelon and berries, while others compare it to pomegranate. Either way, they make for a delicious and refreshing snack.
But before you take a bite, be sure to peel them carefully. If you don’t remove the outer layer properly, you might end up with tiny spines lodged in your lips, tongue, and throat (which is about as fun as it sounds). Once cleaned, the fruit is used in jams, juices, and is even pickled!
Credit: Emilio Sánchez Hernández via Pexels
Prickly pear cacti produce stunning flowers that attract a variety of pollinators, particularly bees. Some specialist pollinators have evolved to depend exclusively on prickly pear flowers as their sole pollen source, highlighting an amazing co-evolutionary relationship. One fascinating example is a variety that has evolved to be pollinated exclusively by hummingbirds, demonstrating the plant’s remarkable ecological flexibility.
If you’d like to see this incredible interaction for yourself, check out the following footage of a hummingbird feeding on a prickly pear flower. Though the video quality is low, the enthusiasm of the couple filming it makes up for it! 🙂
Another fascinating feature of prickly pear flowers are their thermotactic anthers. Okay so yeah, that’s a bit of a mouthful. Basically, the part of the flower responsible for producing pollen, the anthers, have a unique ability to respond to temperature changes—releasing pollen only when conditions are just right for pollination. Prickly pear flowers achieve this through movement; the anthers physically curl over to deposit pollen directly onto visiting pollinators.
You can even see this in action yourself! Try gently tapping an open flower, and watch as it instinctively delivers its pollen like a built-in pollen delivery system.
Once pollinated, the flowers transform into fruit, which then serve as an essential food source for birds and small mammals. These animals help disperse the seeds, allowing new cacti to grow in different areas. But prickly pears don’t just rely on seeds for reproduction, they also have an incredible ability to clone themselves. If a pad breaks off and lands in the right conditions, it can root itself and grow into an entirely new cactus. Talk about resilience!
Like most cacti, prickly pears are tough survivors, thriving even in degraded landscapes. But they go a step further, not just enduring harsh conditions, but actively helping to restore them. The plant’s roots act as natural barriers, preventing erosion, locking in moisture, and enriching the soil with organic matter. Studies show that areas dense with prickly pears experience significantly less soil degradation, proving their role in restoring fragile land.
They also improve soil structure, making it lighter and more fertile, which boosts microbial activity and essential nutrients. They act as natural detoxifiers, absorbing pollutants like heavy metals and petroleum-based toxins and offering an eco-friendly way to restore contaminated soils.
Roots of the prickly pear cactus. Credit: Homrani Bakali, Abdelmonaim, et. al, 2016
A Tale of Two Ecosystems
Prickly pear plantations are powerful carbon sinks, pulling CO₂ from the air and storing it in the soil. In fact, research shows that prickly pear cultivations in Mexico sequester carbon at rates comparable to forests. A major factor? The cactus stimulates microbial activity in the soil, a key driver of carbon storage.
When farmed sustainably, the CO₂ prickly pears absorb offset the greenhouse gases emitted during cultivation.
Prickly pear cacti have immense capability for land restoration and carbon sequestration, but this potential varies dramatically depending on how they are introduced and managed, and where. In some regions, like Ethiopia, they serve as a lifeline for communities facing desertification. In others, like South Africa, they’ve become invasive, disrupting native ecosystems.
By exploring these two contrasting case studies, we can see how the same plant can either heal or harm the land—and why responsible management is key.
Tigray, Ethiopia: A Natural Fit for Harsh Climates
In Ethiopia, where over half the land experiences water shortages, the prickly pear cactus has become indispensable since its introduction in the 19th century. Arid lands are notorious for unpredictable rainfall, prolonged droughts, and poor soils. But the prickly pear cactus defies these challenges. Requiring minimal water, it provides a reliable food source for both humans and animals, making it an essential crop for small-scale farmers in dry regions.
Prickly pear pads are a crucial livestock feed during droughts, providing moisture and nutrients when other forage is scarce. While it cannot be used as the sole source of nutrition for most ruminants, it’s definitely a necessary supplement in times of drought.
Additionally, the plant’s dense growth creates natural barriers, curbing overgrazing and helping native vegetation recover.
As a food source, prickly pear can be used to supplement human diet. The cactus is an alternative to water-intensive cereals like wheat and barley. With higher biomass yields and significantly lower water requirements, it offers a sustainable solution to food security in drought-prone areas.
Unfortunately, prickly pear cultivation in Ethiopia is under threat from invasive cochineal infestations. These cochineal insects, originally used for dye production, were later introduced outside their native range, where they’ve become agricultural pests, devastating cactus populations.
A cactus infested by cochineal insects Credit: tjeerddw (CC-BY-NC)detail: cochineal bug Credit: Toxmace (CC-BY-NC)
South Africa: When Prickly Pear Becomes a Problem
While the cactus is a valuable resource in some regions, in others, it becomes an invasive species, altering ecosystems and threatening native plants.
In South Africa, prickly pears were introduced by European settlers, but without natural predators to control them, they spread aggressively. Today, they dominate large areas, outcompeting native vegetation and consuming scarce resources like water and soil nutrients. Their dense growth also creates impenetrable thickets that hinder livestock grazing and disrupt local ecosystems.
To control its spread, South Africa turned to biological solutions, ironically using the same cochineal insect that threatens Ethiopia’s prickly pear. In South Africa, cochineal insects have been highly effective at curbing cactus overgrowth, selectively feeding on the invasive species and allowing native plants to recover.
This dual role of the prickly pear cactus—as both a valuable resource and a potential ecological threat—highlights the importance of responsible management. Striking a balance between conservation and cultivation is key to harnessing the plant’s benefits while preventing unintended environmental consequences.
Innovative Uses: From Energy to Eco-Friendly Materials
The prickly pear’s resilience extends beyond its survival in harsh environments—it’s also fueling innovation in sustainability. Scientists and entrepreneurs are finding new ways to harness this plant’s potential, from renewable energy to eco-friendly materials.
In the search for cleaner energy sources, prickly pear biomass is being used to produce biogas and bioethanol, offering a renewable alternative to fossil fuels. Unlike resource-intensive crops, the cactus thrives with minimal water, making it a low-impact solution for sustainable energy. Meanwhile, its juice is being explored as a base for biodegradable plastics. Unlike corn-based bioplastics, which require significant land and water resources, cactus-based plastics are more sustainable and continue growing after harvesting, reducing environmental strain.
Cactus leather, developed by companies like Desserto, provides a sustainable alternative to synthetic and animal-based materials. Unlike traditional vegan leather, which often contains petroleum-based plastics, cactus leather is biodegradable, water-efficient, and durable. As more industries embrace the potential of this remarkable plant, the prickly pear is proving that sustainability and innovation can go hand in hand.
From nourishing communities to restoring degraded land, and generating clean energy, the prickly pear is far more than just a desert plant—it’s a symbol of resilience, innovation, and sustainability. However, its impact depends on careful management. Whether cultivated as a food source or controlled as an invasive species, striking the right balance is key to unlocking its full potential.
And if this article has inspired you to try a prickly pear fruit for yourself, please stick to the store-bought varieties. Unlike wild varieties, cultivated prickly pears are often spineless, making them easier (and safer) to eat. Plus, it would give me, the author, peace of mind knowing that no one has to suffer the same fate I did when I ended up with a hand full of spines after an ill-fated foraging attempt.
Lakhena Park holds degrees in Public Policy and Human Rights Law but has recently shifted her focus toward sustainability, ecosystem restoration, and regenerative agriculture. Passionate about reshaping food systems, she explores how agroecology and land management practices can restore biodiversity, improve soil health, and build resilient communities. She is currently preparing to pursue a Permaculture Design Certificate (PDC) to deepen her understanding of regenerative practices. Fun fact: Pigs are her favorite farm animal—smart, playful, and excellent at turning soil, they embody everything she loves about regenerative farming.
I prowl the woods, both fierce and lean, With golden eyes and coat unseen. Once a ghost upon the land, Now brought back by careful hand. Who am I, wild and free, Yet bound by fate and history?
Many moons ago, for two years during college and one year after, I worked at the Columbus Zoo & Aquarium in central Ohio (for those keeping score at home, that’s Jack Hanna’s zoo. Yes I met him.)
I spent thousands of hours over hundreds of days at that zoo. I got to know every path, every Dippin’ Dots stand, and every habitat under the zoo’s care.
The Columbus Zoo & Aquarium has an incredible collection of creatures (they’re one of the only institutions outside of Florida with manatees). While I was enamored with all of them, my favorite were the Mexican Wolves, a critically imperiled species.
In a place full of more diversity and creatures than I could ever count, the zoo’s Mexican wolves were different. As part of the (American) Association of Zoos and Aquariums’ Species Survival Plan, a nationwide conservation effort. There were excellent educators of the impact one creature can have on an ecosystem, and what can happen when we don’t take care of them.
A Mexican Wolf at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. Credit: JCaputo via Flickr. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
A Predator on the Brink
The Mexican wolf (Canis lupus baileyi) is both the rarest and most genetically distinct subspecies of the more well known gray wolf. It is notably smaller than its northern relatives, with adults weighing standing about two feet tallat the top of the shoulder. Despite this (relatively) diminutive stature, the Mexican wolf is an apex predator in its environment, finely tuned by evolution for survival in the rugged, often unforgiving landscapes of the southwestern United States and northern Mexico.
Consider those landscapes for a moment. What does it take for a species already up against the ropes to survive there? What would it take for you to survive there?
You’d have to have exceptional endurance to hunt in vast, open environments. Long, slender legs and a streamlined body would allow you to cover these great distances while tracking prey, often over the course of 30 miles in a single day. You’d require an acute sense of smell and keen eyesight to pick up on the movements of smaller creatures from far away, even in the dim light of dawn or dusk when your prey is most active.
You’d be an expert of efficient thermoregulation, that is, keeping cool in the heat and warm in the cold. And you’d have to be, an expert, when your world ranges from scorching desert heat to bitter mountain cold, these wolves have developed a double-layered coat that provides insulation in winter while shedding excess warmth in summer. The coat’s coloration, a mixture of gray, rust, and buff, serves as excellent camouflage against the rocky and forested landscapes they inhabit.
A Wolf’s Role
It’s old news to you, I know, but it bears repeating. For ecosystems to function, predators must play their part. Like other wolves, the Mexican wolf is a keystone species, regulating prey populations and influencing plant communities. Without them, the system unravels.
The Mexican wolf primarily hunts elk, white-tailed deer, mule deer, and occasionally livestock, but they will also take smaller mammals like rabbits and rodents when such larger prey is scarce. When they hunt, they do so together, as cooperative pack hunters. Their strong social structure is as essential a tool as their razor sharp incisors in felling prey much larger than themselves. Beyond the hunt, these [ack dynamics are critical to their survival—each member has a role, from rearing the pups learning the ropes to experienced hunters leading coordinated chases.
Both on the hunt and at home, communication is central to the wolves’ social structure. Howling serves as both a bonding ritual and a way to locate packmates over vast distances. Body language, like tail positioning and ear movement, helps maintain hierarchy within the group. You may even recognize a few of these traits in your own dog, barking or howling to communicate, using their tail and ears to express emotion, or learning through playful wrestling as a puppy.
Packs are tight-knit, usually number four to six members, though some may grow larger depending on prey availability. They establish territories spanning up to 200 square miles, marking them with scent and vocalizing to warn off intruding wolves and other creatures.
A Mexican wolf and her pup. Image by Bob Haarmans, CC BY 2.0
In the absence of wolves, prey populations, especially elk and deer, explode, stripping vegetation and weakening forests. Overgrazed lands mean fewer young trees, degraded soil, less cover for smaller animals and heightened wildfire risk. This domino effect, known more scientifically as trophic cascade, ripples through the entire ecosystem. Beavers lose the young saplings they rely on for food and dams. Birds struggle to find nesting spots. Streams warm without tree cover, altering aquatic life.
But when wolves return, balance begins to restore itself. Just ask Yellowstone National Park. Wolves keep elk and deer moving, preventing over-grazing in sensitive areas. Carcasses left behind provide food for scavengers, including ravens, eagles, foxes, and even bears. Their presence reshapes the landscape, not just through their actions but through the fear they instill in prey. They don’t just hunt; they change the way the river of life flows.
A Fragile Comeback
Conservation and reintroduction of Mexican wolves has been an uphill, if slightly progressive, endeavor since the first captive-bred wolves were reintroduced into Arizona and New Mexico in 1998.
Ranchers in the area saw them as a renewed threat to livestock, and illegal killings were common practice. Some reintroduced wolves were shot before they had a chance to establish packs. Others were relocated after venturing too close to human settlements and industry.
Populations have grown slowly. From a low of just seven wolves in 1980, there are now about 250-300 Mexican wolves in the wild today. This precarious population is still critically small, vulnerable to disease, low genetic variation, and continued conflict with humans.
Climate change has also complicated things.
Rising temperatures are altering the Mexican wolf’s habitat. More frequent and severe droughts in the American Southwest threaten prey availability, pushing elk and deer into different ranges. Increased wildfires, driven by hotter, drier, and more flammable conditions, destroy the forests that wolves depend on for cover and prey.
Mexican Wolf experimental population area map. Courtesy U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
Last Word
I know zoos can be complicated, controversial places at times. I’m not really here to weigh in on that. But I think like many things in life, there is great value in the best parts of them. As we all continue to advocate for a less-extractive relationship with the rivers of life beyond our front door, I think the ability to educate, connect, and inspire others to care about the world around them is critically important. I saw the Columbus Zoo do that well time and time again, and I think every time we share a featured creature, post a picture of our gardens, or take someone along for a Miyawaki planting, we do the same.
Brendan Kelly began his career teaching conservation education programs at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. He is interested in how the intersection of informal education, mass communications and marketing can be retooled to drive relatable, accessible climate action. While he loves all ecosystems equally, he is admittedly partial to those in the alpine.
The American Pika has a short, stocky body with large round ears and short legs. Don’t be fooled by this adorable ball of fur and ears. The pika is a hardy creature, one of the only mammals, in fact, that is able to survive its entire life in alpine terrain. The intensity of alpine environments makes it difficult for animals to thrive. The pika is believed to have originated in Asia, where 28 out of the 30 species of the lagomorph still reside. Fossil remains of ancient pika date back to over 15 million years ago, and are thought to have traveled from Asia to North America in the Miocene epoch, across the Bering land bridge.
As a guinea pig owner, the pika first drew my attention due to its resemblance to my beloved pets. Despite its guinea-pig and mouse-like appearance, however, the pika is not, in fact, a rodent. Instead, the pika is a lagomorph, sharing the title with rabbits and hares. The pika is the smallest lagomorph, with most weighing between 125 and 200 grams, and measuring about 15 cm in length. Unlike rodents, lagomorphs have a second, smaller pair of incisors located directly behind the first. In addition to their second pair of front teeth, lagomorphs produce two separate kinds of feces, drops that are both solid and round, or black soft pellets. The soft feces contain up to five times as many vitamins as the solid droppings, and after their production are re-consumed to utilize their nutritional value. The purpose of this process is to allow the animal to access the nutrients that its body was unable to absorb upon its first digestion, an important adaptation for life in their lives in an unforgiving alpine environment.
The pika reside in two very distinct and separate places, depending on the specific species. While some live in rocky, alpine terrains, others prefer to burrow in meadows. The American pika inhabits the former, on the treeless, rocky slopes of mountains, found in mountainous areas of the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains in both Canada and the United States. These pikas are social creatures, and gather to live in colonies together. These colonies provide the pikas with protection, as at any sign of danger they will squeak a warning call to their colony, a sound which is represented in the following video. Although they live together, pikas are territorial of their own den. Each pika’s den is built into the crevasse of the rocky environment, and the pika will also emit territorial cries to keep their fellow pikas away.
The pika’s breeding season is in the spring, when their aggression and territorial feelings reach a low. This change in disposition allows the creatures to mate with their den’s closet neighbor. Pika gestation lasts 30 days, and litters of one to four are born blind and hairless, to be cared for by their mother. The young pikas grow quickly, and reach adulthood in just 40 to 50 days, and adult pikas have an average lifespan of about three years. Mother pikas generally birth two litters of babies each summer, but the first litter tends to have a higher survival rate.
The American pika varies from brown to black in fur color, resembling the rocky terrain that it inhabits. Their thick coat of fur, which keeps them warm in the cold winter months, thins during the summer, allowing some relief from the summer heat. Pikas are active year-round, and do not hibernate. Instead, the pika seeks shelter within the cracks and crevices of their rocky terrain, remaining warm through the insulation of heavy snow. In addition, the American Pika makes sure to take precautions in order to prepare for the tough winter months, when grasses and wildflowers are sparse.
To prepare for harsh winter months, the pika gathers its favorite foods, grasses, weeds, and wildflowers, carrying its harvest in its mouth before depositing it into a hidden pile. This collection process is called haying, and the pikas store their clippings in crevices and under boulders, where they dry out over time. Haying allows the dry grasses to be stored for long periods of time in the pika’s den without growing moldy, perfect for saving a snack for the winter. During the summer, haying becomes the pikas primary activity, and each individual haystack can grow to be quite large in size.
American Pika with a mouthful of flowers (Wikimedia Commons by Frédéric Dulude-de Broin)
A little sweet and sour, pikas also participate in kleptoparasitism, stealing precious resources from already existing haystacks. They reach peak aggression in the summer months, desperate to defend their dens and haystacks from thieving neighbors. And for good reason–because they don’t really hibernate, the pika’s winter survival hinges on its successful haying season. In order to survive the winter, one pika needs approximately 30 pounds of plant material stored. That’s a lot! Each pika may have multiple haystacks, spread out throughout its individual territory. Usually, they focus their energy on one specific haystack, which over time can grow to be two feet in height and two feet in diameter.
American Pika haystacking (Wikimedia Commons by Jane Shelby Richardson)
Up, up, up
The pika has made its home among the rugged, wind-scoured peaks of Asia and North America’s mountain ranges, thriving in an environment too harsh for most creatures. But something is changing.
As summers grow hotter and snowpacks thin out, the pika’s alpine world is shrinking. The tiny mammals, perfectly adapted to the cold, are being driven higher and higher up the slopes, chasing the last pockets of cool, livable habitat. A pika cannot sweat or pant to cool itself down; instead, when temperatures climb above 78°F, it faces a simple but devastating choice—find shade or perish.
Historically, pikas have lived at elevations as low as 5,700 feet, but now, scientists are tracking their ascent to over 8,300 feet, seeking relief from the relentless heat. But mountains have their limits. What happens when the pika reaches the summit, and there is nowhere left to climb?
We’re already starting to find out. In the Great Basin region of the western United States, seven out of twenty-five pika populations have vanished, unable to adapt fast enough to their rapidly changing circumstances. Without deep winter snows to insulate their rocky dens, some freeze in the cold months, while others struggle to gather enough food as their growing season shifts unpredictably.
The pika’s journey upward is a silent alarm, a warning from one of nature’s smallest mountaineers.
Helena Venzke-Kondo is a student at Smith College pursuing psychology, education, and environmental studies. She is particularly interested in conversation psychology and the reciprocal relationship between people and nature. Helena is passionate about understanding how communities are impacted by climate change and what motivates people towards environmental action. In her free time, she loves to crochet, garden, drink tea, and tend to her houseplants.
What creature used to live on the ground but now hangs in trees, has hair that grows in the opposite direction than most mammals, and turns green because of the algae that thrives in their fur?
Would you be surprised if I told you that sloths aren’t lazy, but slow and careful?
Sloths have been labeled as some of the laziest animals due to their slow movements and the (unfair and misguided) assumption that they sleep all day. This belief isn’t helped by the fact that the word sloth literally means “laziness,” as does its common name in many other languages. But as we’ll learn, there’s a lot more to this creature than meets the eye, and their chill, methodical nature is actually a quite ingenious survival mechanism.
The six surviving species of sloths are categorized into two groups: Bradypus, the three-toed sloths, and Choloepus, the two-toed sloths. Even with this naming, all sloths have three toes on their back limbs – whereas two-toed sloths only have two digits on their front limbs. Both groups descend from ancestors that were mostly terrestrial (meaning they lived on the ground) that existed about 28 million years ago. Some of them reached sizes rivaling those of elephants! The sizes of modern sloths vary, with three-toed sloths typically ranging from 60-80 cm in length (24-31 inches) and weighing between 3.6-7.7 kg (8-17 lbs), while two-toed sloths can be slightly larger, particularly in weight.
Found in the tropical rainforests of Central and South America, you can identify them by their rounded heads, tiny ears, and a facial structure that makes them look like they’re always smiling. They have stubby tails and long limbs ending in curved claws that, historically used for digging, now work with specialized tendons and a grip strength that is twice as strong as a humans to climb tree trunks and hang upside down from branches effortlessly. It is believed that over time, sloths evolved into a suspensory lifestyle to have easy access to plentiful food (mainly leaves), stay safe from predators (like jaguars and ocelots), and conserve energy.
Sloths have a very low metabolism, meaning their bodies take quite a while to turn food into energy, thus the characteristically sluggish pace. Sloths move at about 4 yards per minute, and in an entire day, they may cover only around 120 feet, which is less than half the length of a football field. These languid movements are the reason why sloths can survive on a relatively low-energy diet, like leaves. While three-toed sloths are almost entirely herbivorous, two-toed sloths have an omnivorous diet that includes insects, fruits, and small lizards.
Even though leaves are the main food source for sloths, they provide very little nutrients and don’t digest easily. These lethargic tree-dwellers have large, slow-acting, multi-chambered stomachs that work for weeks to break down tough leaves. In fact, up to two thirds of a well-fed sloth’s body weight consists of the contents of its stomach. What other animals can digest in hours takes sloths days or weeks to process! Due to their slow digestion, sloths descend every week or so to defecate on the ground. Why exactly they do this is still a mystery to scientists, especially because sloths are at much more risk to predators on the ground.
Did you know that baby sloths learn what to eat by licking the lips of their mother?
Perhaps one of the most fascinating things about our slow-moving friends is what lives in their fur. Believe it or not, it’s a miniature world! Acting as a mobile home for a variety of different insect, fungi, and microbial species, sloths are, in fact, thriving ecosystems. But first, let’s set the scene.
Sloth fur grows in the opposite direction than it does on other animals. Normally, hair will grow towards the arms and legs, but because sloths spend so much of their lives upside down in the canopy with their limbs above their bodies (eating, sleeping, even giving birth hanging upside down), their fur grows away from their extremities and towards their bodies, giving them protection from the elements.
The layered and grooved structure of sloths’ shaggy coat is the perfect environment to host many species of commensal beetles, mites, moths, fungi, as well as a symbiotic green algae. While the sloths don’t directly consume and gain nutrients from the algae (legend held for many years that sloths were so lazy, they’d rather eat the algae off their back than search for food), its presence helps protect the sloths from predators by aiding in their camouflage, hiding them from predators like harpy eagles.
Sloths are an integral part of tropical rainforest ecosystems. They regulate plant growth through their consumption of leaves, provide a unique habitat for smaller organisms like algae and moths in their fur, and contribute to nutrient cycling by depositing their feces on the forest floor, dispersing seeds and fertilizing new plant growth.
Some species of sloths are at risk because of deforestation, contact with electrical lines, and poaching and animal trafficking. The health of these creatures is wholly dependent on the health of the tropical rainforest. If their habitat begins to deteriorate, sloths are forced to live elsewhere in places that cannot support healthy populations.
Luckily, The World Wildlife Fund (WWF) works with communities, governments, and organizations to encourage sustainable forestry, and collaborates to expand areas of forests under responsible management. WWF has worked with the Brazilian government since 2003 on the Amazon Region Protected Areas (ARPA) initiative, helping it become one of the largest conservation projects in the world. Not to mention, The Sloth Institute of Costa Rica is known for caring, rehabilitating, and releasing sloths back into the wild.
Northern Atlantic Forest Three-toed Sloth, Bradypus variegatus (Image Credit: Kevin Araujo via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC))
More than meets the eye
While sloths are well-known for their slow-moving pace and are labeled as lazy, to believe that that is the only notable thing about them is largely inaccurate. Similar to how judging a person based on one aspect of their personality is not an accurate judgment of their character, judging sloths based on their sluggishness is not an accurate judgment of sloths as creatures. It overlooks how they’ve adapted from life on the ground to life in the trees, how they use their muscles and long claws to hang upside down and save a ton of energy, their role as ecosystem engineers, how they create habitats for other organisms, and how they help maintain the health of the forest.
So the next time we come across a creature – whether in the wild or at a sanctuary – we might ask, “What else can this creature do?”
Abigail Gipson is an environmental advocate with a bachelor’s degree in humanitarian studies from Fordham University. Working to protect the natural world and its inhabitants, Abigail is specifically interested in environmental protection, ecosystem-based adaptation, and the intersection of climate change with human rights and animal welfare. She loves autumn, reading, and gardening.
On a warm spring afternoon, my friend and I explored a creek off the Mill River, in Northampton Massachusetts. Thick green bushes lined the banks, making it difficult to reach the water’s edge. As we scoped for a route through, my friend pulled on a nearby branch, inspecting its leaf.
“Japanese Knotweed,” she identified, grasping the plant at the thick part of its stem and straining to pull it up . “This was my whole summer.”
She’d worked on a farm the previous summer and spent countless hours eradicating weeds, which, as it turned out, were mostly Japanese knotweed.
I too am familiar with knotweed. As a child, I mistook Japanese knotweed’s hollow stems for bamboo, often wielding them as makeshift swords. At the time, I thought of the plant as little more than a plaything, unaware of the complex role it was playing in the ecosystem around me.
Photos courtesy Jim Laurie
Where does Japanese knotweed grow?
Japanese knotweed is native to East Asia in Japan, China, and parts of Korea and Taiwan. The plant was introduced to North America in the late nineteenth century, to be used as an ornamental plant. Its introduction, however, had unintended consequences as it invaded wetland, stream corridors, forest edges, and drainage ditches. Japanese knotweed is a herbaceous perennial plant (a non-woody plant that regrows each year from its roots), that can grow to be up to 11 feet tall, with jointed hollow stems resembling that of, yes, bamboo. So you can forgive my childhood ignorance. The stems are bright green and grow nodes which can range in color from red to purple. The knotweed’s spade-shaped leaves grow from these nodes, with a square base and sharp point. They thrive in full sun but can also grow in partial shade, and do well in a variety of soil and moisture conditions. It can often be observed on the banks of rivers, wet depressions, and woodland edges, or in more built environments, including construction sites and roadways.
During the summer, from the nodes of the knotweed bloom small white and pale green flowers. These little flowers are 3 to 4 inches long, and grow in fingerlike clusters, with each cluster holding a couple dozen flowers.
Japanese knotweed (Larrissa Borck via Wikimedia Commons)
While Japanese knotweed is known as an invasive species in many parts of the world, including throughout the United States, in its native range it plays a much different role. There, it exists in balance with local ecosystems, kept in check by native insects, fungi, and herbivores that have evolved alongside it. Instead of forming dense monocultures that crowd out other plants, knotweed grows as part of diverse plant communities, coexisting with a wide variety of species.
Unlike in North America and Europe, where few animals or insects consume it, knotweed supports a variety of wildlife in its natural habitat, and its nectar is enjoyed by bees and butterflies, especially in late summer when other flowers have faded. Insects such as the aphid Aphalara itadori and various beetle species naturally feed on knotweed, limiting its dominance and allowing native plants to thrive alongside it. Some fungi, like Mycosphaerella leaf spot, help regulate its growth, preventing the unchecked spread seen in non-native environments. These interactions ensure that Japanese knotweed remains just one part of a broader ecosystem rather than an overwhelming force.
Ecologically, Japanese knotweed plays an important role in nutrient cycling and soil formation. Its deep, extensive rhizome network helps stabilize slopes prone to erosion in Japan’s more volcanic landscapes, helping to prevent landslides and maintaining soil structure. Additionally, the plant’s decomposition contributes to organic matter in the soil, enriching the surrounding environment.
But when introduced elsewhere, many of these ecological checks and balances are missing, allowing knotweed to spread aggressively and disrupt local biodiversity.
How does it spread?
Japanese knotweed reproduces through both seeds and rhizomes, an underground root-like system which produces shoots of new plants, coming up through the earth. As much as two-thirds of the plant’s biomass is stored in this network.
The knotweed can be found around the world, far from home. It was introduced to the United Kingdom in 1825 and has since spread across Europe. The majority of Japanese knotweed populations in Europe descend from a single female genotype, though hybridization with related species has introduced some genetic variation. This female genotype is able to receive pollen from a close relative, called the giant knotweed. The combination of these two plants produces a hybrid known as the Bohemian knotweed, which is also spreading across Europe.
In North America, however, the Japanese knotweed reproduces differently than its European counterpart. Even though the European female clone is widely dispersed around the United States, this clone is not the only genotype present. Populations of both male and female Japanese knotweed have been identified across America. The female Japanese knotweed does not produce pollen and primarily spreads through those rhizomes, though it can also reproduce via seeds when pollinated by a related species. Male Japanese knotweed, on the other hand, do produce pollen, as well as occasionally producing seeds.
Impact
Japanese knotweed grows in thick clusters, emerging during early spring time and growing quickly and aggressively. This dense stand of plants crowds out native vegetation, depriving them of resources needed for reproduction and survival.
Japanese knotweed by the water (Dominique Remaud viaWikimedia Commons)
Japanese knotweed thrives in moist, shaded environments. On stream banks, it outcompetes native grasses and shrubs, reducing biodiversity. This lack of diversity along the bank causes instability, and makes it more likely that the soil will shear off during flooding, increasing the amount of sediment deposited into the water. This erosion sends soil and Japanese knotweed seeds into the creek, allowing the plant to spread downstream and further destabilizing the stream bank.
Foraging Japanese knotweed
The young, spring shoots of Japanese knotweed are not only edible, but also delicious! The plant has a tart, slightly sweet taste, similar to that of rhubarb. It can be turned into a jam, put in salads or a stir fry, and used as a crunchy addition to sushi. Where it is native in East Asia, knotweed has been used in traditional medicine for hundreds of years. Owing to the plant’s invasive nature, practicing responsible foraging is crucial to avoid accidentally spreading the knotweed populations. In order to properly dispose of the leftover plant matter, it must be boiled, burned, or thoroughly dried out before discarding in order to ensure that no knotweed is spread. Foraging and eating Japanese knotweed can be a way to help control the plant, through the repeated cutting of the stems. The following video shows a recipe for homemade Japanese knotweed pickles!
Managing knotweed
Due to its dense clusters and deep root system, once established, Japanese knotweed is incredibly difficult to remove. Manually, populations can be managed through repeated cutting, though complete removal of rhizomes is extremely difficult and can sometimes lead to further spread of the knotweed. When it comes to cutting, the stems of the plant must be cut three separate times during the growing season in order for this to be an effective treatment. In terms of digging up the roots, this can be very labor intensive, and the process of digging Japanese knotweed can unintentionally cause the spread of rhizome fragments, which can result in even more Japanese knotweed on your hands!
Japanese knotweed’s spade-shaped leaf (Flocci Nivis via Wikimedia Commons)
Through dedicated work, such as that of my friend who spent three months eradicating Japanese knotweed on her farm, the populations and impacts of the plant, when invasive, can be mitigated. With a little time and effort, you can help control knotweed in your own backyard…and maybe even harvest some for dinner.
Helena is a student at Smith College pursuing psychology, education, and environmental studies. She is particularly interested in conversation psychology and the reciprocal relationship between people and nature. Helena is passionate about understanding how communities are impacted by climate change and what motivates people towards environmental action. In her free time, she loves to crochet, garden, drink tea, and tend to her houseplants.
What insect spends years hidden underground, preparing for a brief but spectacular emergence into the sunlight, filling the air with the deafening, iconic song of summer?
The cicada (Cicadoidea)!
Sub Alpine Green Cicada (Image Credit: Julie via iNaturalist)
Every time I return to the south of France, there’s one sound that immediately signals to me that summer has arrived—the unmistakable hum of cicadas. Their chorus, loud and unrelenting, fills the air in the warm Mediterranean heat and acts as a personal cue to pause, take a breath, and unwind. For me, it’s not just the start of summer; it’s the sound of nostalgia, the reminder of countless days spent hiking through the pine forests, picnicking under the shade of olive trees, or simply soaking in peaceful serenity at the beach. The cicadas’ song is always complemented by the sweet, earthy smell of ripening figs. It’s a sensory symphony that epitomizes the region’s charm.
These moments, marked by the rhythmic buzz of cicadas, offer a unique connection to nature—one that I’ve come to cherish as a deeply rooted part of my experience in the region. The cicadas’ song is a call to slow down, reconnect, and embrace the simple beauty of life in the south of France.
As much as these personal experiences have shaped my connection to cicadas, there’s so much more to learn about these fascinating creatures. From their complex life cycles to the essential roles they play in ecosystems around the world, cicadas are much more than the soundtrack of summer.
The Backstory
If the name “cicada” doesn’t quite ring a bell, you might recognize it from Animal Crossing. It’s a common insect that players can encounter in the game.
Cicadas are the loudest insect species in the world, known for their buzzing and clicking noises, typically sung during the day. This song, produced by males to attract females, is a highly specialized mating call. Each species of cicada has its own unique variation, which is genetically inherited rather than learned, unlike the calls of other animals such as birds. Some cicada species, like the double drummer, even group together to amplify their calls, deterring predatory birds by overwhelming them with noise. Others adapt by singing at dusk, avoiding the attention of daytime predators.
If you’re curious about the fascinating science behind how cicadas create their iconic sound and want to dive deeper into their unique anatomy, I highly recommend checking out the following video. It’s a captivating look at how these incredible insects make their music!
But there’s more to cicadas than their songs. If you’ve ever tried to catch one, you might have discovered their quirky behavior firsthand—cicadas pee when they fly! This “cicada rain” is simply their way of excreting excess liquid after consuming large amounts of plant sap. While it’s harmless, it’s something to keep in mind if you’re ever under a tree full of buzzing cicadas—or reaching out to grab one!
With more than 3,000 species worldwide, cicadas are primarily found in temperate and tropical climates, avoiding regions with extreme cold. Their life cycle consists of three stages: egg, nymph, and adult. After hatching, nymphs burrow underground and feed on plant root sap for years before emerging, molting, and transforming into adults.
Watching a cicada emerge from its nymphal shell is like witnessing a miniature metamorphosis in real-time—its delicate wings unfurling as it prepares to take flight. If you’ve never seen this magical process, here’s a fascinating video that brings it to life.
While most species are annual cicadas, emerging every year, some, like the periodical cicadas of North America, emerge every 13 or 17 years. These synchronized groups are referred to as “broods.” A brood consists of all the cicadas of the same lifecycle group that emerge in a specific year within a particular geographical area. This classification system helps scientists and enthusiasts track and study the various populations of periodical cicadas.
These mass events, involving millions of cicadas, are a marvel of nature and the unique cycle remains a topic of scientific curiosity. In exceptionally rare cases, two different broods can emerge simultaneously, creating a spectacle of overlapping generations. This video explains more about these extraordinary dual emergence events and why they capture the fascination of entomologists and nature enthusiasts alike.
Showstoppers: Stunning Species from Around the World
Across the globe, these fascinating insects showcase an incredible range of colors, patterns, and sizes, rivaling even the most vibrant creatures of the animal kingdom. Here’s a look at some standout species that prove cicadas are as much visual marvels as they are auditory icons:
Tacua speciosa: Native to Southeast Asia, Tacua speciosa is among the largest cicadas, boasting a black body with a striking yellow or chartreuse pronotal collar and cyan or yellow tergites and shimmering blue-green wings. Found in Southeast Asia, this giant cicada commands attention not just with its size but with its bold elegance. (Image Credit: Valentinus-Tikhonov via iNaturalist)
Zammara Smaragdina: Found in tropical regions, this species stuns with its bright turquoise coloration, a rare hue in the insect world that gives it a truly jewel-like appearance. (Image Credit: Benoît Guillon via iNaturalist)
Salvazana mirabilis imperialis: This species, found in Cambodia, China, Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam, displays an amazing blend of greens and reds on their wings. (Image Credit: xtbg-eec via iNaturalist)
Cicadas vs. Locusts: Clearing Up the Confusion
Cicadas are often mistaken for locusts, a confusion that dates back to early European colonists who likened the sudden mass emergence of cicadas to the biblical plagues of locusts. However, cicadas and locusts are very different insects with distinct behaviors and ecological impacts.
Locusts, a type of grasshopper, are infamous for forming destructive swarms that can devastate crops and vegetation, causing severe agricultural damage. In contrast, cicadas do not consume foliage in a way that harms plants or crops. While their synchronized emergences can be dramatic, cicadas are not considered pests and pose no threat to agriculture.
Cicadas’ Impact: How They Shape the Ecosystem
Cicadas play a crucial role in maintaining ecosystem balance at every stage of their life cycle. During their subterranean nymph stage, they engage in burrowing activities that profoundly impact soil structure and health. By creating tunnels, they aerate the soil, facilitating root respiration and improving water infiltration, which enhances soil moisture distribution. Their burrowing also redistributes nutrients, mixing organic matter and minerals from different soil layers, which boosts soil fertility and supports plant growth.
These tunnels also provide microhabitats for other soil organisms, such as insects, microorganisms, and invertebrates, fostering biodiversity. Upon their emergence, adult cicadas become a vital food source for various predators, such as birds, mammals, and reptiles, boosting the survival and reproduction of these species.
When cicadas die, their decomposing bodies enrich the soil with nutrients, stimulating microbial activity and increasing the diversity of soil microarthropod communities (Microarthropods are like miniature insects such as springtails or soil mites). This nutrient flux improves plant productivity and even impacts the dynamics of woodland ponds and streams, underscoring their importance in nutrient cycling.
Cicadas as Ecological Signals: What They Tell Us About Nature
Cicadas are valuable bioindicators, reflecting the health of their environments. As root feeders, their abundance can tell us a lot about the integrity of root systems and the availability of water and nutrients. Cicadas also require well-structured, uncompacted soil to create their burrows, making their presence an indicator of healthy soil conditions.
The Cicada-MET protocol, which involves counting cicada exuviae (shed skins), offers a standardized method to assess environmental quality. Additionally, acoustic methods to analyze their songs are used to study the impacts of disturbances like wildfires and can guide conservation strategies.
Challenges Facing Cicadas: The Threats to Their Survival
Cicadas face various threats that jeopardize their populations and the ecosystems they support. Habitat loss due to urbanization is a significant challenge, as forests and grasslands are replaced with buildings and infrastructure, reducing the availability of suitable
environments for their life cycles. Planting native trees, preserving green spaces, and advocating for wildlife-friendly urban planning are simple but effective ways to help restore their habitats. For example, oak, pine, and olive trees in Mediterranean areas, or sycamore and dogwood in North America, are ideal choices. Climate change is another major threat, particularly in regions like Provence, where extreme heat waves can suppress cicada singing and disrupt mating behaviors, potentially forcing them to migrate to cooler areas, altering both new ecosystems and those they leave behind.. Additionally, some cicada species are vulnerable to invasive pathogens, such as fungi like Massospora cicadina, which manipulate their behavior and spread infections. While this fungus predominantly affects periodical cicadas, similar threats could arise for other species. If you have the opportunity, I would recommend participating in citizen science projects to report sightings of infected cicadas and track population health.
A Month of Delight
Cicadas have a way of sparking curiosity and creativity in those who encounter them. Whether it’s collecting their delicate, shed exoskeletons to study, transforming them into art, or pausing to listen to their summer chorus, these insects invite us to engage more deeply with the natural world. By paying closer attention to creatures like cicada’s, we can gain a greater appreciation for their fascinating life cycles, and develop a stronger connection to the ecosystem that sustains them.
Naturalist Jean-Henri Fabre once said, “Four years of hard work in the darkness, and a month of delight in the sun––such is the Cicada’s life, We must not blame him for the noisy triumph of his song.” By understanding and appreciating these extraordinary creatures, we can ensure their songs—and the inspiration they bring—continue to resonate for generations to come.
Lakhena
Lakhena Park holds degrees in Public Policy and Human Rights Law but has recently shifted her focus toward sustainability, ecosystem restoration, and regenerative agriculture. Passionate about reshaping food systems, she explores how agroecology and land management practices can restore biodiversity, improve soil health, and build resilient communities. She is currently preparing to pursue a Permaculture Design Certificate (PDC) to deepen her understanding of regenerative practices. Fun fact: Pigs are her favorite farm animal—smart, playful, and excellent at turning soil, they embody everything she loves about regenerative farming.
Growing up, the slim outline of the staghorn sumac lined the perimeter of my backyard, reaching out its limbs, dotted with dark red berries. In the bored heat of summer, my brothers and I would grab the plant’s thin trunk and shake, raining berries down on us and gathering as many in our hands and pockets as we could.
These wide and angular branches give the staghorn sumac its name, resembling the sharp antlers of a deer. And much like the thin, soft velvet that covers young antlers, the staghorn sumac’s stem is lined with a fine velvety layer of hair (or trichomes). In addition to serving as a protective layer from insects and the elements, this fuzz distinguishes the staghorn sumac from its common relative, the smooth sumac. These two plants share quite a few traits, both having pinnate (feather-like leaves) and producing red fruit. However, the smooth sumac, as the name suggests, lacks the fine velvety texture on its stems that characterizes the staghorn.
Budding branch of staghorn sumac (WikiMedia Commons by Krzysztof Ziarnek)
Planting roots
Beyond its striking leaves and vibrant berries, the staghorn sumac has a unique way of multiplying and thriving in the wild.
Growing from a large shrub to a small tree, the staghorn sumac ranges in size from about 3 to 30 feet in height. It is native to the eastern half of the United States and flourishes on the edges of forests, clearings, and dry, rocky, or gravelly soils.
The staghorn is a colony forming plant, meaning that they cluster in groups of genetically identical clones, connected through an underground network of roots. The plant reproduces new clones via a process known as root suckering, where vertical growths originate from its root system. In addition to producing colonies, the staghorn sumac also naturalizes through self seeding, the dispersal of its own seeds.
The flowers of a staghorn sumac are crimson, hairy, and bloom through May to July. Berries form tightly pyramidal clusters and are usually ripe by September, persisting into the winter, even after the staghorn sumac has lost its leaves, though this timeline can vary by geography.
Staghorn sumac in the winter (photo by author)
The staghorn sumac is dioecious, male staghorn sumac and female staghorn sumac flower separately. The female staghorn sumac produces flowers and seed, while the male staghorn sumac only produces flowers. Due to the staghorn sumac’s colony forming habits we just learned about, and while not always the case, groves of predominantly female-only or male-only trees can be found. The colony of staghorn sumacs that grew around my childhood backyard were all seed bearing, and therefore a colony of female-only sumacs.
Staghorn sumac flowers (Trent Massey via iNaturalist)Staghorn Sumac berries (Trent Massey via iNaturalist)
Berries and Beyond
The berries produced by the female staghorn sumac hold the same shade of deep red as the flowers, but also have finer hairs and a denser, round body. As children, my brothers and I were convinced that these velvety, red berries were poisonous, and we handled them with a slight air of suspicion. However, despite their vibrant color, the berries lining our pockets were not poisonous. While brightly colored fruits may have a reputation for being dangerous, many use bright colors to attract different pollinators. In this case, the bright Staghorn sumac berries are an edible fruit that has been used by humans for centuries. They are high in vitamin c and have a strong, tart taste. Upland game birds, songbirds, white-tailed deer, and moose also eat the tree’s leaves and twigs, while rabbits eat even the plant’s bark.
The staghorn sumac has been utilized by Indigenous peoples in North America for a variety of different purposes—including traditional medicine—over hundreds of years. The fresh twigs of the staghorn sumac, once peeled, can be eaten, and have been used in dishes such as salads. These same twigs, along with the leaves, can be brewed into medicinal tea, traditionally used to relieve post pregnancy bleeding, alleviate respiratory conditions such as asthma, and assist in digestion. In addition, the roots of the staghorn sumac have historically been used for their supposed antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties.
A common use for sumac berries is to make sumac-aide, a lemonade-like beverage with a strong, tart taste. Sumac-aide has been used for its believed medicinal properties, or simply as a refreshing summer drink. Sumac berries are ready to be harvested and used for culinary purposes during late summer, once they turn dark red in color.
The staghorn sumac trees that once grew lush in my childhood backyard are all gone now, leaving an empty patch of dirt in their wake. Although my family does not understand the events that lead to their demise completely, potential disease could be one contributing factor. The staghorn sumac is a resilient tree that is able to flourish under a variety of conditions. However, like all plants, the staghorn sumac is still susceptible to disease. Fungal diseases such as anthracnose, powdery mildew, and root rot, and bacterial diseases such as leaf spot can infect and kill groves of the staghorn sumac. In addition, invasive pests such as Japanese beetles can strip the staghorn sumac by skeletonizing its leaves and damaging flowers.
Recently, I was walking along an icy boardwalk near my childhood home and noticed little fuzzy flowers, bright red against the white snow. It took me a closer inspection of these cute crimson flowers to notice the large group of staghorn sumac arching above the boardwalk and over my head. The trees bore their rich red flowers despite the other snow encrusted barren trees of the landscape.
If you know where to look, the staghorn sumac is everywhere, dotting the sides of highways, bike paths, playgrounds, and perhaps even your own backyard.
Helena Venzke-Kondo is a student at Smith College pursuing psychology, education, and environmental studies. She is particularly interested in conversation psychology and the reciprocal relationship between people and nature. Helena is passionate about understanding how communities are impacted by climate change and what motivates people towards environmental action. In her free time, she loves to crochet, garden, drink tea, and tend to her houseplants.
What creature often looks blue, but isn’t, is found on every continent but Antarctica, and inspired a train’s design?
Kingfishers! (Alcedinidae)
Patagonian Ringed Kingfisher, Megaceryle torquata ssp. stellata (Image Credit: Amelia Ryan via iNaturalist)
Kingfishers are kind of like snowflakes. They both float and fly through the air, and no two are really alike. It’s what I love so much about them. Each kingfisher presents characteristics unique to their own lifestyle. They make me think of people. Like kingfishers, we live almost everywhere on Earth and we’ve all adapted a little differently to our diverse environments. I hope as you get to know the kingfisher, you’ll start to feel a small connection to these birds as I have.
Kingfishers are bright, colorful birds with small bodies, large heads, and long bills. They’re highly adaptable to different climates and environmental conditions, making them present in a variety of habitats worldwide. Many call wetland environments like rivers, lakes, marshes, and mangroves home. Now, their name might lead you to think all kingfishers live near these bodies of water, but more than half the world’s species are found in forests, near only calm ponds or small streams. Others live high in mountains, in open woodlands, on tropical coral atolls, or have adapted to human-modified habitats like parks, gardens, and agricultural areas.
Common Kingfisher, Alcedo atthis (Image Credit: Alexis Lours via iNaturalist)
Even so, you’re most likely to spot them in the tropical regions of Africa, Asia, and Oceania, but they can also be found in more temperate regions in Europe and the Americas. Some species have large populations and massive geographic ranges, like the Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis), pictured above, which resides from Ireland across Europe, North Africa and Asia, as far as the Solomon Islands in the Pacific. Other kingfishers (typically insular species that evolved on islands) have smaller ranges, like the Indigo-banded Kingfisher (Ceyx cyanopectus), which is only found in the Philippines.
Birds of a Feather
Kingfishers are small to medium sized birds averaging about 16-17 cm (a little over 6 inches) in length. They have compact bodies with short necks and legs, stubby tails and small feet, especially in comparison to their large heads and long, pointed bills. While many species are proportioned the same way, some are quite distinct. Paradise Kingfishers (Tanysiptera), which are found in the Maluku Islands and New Guinea like the one pictured below, are known for their long tail streamers. The African Dwarf Kingfisher (Ispidina lecontei) is the world’s smallest kingfisher at just 10 cm (barely 4 inches) long, and is found in Central and West Africa. The largest is the Laughing Kookaburra (Dacelo novaeguineae), coming in at a whopping 41-46 cm (15-18 inches) long, and is native to Australia.
Buff-Breasted Paradise Kingfisher, Tanysiptera sylvia (Image Credit: Peter and Shelly Watts via iNaturalist)
Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Wait, are kookaburras and kingfishers the same thing? Sometime. Out of all 118 species, only four go by the name kookaburra: the Laughing Kookaburra (Dacelo novaeguineae), the Blue-winged Kookaburra (Dacelo leachii), the Spangled Kookaburra (Dacelo tyro), and the Rufous-bellied Kookaburra (Dacelo gaudichaud). Native to Australia and New Guinea, the kookaburra are named for their loud and distinctive call that sounds like laughter. Sometimes their cackles can even be mistaken for monkeys!
So, are they as colorful as everyone says?
Yes! If you ask anyone who has seen a kingfisher to describe what it looks like, they will most likely go on and on about its color. Kingfishers are bright and vividly colored in green, blue, red, orange, and white feathers, and depending on the species, can be marked by a single, bold stripe of color. These features all accent the bird’s most recognizable feature, which is the blue plumage on their wings, back, and head. But here’s where things get interesting: Kingfishers don’t actually have any blue pigment in their feathers.
Laughing Kookaburra, Dacelo novaeguineae (Image Credit: Angela Quinn via Pixabay)African Dwarf Kingfisher, Ispidina lecontei (Image Credit: Niall Perrins via iNaturalist)Woodland Kingfisher, Halcyon senegalensis (Image Credit: Paweł Pieluszyński via iNaturalist)
So, what gives? It’s something called the Tyndall effect. What’s happening is that tiny, microscopic keratin deposits on the birds’ feathers (yes, the same keratin that’s in your hair and nails) scatter light in such a way that short wavelengths of light, like (you guessed it) blue, bounce off the surface while all others are absorbed into the feather.
It sounds a little strange, but you see it every day. It’s why we see the sky as blue, too.
Azure Kingfisher, Ceyx azureus (Image Credit: David White via iNaturalist)
Are kingfishers Really Kings of Fishing?
Yes! And no. Kingfisher species are split into three subfamilies based on their feeding habits and habitats: the Tree Kingfishers (Halcyoninae), the River Kingfishers (Alcedininae), and the Water Kingfishers (Cerylinae). Despite their name, many of these birds primarily prefer insects, taking their prey from the air, the foliage, and the ground. They also eat reptiles (like skinks and snakes), amphibians, mollusks, non-insect arthropods (like crabs, spiders, scorpions, centipedes, and millipedes), and even small mammals like mice.
Tree Kingfishers reside in forests and open woodlands, hunting on the ground for small vertebrates and invertebrates. River Kingfishers are more often found eating fish and insects in forest and freshwater habitats. Water Kingfishers, the birds found near lakes, marshes, and other still bodies of water, are the fishing pros, specialize in catching and eating fish, and are actually the smallest subfamily of kingfishers, with only nine species.
New Zealand Sacred Kingfisher, Todiramphus sanctus ssp. vagans, eating a crustacean (Image Credit: Ben Ackerley via iNaturalist)
Because the diets of kingfishers vary, so does the size and shape of their bills. Even though all species have long, dagger-like bills for the purpose of catching and holding prey, those of fishing species are longer and more compressed while ground feeders have shorter and broader bills that help them dig to find prey. The Shovel-billed Kookaburra (Clytoceyx rex) has the most atypical bill because it uses it to plow through the earth looking for lizards, grubs, snails, and earthworms.
Shovel-billed Kookaburra, (Clytoceyx rex) (Image Credit: Mehd Halaouate via iNaturalist)
Can the blue-but-not-really-blue kingfisher get any more interesting?
Oh yes, yes it can. Ready for another physics lesson? Kingfishers have excellent binocular vision, which means they’re able to see with both eyes simultaneously to create a single three-dimensional image, like humans. Not only that, but they can see in color too! But what makes them so adept at catching fish is their capability to compensate for the refraction of light off water.
When light travels from one material into another (in this case, air into water), that light will refract, or bend, because the densities of air and water are different. This makes objects look as though they are slightly displaced when viewed through the water surface. Kingfishers are not only able to compensate for that optical illusion while hunting, but they also can accurately judge the depth of their prey as well.
But, triangulating underwater prey is only half the battle. Then you’ve got to catch it.
Fishing species of kingfishers dive no more than 25 cm (10 inches) into the water, anticipating the movements of their prey up until impact. Again, what happens next differs depending on which kingfisher we’re talking about. Many have translucent nictitating membranes that slide across their eyes just before impact to protect them while maintaining limited vision. Others, like the Pied Kingfisher (Ceryle rudis leucomelanurus), actually have a more robust bony plate that slides out across its eye when it hits the water—giving greater protection while sacrificing vision.
Pied Kingfisher in action
Kingfishers usually hunt from an exposed vantage point, diving rapidly into the water to snatch prey and return to their perch. If the prey is large (or still alive), kingfishers will kill it by beating it against the perch, dislodging and breaking protective spines and bones and removing legs and wings of insects. The Ruddy Kingfisher (Halcyon coromanda) native to south and southeast Asia, removes land snails from their shells by smashing them against stones on the forest floor.
Typically, kingfishers have eyes so dark brown they’re nearly black. In this photograph, however, you can see these Common Kingfishers’ nictitating membranes, most likely activated on land to remove sand or any other debris that may be hindering their vision. Image Credit: misooksun via iNaturalist
Learning from kingfishers
Occupying a place fairly high in their environments’ pecking orders (trophic level) makes kingfishers susceptible to effects of bioaccumulation, or the increasing concentration of pollutants found in living things as you climb the food chain. This phenomenon, coupled with the kingfisher’s sensitivity to toxins, makes the bird a fairly reliable environmental indicator of ecosystem health. If a kingfisher population is strong, that can indicate their habitat is healthy because the small aquatic animals they feed on aren’t intaking poisons or pollutants. When problems are detected in a kingfisher population, it can serve as an early warning system that something more systemic is wrong.
But that’s not the only thing we can, or have learned, from kingfishers. In 1989, Japan was looking for a way to redesign its Shinkansen Bullet Train to make it both faster and quieter. As the train flew through tunnels at 275 km/h, massive amounts of pressure would build up, reigned in by the front of the train and the tunnels’ walls. Upon exiting the tunnels, that pressure would release, sending roaring booms through the homes of those living nearby. Engineer Eiji Nakatsu was not only the project’s lead, but birdwatcher as well. Noting the kingfisher’s ability to plunge into dense water at incredible speeds with hardly a splash, Nakatsu and his team remodeled the front of the train with the bird’s beak in mind. The result not only solved the problem of the boom, but also allowed the train to travel faster while using less energy.
Kingfishers: A Little More Like You Than You Think
In learning about the kingfisher, I saw a little bit of us. We all come from the same family, even if we each do things a little differently. I think for me, this gets to the root of why finding our connections with all living things matters, not just because they give us inspiration to solve human problems or because we depend on them to keep natural systems in balance, but because this is just as much their Earth as ours.
Let’s do our part,
Abigail
Abigail Gipson is an environmental advocate with a bachelor’s degree in humanitarian studies from Fordham University. Working to protect the natural world and its inhabitants, Abigail is specifically interested in environmental protection, ecosystem-based adaptation, and the intersection of climate change with human rights and animal welfare. She loves autumn, reading, and gardening.
What creature grows backwards and can swallow a tree whole?
The strangler fig!
A strangler fig in Mossman Gorge, Queensland. (Image by author).
A Fig Grows in Manhattan
I recently wrapped a fig tree for the winter. Nestled in the back of a community garden, in the heart of New York City, I was one of many who flocked not for its fruit but for its barren limbs. An Italian cultivar, and therefore unfit to withstand east coast winters, this fig depends on a bundle of insulation to survive the season. The tree grows in Elizabeth Street Garden, a space that serves the community in innumerable ways, including as a source of ecological awareness.
Wrapping the fig was no small task. With frozen fingers we tied twigs together with twine, like bows on presents. Strangers held branches for one another to fasten, and together we contained the fig’s unwieldy body into clusters. Neighbors exchanged introductions and experienced volunteers advised the novice, including me. Though I’d spent countless hours in the garden, this was my first fig wrapping. My arms trembled as the tree resisted each bind. Guiding the branches together without snapping them was a delicate balance. But caring for our fig felt good and I like to think that after several springs in the sunlight it understood our efforts. Eventually, we wrapped each cluster with burlap, stuffed them with straw and tied them off again. In the end, the tree resembled a different creature entirely.
Elizabeth Street Garden, New York, NY. (Image by author)
Growing Down
Two springs earlier, I was wrapped up with another fig. I was in Australia for a semester, studying at the University of Melbourne, and had traveled with friends to the northeast coast of Queensland to see the Great Barrier Reef. It was there that I fell in love with the oldest tropical rainforest in the world, the Daintree Rainforest.
The fig I found there was monumental. Its roots spread across the forest floor like a junkyard of mangled metal beams that seemed to never end. They climbed and twisted their way around an older tree, reaching over the canopy where they encased it entirely.
Detail, strangler fig encases support tree. Al Kordesch, iNaturalist, CC0A strangler fig in Mossman Gorge, Queensland. (Image by author).
The strangler fig begins its life at the top of the forest, often from a seed dropped by a bird into the notch of another tree. From there it absorbs an abundance of light inaccessible to the forest’s understory and sends its roots crawling down its support tree in search of fertile ground. Quickly then, the strangler fig grows, fueled by an unstoppable combination of sunlight, moisture, and nutrients from the soil. Sometimes, in this process, the fig consumes and strangles its support tree to death, hence its name. Other times, the fig can actually act as a brace or shield, protecting the support tree from storms and other damage. Even as they may overtake one tree, strangler figs also give new life to the forest.
As many as one million figs can come from a single tree. It is these figs that attract the animals who disperse both their seeds and the seeds of thousands of other plant species. With more than 750 species of Ficus feeding more than 1,200 distinct species of birds and mammals, the fig is a keystone resource of the tropical rainforest —the ecological community depends upon its presence and without it, the habitat’s biodiversity is at risk.
Fig-Wasp Pollination
Like the strangler fig, its pollination story is also one of sacrifice. Each fig species is uniquely pollinated by one, or in some cases a few, corresponding species of wasp. While figs are commonly thought of as fruit, they are technically capsules of many tiny flowers turned inward, also known as a syconium. This is where their pollination begins. The life of a female fig wasp essentially starts when she exits the fig from which she was born to reproduce inside of another. Each Ficus species depends upon one or two unique species of wasps, and she must find a fig of both the right species and perfect stage of development. Upon finding the perfect fig, the female wasp enters through a tiny hole at the top of the syconium, losing her wings and antennae in the process. She will not need them again, on a one way journey to lay her eggs and die. The male wasps make a similar sacrifice. The first to hatch, they are wingless, only intended to mate with the females and chew out an exit before dying. The females, loaded with eggs and pollen, emerge from the fig and continue the cycle.
The life cycle of the fig wasp. (U.S. Forest Service, Illustration by Simon van Noort, Iziko Museum of Cape Town)
The mutualistic relationship between the fig and its wasp is critical to its role as a keystone resource. As each wasp must reproduce additional fig species in the forest at different stages of development, there remains a constant supply of figs for the rainforest.
However, climate change threatens these wasps and their figs. Studies have shown that in higher temperatures, fig wasps live shorter lives which makes it more difficult for them to travel the long distances needed to reach the trees they pollinate. One study found that the suboptimal temperatures even shifted the competitive balance to favor non-pollinating wasps rather than the typically dominant pollinators.
Another critical threat to figs across the globe is deforestation, in its destruction of habitat and exacerbation of climate change. In Australia, this threat looms large. Is it the only developed nation listed in a 2021 World Wildlife Fund study on deforestation hotspots, with Queensland as the epicenter of forest loss. Further, a study published earlier this year in Conservation Biology concluded that in failing to comply with environmental law, Australia has fallen short on international deforestation commitments. Fortunately, the strangler figs I fell in love with in the Daintree are protected as part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1988 and Indigenous Protected Area in 2013.
The view flying into Cairns, Queensland. (Image by author)Four Mile Beach in Port Douglas, Queensland. (Image by author)
Stewards of the Rainforest
The Daintree Rainforest has been home to the Eastern Kuku Yalanji people for more than 50,000 years. Aboriginal Australians with a deep cultural and spiritual connection to the land, the Eastern Kuku Yalanji have been fighting to reclaim their ancestral territory since European colonization in the 18th century. Only in 2021 did the Australian government formally return more than 160,000 hectares to the land’s original custodians. The Queensland government and the Eastern Kuku Yalanji now jointly manage the Daintree, Ngalba Bulal, Kalkajaka, and Hope Islands parks with the intention for the Eastern Kuku Yalanji to eventually be the sole stewards.
Rooted in an understanding of the land as kin, the Eastern Kuku Yalanji people are collaborating with environmental charities like Rainforest Rescue and Climate Force to repair what’s been lost, reforesting hundreds of acres and creating a wildlife corridor between the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef. The corridor aims to regenerate a portion of the rainforest that was cleared in the 1950s for agriculture.
Upon returning to Cairns from the rainforest, we set sail and marveled at the Great Barrier Reef. My memories of the Daintree’s deep greens mingled with the underwater rainbow of the reef. At the Cairns Art Gallery the next day, a solo exhibition of artist Maharlina Gorospe-Lockie’s work, Once Was, visualized this amalgamation of colors in my mind. Gorospe-Lockie’s imagined tropical coastal landscapes draw from her work on coastal zone management in the Philippines and challenge viewers to consider the changes in our natural environment.
Maharlina Gorospe-Lockie, Everything Will Be Fine #1 2023 From the solo exhibition Once Was at the Cairns Art Gallery. (photo by author).
On the final day wrapping our fig in New York, I lean on a ladder above the canopy of our community garden and in the understory of the urban jungle. Visitors filter in and out, often stopping to ask what we’re up to. Some offer condolences for the garden and our beloved fig, at risk of eviction in February. We share stories of the burlap tree and look forward to the day we unwrap its branches.
The parallel lives of these figs cross paths only in my mind, and now yours. Perhaps also in the fig on your plate or the tree soon to be planted around the corner.
Jane Olsen is a writer committed to climate justice. Born and raised in New York City, she is driven to make cities more livable, green and just. She is also passionate about the power of storytelling to evoke change and build community. This fuels her love for writing, as does a desire to convey and inspire biophilia. Jane earned her BA in English with a Creative Writing concentration and a minor in Government and Legal Studies from Bowdoin College.
The first time I saw the vibrant blossoms of the ‘ōhi’a lehua tree, I was walking on a dirt path in Kauai’s Waimea Canyon State Park, gaping down at the most colorful red and green gorges I had ever seen. Needing a breather from the steep visual plunge, I looked up from the canyon and noticed bright red flowers on the side of the path. As I got closer and could see the plant more clearly, the first thought that popped into my head was how similar the flowers looked to those fiber optic light toys I had played with as a kid. (If you don’t know what fiber optic light toys look like, look them up. You’ll see exactly what I mean.)
After my trip to Waimea Canyon, I saw ‘ōhi’a lehua everywhere. When I drove along the coast between the beach and the sloping mountains, when I hiked the volcanic craters of Haleakala, and when I visited parks and gardens across the islands that protect native plants and animals. ‘Ōhi’a lehua is the most common native tree in Hawaii, so seeing its fiery red, orange, or yellow blossoms every day felt so very ordinary. But ‘ōhi’a lehua is far from ordinary.
Let Me Introduce You to My New Friend, ‘Ōhia Lehua
Endemic to the six largest islands of Hawaii, ‘ōhi’a lehua is the dominant tree species in native forests, present in approximately 80% of the total area of these ecosystems and covering close to one million acres of land across the state. Depending on where exactly it grows, its size can vary widely, from a small shrub to a large tree. Found only in the Hawaiian archipelago, ‘ōhi’a lehua grows at elevations from sea level to higher than 9000 feet, and in a variety of habitats like shrublands, mesic forests (forests that receive a moderate amount of moisture throughout the year), and more wet, or hydric, forests.
You can easily identify the ‘ōhi’a lehua blossoms by their mass of stamens – the part of the flower that produces pollen – which are slender stalks with pollen-bearing anthers on the end. It’s what made me think the ‘ōhi’a lehua looked exactly like those fiber optic light toys. These powder puff-like flowers are most often brilliant shades of red and orange, but yellow, pink, and sometimes even white ones can be found.
‘Ōhi’a lehua grows slowly, reaching up to 20-25 meters (66-82 feet) in certain conditions.
With a little help from the wind, the seeds of ‘ōhi’a lehua travel from the tree and settle in cracks in the ground of young lava rock. It is, in every sense, a true pioneer plant. As one of the earliest plants to colonize and grow in fresh lava fields, ‘ōhi’a lehua stabilizes the soil and makes it more habitable for other species.
Even though ‘ōhi’a lehua can blanket Hawaii’s native forests, this flowering tree also grows alone, as you can see in the photograph below. Plants like ‘ōhi’a lehua fill me with happiness because they are able to grow in the most harsh, barren, and disrupted places, and they make it possible for other species to do the same. Plants like ‘ōhi’a lehua fill me with surety that even though sometimes poorly treated, the natural world will continue to be strong. Plants like ‘ōhi’a lehua make me believe in the resilience of nature.
Biodiversity forms the web of life we depend on for so many things – food, water, medicine, a stable climate, and more. But this connection between human beings and natural life is not always clear, understood, or appreciated. But there is a concept in Hawaiian culture called aloha ‘āina, or love of the land, which teaches that if you take care of the land, it will take care of you. The ‘ōhi’a lehua in particular takes care of the Hawaiian people in a pretty special way.
One of the most important characteristics of this flowering evergreen tree is that it’s a keystone species, protecting the Hawaiian watershed and conserving a great amount of water. The way I see it, ‘Ōhi’a lehua is an essential glue that holds Hawaii’s native ecosystems together. The leaves of ‘ōhi’a lehua are excellent at catching fog, mist, and rain, replenishing the islands’ aquifers and providing drinking and irrigation water for Hawaiian communities. ‘Ōhi’a lehua’s ability to retain water, particularly after storms, not only makes that water accessible for other plants, but it helps mitigate erosion and flooding. The tree provides food and shelter for native insects, rare native tree snails (kāhuli), and native and endangered birds like the Hawaiian honeycreepers (‘i’iwi, ‘apapane, and ‘ākepa). ‘Ōhi’a lehua trunks protect native seedlings and act as nurse logs, providing new plants with nutrients and a growing environment.
‘I’iwi, the Scarlet Hawaiian Honeycreeper, perched on an ‘ohi’a tree (Image Credit: Nick Volpe)
The Myth of ‘Ōhi’a Lehua
‘Ōhi’a lehua may have a disproportionately large effect on Hawaii’s ecosystems as a keystone species, but its presence as a meaningful part of Hawaiian culture could be even larger. There are many versions of mo’olelo (story) about the origin of the ‘ōhi’a lehua tree, but the most common one is about young lovers named Ōhi’a and Lehua. Pele, the goddess of the volcano, changed herself into a human woman and tried to entice ‘Ōhi’a. When he denied her, Pele became enraged and transformed ‘Ōhi’a into a tree. When Lehua found out, she was so heartbroken that she prayed to the gods to somehow help her reunite with him. Answering her prayers, the gods transformed Lehua into a flower and placed her on the ‘ōhi’a tree’s limbs. To this day, it’s believed that whenever a lehua flower is picked, the skies will open up and rain will fall, because the lovers have been separated.
‘Ōhi’a Lehua as a Cultural Symbol
In Hawaiian culture, the ‘ōhi’a lehua is a symbol of love, resilience, and ecological harmony. The transformation of Ohia and Lehua into tree and flower represents the inseparable bond between two people who love each other, and between the tree and its flowers. The term pua lehua, or lehua flowers, is often used to describe people who express the same grace, strength, and resilience of the ‘ōhi’a lehua. Pilina, a Hawaiian word that means “connection” or “relationship,” is an important value in Hawaiian culture because it is a critical way for people to connect with and understand the world around them. The ‘ōhi’a lehua tree is a symbol of pilina, and embodies this relationship between the Hawaiian landscape and its people.
Hula dancers performing at the Merrie Monarch Festival Thomas Tunsch (CC BY-SA )
The ‘ōhi’a lehua is also incredibly important to hula. Hula is the narrative dance of the Hawaiian Islands, and it is an embodiment of one’s surroundings. Dancers use fluid and graceful movements to manifest what they see around them and tell stories about the plants, animals, elements, and stars. ‘Ōhi’a lehua trees and forests are considered sacred to both Pele, the goddess of the volcano as you may recall, and Laka, goddess of hula. To enhance their storytelling and evoke the gods, dancers traditionally wear lehua blossoms or buds in lei, headbands, and around their wrists and ankles.
The Dependability of ‘Ōhi’a Lehua
‘Ōhi’a lehua has long been a part of daily life. Historically, the hardwood of the tree was used for kapa (cloth) beaters, papa ku’i ‘ai (poi pounding boards), dancing sticks and ki’i (statues), weapons, canoes, and in the construction of houses and temples. Today, the tree’s wood is used for flooring, furniture, fencing, decoration, carving, and firewood. ‘Ōhi’a lehua blossoms decorate altars for cultural ceremonies and practices. Flowers, buds, seeds, and leaves form the base of medicinal teas that can stimulate appetite and treat childbirth pain.
Threats to ‘Ōhi’a Lehua
As a native tree, ‘ōhi’a lehua competes with invasive species for moisture, nutrients, light, and space. Plants like the strawberry guava plant (Psidium cattleyanum) grow in dense thickets and block the growth of ‘ōhi’a seedlings. The invasive fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum) can dominate barren lava flows, making it difficult for ‘ōhi’a to compete. ‘Ōhi’a lehua is also threatened by non-native animals. Hooved animals like pigs, cattle, goats, and deer disturb the soil, eat sensitive native plants, and trample the roots of ‘ōhi’a lehua trees.
The most dangerous threat to ‘ōhi’a lehua is a virulent fungus called Ceratocystis fimbriate, which attacks the tree’s sapwood, preventing it from uptaking water and nutrients, and killing the tree within weeks. It’s been given the name Rapid Ohia Death (ROD) because of how quickly it suffocates the tree, turning the leaves yellow and brown and the sapwood black with fungus. Infections spread through a wound in the bark, which can be caused by animals trampling roots, lawn mowing, or even pruning, and can be present in the tree for up to a year before showing symptoms. ROD is spread by an invasive species of wood boring Ambrosia beetle that infests the tree and feeds off the fungus. When colonizing trees, the beetle produces a sawdust-like substance made of excrement and wood particles called frass, which can contain living fungal spores that get carried in wind currents and spread by sticking to animals and human clothes, tools, and vehicles.
Since its discovery in 2014, ROD has killed more than one million ‘ōhi’a lehua trees across 270,000 acres of land, making it a significant threat to biodiversity and cultural heritage. The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) classifies ‘ōhi’a lehua’s conservation status as vulnerable, and has recorded a decline in mature trees since 2020. Because ROD can spread long distances, it has the potential to wipe out ‘ōhi’a lehua across the entire state. If ‘ōhi’a lehua disappears, it will lead to a collapse of the Hawaiian watershed and radically change the ecosystem.
How the Hawaiian People Care for ‘Ōhi’a Lehua
Scientists, researchers, and native Hawaiians are working together to ensure the long-term health and resilience of ‘ōhi’a and Hawaii’s native forests by mitigating the spread of Rapid Ohia Death. Hawaii’s Forest Service monitors the land to track the spread of ROD and mortality of trees, has developed sanitation and wound-sealing treatments, and collaborates with hunters and game managers to reduce disease transmission. Scientists rigorously test ‘ōhi’a trees to understand the disease cycle, find out how it can be broken, and to identify trees resistant to the infection that could be used in potential reforestation efforts.
To prevent the spread, Hawaii has announced quarantine restrictions, travel alerts, and sanitation rules. If you are shipping vehicles between islands, you should clean the entire understory with strong soap to remove all mud and dirt from the tires and wheel wells. People who go into ‘ōhi’a forests are advised to avoid breaking branches or moving wood around, to clean their shoes and clothes, and to decontaminate any tools used with alcohol or bleach to kill the fungus. Even hula practitioners are forgoing the use of ‘ōhi’a lehua.
Mālama the ‘āina is a phrase that means to care for and honor the land. ‘Ōhi’a lehua is a wonderful representation of the interconnection between people and nature and I hope learning about this beautiful tree has encouraged you to appreciate the relationship we have with the Earth and what the natural world does for us.
Remember, if you take care of the land, it will take care of you.
Abigail
Abigail Gipson is an environmental advocate with a bachelor’s degree in humanitarian studies from Fordham University. Working to protect the natural world and its inhabitants, Abigail is specifically interested in environmental protection, ecosystem-based adaptation, and the intersection of climate change with human rights and animal welfare. She loves autumn, reading, and gardening.
What Mediterranean tree is uniquely equipped to withstand wildfires with armor-like bark and high, out of reach, branches?
The stone pine!
The stone pine in Casa de Campo, Madrid. (image by author)
In his 1913-1927 novel, In Search of Lost Time, French writer Marcel Proust described the power of a soft, buttery madeleine cookie dipped in tea to transport the story’s narrator back to his childhood, unlocking a flood of vivid memories, emotions, and senses. Since then, the term “Proustian memory” has come to describe the sights, smells, sounds, or tastes that bring us back to a particular place in time, one that reminds each of us that we are home.
This is how my partner talks about the stone pine (Pinus pinea) in Spain. Raised in Madrid, she moved to the U.S. when she was twenty-three. For the next decade she’d go long stretches without returning home (blame grad school, work, a global pandemic, and high airfare).
But on those occasions where she was able to return home for a visit, before that first sip of cafe con leche, it was the stone pines flickering past the taxi cab window that brought her back to the youth she’d spent running beneath them, and told her soul that she was home.
There are few markers more reliable than the stone pine to remind you that you are in the Mediterranean. Its branchless trunk rises 25-30 meters from the dry ground. Deep grooves run up the thick, rugged bark in shades of rust and ash-gray. It is bare all the way up to a rounded crown that seems to hover above the landscape. Branches bearing clusters of slender needles splay out horizontally and cast large soft shadows on the ground, giving the tree its nickname, the parasol (umbrella) pine. Its high canopy offers nesting sites and vantage points for many birds of the Med, like Eurasian Jays and Red Kites.
The stone pine’s unique silhouette foreshadows its individuality among its relatives in the genus Pinus.
stone pine bark detail. (Photo by dmcd25)(CC-BY-NC via iNaturalist)
The Parasol Pine
It is a resilient tree with few natural predators. High branches keep its cones away from most ground-dwelling herbivores, and that hardy bark helps shield against both prying insects and wildfire, perhaps its most common threat in the Mediterranean. The clustering of branches high above the brush also helps it withstand fire events more successfully than other species in the area. That said—it’s important to understand that pests (like the pine tortoise scale) and runaway fires do remain serious threats, even if the stone pine is better prepared to meet them.
The tree also stands apart from other species of pine in its lack of hybridization—that is, its failure to crossbreed with other pine species, despite existing in close proximity. It does not demonstrate a tendency to interbreed with its neighbors like Pinus halepensis (Aleppo pine) or Pinus pinaster (maritime pine), and that is unusual among pines. It’s really just out here doing its own thing.
This pattern of genetic isolation is a product of circumstances. The stone pine’s pollination window doesn’t often line up with other species and, even when they do, the tree’s genetic makeup has remained distinct enough (while others have hybridized) that fertilization is increasingly improbable.
And unlike other pine species, stone pine seeds are not effectively dispersed by the wind, perhaps contributing to this isolation. Instead, they rely on the few animals that can reach them, particularly birds, to shake them free and drop them elsewhere.
I hope we’ve established that the stone pine is one tough, rugged cookie, designed from the root up to thrive in a variety of ecosystems around the Mediterranean. But what’s going on below the surface?
To really understand any tree, you’ve got to look down. When we talk about “siliceous” soils, we’re talking about soils that are made up mostly of silica—essentially a mineral of silicon and oxygen that comes from rocks like quartz and sandstone. These soils are characteristically sandy and drain water quickly, but offer fewer nutrients—making them less fertile and more inhospitable for many trees. They also tend to be more acidic.
On the other half of the pH scale (which measures the acidity of acids on one end, and alkalinity of bases on the other) are what are known as “calcareous” soils—that is, soils rich in calcium carbonate from sources like limestone or chalk, but light on most other important nutrients.
Both of these types of soil are found along the rocky Mediterranean. And while its preference is for the former, more siliceous soils, the stone pine does well in both. In fact, it’s this ability to thrive in these rocky soils that earned the tree its name, the stone pine. Of course, the tree’s deep roots alone are not always enough to survive in these nutrient-deficient soils. Like other pines around the world, Pinus pinea benefits from ectomycorrhizas, the symbiotic relationship between the tree and fungi in the ground that help facilitate nutrient exchange in soils where they are harder to come by. It’s a fascinating relationship that certainly deserves its own essay, but it is important to understand the critical role Ectomycorrhizal fungi (EMF) play in maintaining thriving forest ecosystems. They form mutually beneficial relationships with trees, where the fungi exchange those coveted soil nutrients for carbon compounds produced by the trees during photosynthesis. This natural partnership supports nutrient cycling and enhances tree health and growth, allowing pines just like the stone to survive under more challenging soil conditions.
Explore visualizations of how Ectomycorrhizal fungi support forest growth.
In the course of human events
We know quite a bit more about where the stone pine is, rather than where it’s from. Pinpointing its native range has proven difficult because the tree has been harvested, traded, and replanted by human since prehistory—first for their edible pine nut seeds, then by later civilizations like the Romans for their ornamental status. Even today, it is common throughout the region to find a street or garden lined with the distinctive tree.
Today, pine nuts from the stone pine remain big business, and their cultivation has been seen as an alternative crop in regions where the arid soil would make other agricultural endeavors too difficult.
Pine nuts served on a dish of roasted peppers. Via Pexels.
I’ve realized there is more to learn about the stone pine than I could ever hope to fit on a page. In my naivety or ignorance, I did not expect that. Its deceptively simple silhouette belies a complex story of resilience, symbiosis, and ancient history and, for at least one Spaniard, a reminder that she’s home.
Brendan began his career teaching conservation education programs at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. He is interested in how the intersection of informal education, mass communications and marketing can be retooled to drive relatable, accessible climate action. While he loves all ecosystems equally, he is admittedly partial to those in the alpine.
Sometimes the smallest creatures hide the largest secrets/mysteries. At just about 10 inches long and weighing up to 2 pounds, the slow loris is, in my opinion, no exception. This small, tailless primate with large (and iconic) moon-like eyes inhabits rainforests. As omnivores, slow lorises feed on both fruit and insects. There are nine species total, all inhabiting the Southeast region of Asia ranging from the islands of Java and Borneo to Vietnam and China.
True to their name, slow lorises are not light on their feet and move slowly. Despite this, slow lorises are not related to sloths, but are instead more closely related to lemurs. But in the rainforest, that’s not such a bad thing. Their leisurely, creeping gait helps them conserve energy and ambush their insect prey without being detected.
Adaptations
Living in the dense, verdant rainforest isn’t for everyone.The jungle is riddled with serpentine vines, thick vegetation, and towering trees. But slow lorises have developed multiple adaptations that allow them to thrive in such an environment.
Their fur markings serve as a warning to other animals that they are not to be trifled with. This is known as aposematic colouration. Similar to skunks, contrasting fur colors and shapes signal that they are venomous which makes predators think twice about attacking.
Slow lorises are nocturnal, and those large eyes allow them to significantly dilate their pupils, letting in more light and allowing them to easily see in near total darkness.
Even eating is no small feat in the rainforest. Slow lorises have specialized bottom front teeth, called a toothcomb. The grouping of long, thin teeth acts like a hair comb, allowing the slow loris to strip strong bark and uncover nutritious tree gum or sap. Equipped with an impressively strong grip, they can hang upside down and use their dexterous feet to hold onto branches while reaching for fruit just out of reach for most other animals. A network of capillaries called retia mirabilia allows them to do this without losing feeling in their limbs. With these adaptations, slow lorises are ideally suited for a life among the trees.
Slow lorises are the only venomous primate on Earth. They have brachial glands located in the crook of their elbow that secrete a toxic oil. When deploying the toxin, they lick this gland to venomize their saliva for a potent bite. And no one is safe– slow lorises use this venom on predators, and even each other. Fiercely territorial, they are one of the few species known to use venom on their own kind. In studying this behavior, scientists have found many slow lorises, especially young males, to have bite wounds.
The venom can be used as a protective, preventative defense mechanism as well. Female slow lorises have been observed licking their young to cover them in toxic saliva in hopes of deterring predators while they leave their babies in the safety of a tree to forage.
Whether you’re a natural predator, human, or another slow loris, a bite is very painful. Humans will experience pain from the strong bite, then a tingling sensation, followed by extreme swelling of the face and the start of anaphylactic shock. It can be fatal if not treated in time with epinephrine.
There are two major threats to slow loris populations – the illegal pet trade and habitat destruction. Because of their unique cuteness, soft fur, and small size, these creatures are often sold as illegal pets. Poachers will use flashlights to stun and capture the nocturnal slow loris, clip or remove their teeth to avoid harmful bites to humans and, because of their endearing, teddy bear-like appearance, sell them off as pets. Slow lorises are nocturnal and not able to withstand the stress of being forced to be awake during the daytime. They are also often not fed a proper diet of fruit, tree sap, and insects which leads to nutritional deficiencies and poor health.
Habitat loss from agricultural expansion is another threat. As farms grow, slow loris habitat shrinks. Land cleared to plant crops encroaches upon the rainforest which results in less territory and food sources for the slow loris.
However, one scientist found a way to reduce the canopy-loss from farming and restore slow loris territory. After observing wild slow lorises using above-ground water pipes to traverse farmland, researcher Anna Nekaris had an idea. Through her organization, the Little Fireface Project, she worked with local farmers to add more water pipes to act as bridges for slow lorises to use to move about the area. These unnatural vines provided a highway connecting isolated spots of jungle to each other. Not only did the slow loris population benefit by gaining more arboreal access to trees and food sources, but the community also benefited. Nekaris worked with the farmers to provide more water pipes to their land while showing human-animal conflict can have a mutually beneficial solution.
Every species of slow lorises is threatened, according to the IUCN, which monitors wild populations. Slow lorises may seem like an odd and somewhat unimportant creature on the grand ecological scale, but they are very important pollinators. When feeding on flowers, sap, or fruit, they are integral in spreading pollen and seeds across the forest. Through foraging and dispersal, slow lorises maintain the health of the ecosystem’s flora.
The slow loris garners attention for its cute looks, but beneath its fuzzy face and moon-like eyes, is a creature connected to the/its environment. Slow lorises are a perfect example of how species are tethered to their habitat in an integral way – their existence directly impacts forest propagation. As a pollinator, they disperse pollen stuck on their fur to new areas and increase genetic diversity throughout the forest. Slow lorises are proof of Earth’s interconnectedness.
To see the slow loris in action climbing from tree to tree and foraging for food, watch this short video.
Climbing up and away for now, Joely
Joely Hart is a wildlife enthusiast writing to inspire curiosity about Earth’s creatures. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in creative writing from the University of Central Florida and has a special interest in obscure, lesser-known species.
Known scientifically as Megachile (genus), leafcutter bees account for 1,500 of the world’s 20,000 bee species. I first noticed the work of leafcutter bees in my own backyard two years ago. First, you notice the “leaf damage” of the leafcutter bee.
Here is the “leaf damage” on a pin oak seedling.
The leaf damage takes the form of neat little curves. I recognized these neat little curves from having perused Bees: An Identification and Native Plant Foraging Guide, by Heather Holm, an author whose work I highly recommend.
In June of this year, I was fortunate enough to capture a leafcutter bee on video doing her work. I’ll show you the video below, but first …
How can we coexist with critters who are “harming” our plants?
It is said, “If nothing is eating your garden, then your garden is not part of the ecosystem.” If you want your garden to be part of the ecosystem, then some of it will become food for other critters. Some of my leaves will become food for leafcutter bees. But then the leafcutter bees will pollinate my wildflowers and my vegetables, making it possible for them to bear seed and fruit. I am happy to make this trade-off, plus I want my garden to feed all of the living species, not just us humans.
How do leafcutter bees differ from honeybees?
Honeybees are the most famous bees. And who doesn’t like honey? But honeybees are only one species out of 20,000 worldwide.
Honeybees are social. So they live cooperatively in hives. But most bees are solitary, including leafcutter bees. They interact only in mating. And then they make their nests and lay their eggs in a nest that could be in the ground, or in a rotting tree or in the hollow stem of a dead wildflower.
The North American continent is home to 150 of the world’s 1,500 species of leafcutter bees. Honeybees originate from Europe; they are not native to North America.
An “unarmed leafcutting bee” from my backyard
Here is a video of an “unarmed leafcutter bee” in my backyard, cutting the leaf off a pin oak seedling. This female uses her strong mandibles (jaws) to carve out a piece of a pin oak leaf to build her nest. Notice how quickly and efficiently she does this work.
How do I know this is a female? Because only the females build nests. The males die shortly after mating.
As soon as she is done cutting off the piece of leaf, she carries it back to the nest. The female nibbles the edges of the leaves so they’ll be pulpy and stick together to provide the structure for the nest.
Where is she building a nest?
She may build her nest in the hollow stem of a dead wildflower stalk, such as ironweed or goldenrod. She may build her nest in a dead tree. (Forest ecologists say that a dead tree is at least as valuable as a live tree, because so many critters make their nests in them.) Or she may build it in the ground. Nests also include cavities in rocks and abandoned mud dauber nests (Holm, 2017).
Here is the nest of a ground-nesting bee. In this case, it may or may not be a leafcutter bee.
If we leave bare spots on the ground, then this becomes a potential nesting site for ground nesting bees, including some leafcutter bees.
What purposes do the leaves serve?
Leaves prevent desiccation (drying out) of the food supply. The leaves typically include antimicrobial properties, preventing the nest from being infected.
Inside a nest, cells are arranged in a single long column. The female constructs each cell with leaf pieces, placing an egg along with pollen mixed with nectar, enough food for the bee to grow to adulthood, before leaving the nest.
In the fall, the larvae hatches from the egg, eats the nectar and pollen, and gains enough energy to grow through several stages, called instars. But it does not yet leave the nest. In the spring, the larvae pupates and becomes an adult, finally crawling out of the nest.
In the eastern U.S., common nesting materials include rose, ash, redbud and St. John’s wort. See below for photos from my home landscape showing the work of leafcutter bees on my pin oak, silver maple and jewelweed.
Where do leafcutter bees gather pollen and nectar?
Heather Holm, author of Bees: An Identification and Native Plant Foraging Guide, lists the following forage plants where leafcutter bees gather nectar and pollen:
Spring Forage Plants:
Golden Alexander (Zizia aurea)
Purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea)
Foxglove beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis)
Summer Forage Plants:
Black-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta)
Common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca)
Butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa)
Joe Pye weed (Eutrochium purpureum)
Anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum)
Blazingstar (Liatris pycnostachya)
Blue vervain (Verbena hastata)
Autumn Forage Plants:
Goldenrod, species of Solidago, including showy goldenrod (Solidago speciosa)
Asters, i.e., species of Symphyotricum, including New England aster, (Symphyotricum novae-angliae)
Here is a picture of Megachile fidelis, the faithful leafcutting bee, gathering nectar and pollen from a New England aster. Joseph Rojas – iNaturalist (CC BY 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons)
Specialist Leafcutter Bees
Some leafcutter bees specialize on the aster family of plants, known as Asteraceae. So we can support these bees around our home landscape by cultivating any representatives of the Asteraceae family, including goldenrod, sunflowers, ironweed and wingstem.
Check out this video of a female leafcutter bee carving out a leaf piece from a China Rose.
More leafcutting from leafcutter bees in my backyard
Here is evidence that a leafcutter bee was carving off pieces of a silver maple leaf (left). Here, leafcutter bees have been working on a jewelweed plant (right).
The following are photos of flowers from my home landscape, all of which make excellent forage for pollinators, including leafcutter bees.
Purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea)
Cutleaf coneflower (Rudbeckia laciniata)
Blunt Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum muticum)
False Sunflower (Heliopsis Helianthoides)
Cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum)
Butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa)
Brown-Eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta)
This is my front yard garden from 2022.
Included here are four great forage plants: Maximilian sunflower (Helianthus maximiliani), white crownbeard (Verbesina virginica), frost aster (Symphyiotricum pilosum) and New England aster (Symphiotricum novae-angliae)
Grow your garden and grow an ecosystem. Cultivate a diversity of native plants and avoid pesticides.
—Hart
Hart Hagan is a Climate Reporter based in Louisville, KY. He reports on his YouTube channel and Substack column. He teaches a course for Biodiversity for a Livable Climate called Healing Our Land & Our Climate. You can check it out and sign up for a class here.
Photos by Hart Hagan, except where noted.
Sources and Further Reading:
Holm, Heather (2017) Bees: An Identification and Native Plant Foraging Guide. Pollination Press.
University of Florida, Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences. Featured Creatures: Leafcutting Bees.
The chevrotain is an incredibly unique animal native to India and Southeast Asia. This creature is just 12 inches tall and about 29 inches long – the size of a rabbit. It weighs approximately 4-11 pounds and sports a reddish-chestnut brown coat with white markings on its chest. The chevrotain is the world’s smallest hoofed mammal. The chevrotain is also called the mouse-deer, but is not related to either a mouse or deer. Entirely a species of its own, the chevrotain is a one-of-a-kind creature.
There are ten species of chevrotain, nine of which reside in Asia while one – the water chevrotain – is native to Africa, spanning from Southern Benin to the Democratic Republic of Congo. This particular species lives near rivers and lakes as its name implies. When threatened, the water chevrotain will submerge itself underwater for up to four minutes to escape a predator. All chevrotains are very small with the tiniest being the lesser Malay chevrotain at 4 pounds and the largest being the water chevrotain at 33 pounds.
These miniature ungulates are herbivores and feed on vegetation like grasses, leaves, roots, flowers, and fruit. The chevrotain is a ruminant and has a 4 chambered stomach similar to that of a cow’s. This stomach helps digest fibrous plant material and extract nutrients from plant matter. Chevrotains inhabit jungles and forage for low hanging and fallen fruit as well as ground plants that are easy to reach due to their short stature.
Fangs
Despite looking like mini-deer, chevrotains do not have antlers. Instead, they have elongated incisors. In males, these teeth protrude beyond the mouth like tusks which are used when fighting. Chevrotains also use their long fangs to expose roots for consumption.
Chevrotains are known for being solitary, quiet, and difficult to find amongst dense forests. One species in particular has remained hidden from scientists for nearly 30 years – until recently. The silver-backed chevrotain, native to Vietnam, had not been seen for decades, despite camera traps and excursions to find the creature. But in 2017, that all changed. A camera trap captured the elusive silver-backed chevrotain, the first sighting since 1990. Still, so little is known about this species that the IUCN has assigned the status of “data deficient”.
Conservation ensures that no species is lost to history and reinforces the importance of a diverse ecosystem where every organism has a vital role to play. Even when all hope seems lost, life finds a way.
Treading quietly away for now, Joely
Joely Hart is a wildlife enthusiast writing to inspire curiosity about Earth’s creatures. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in creative writing from the University of Central Florida and has a special interest in obscure, lesser-known species.
The bearded vulture (Gypaetus Barbatus) is a bird of prey known by many names including lammergeier, quebrantahuesos, boanbrüchl, and ossifrage.
The origin of these monikers come from the bird’s unique diet – bones. While most vultures pick off the meat on a carcass, the bearded vulture prefers to consume the skeleton itself. Over 80% of their diet consists solely of bones.
Weighing in at about 16 pounds and equipped with a wingspan of over 9 feet, bearded vultures are among the top ten largest birds of prey in the world. They use their substantial size to hoist the bone of their choice from the skeleton to the sky. They fly high enough to drop it onto a clifftop or boulder to break the bone into smaller, bite-sized pieces which they then swallow whole.
What makes these birds capable of digesting bone is the strength of their stomach acid. Bearded vultures have a stomach acid of nearly zero pH. This extreme acidity dissolves bone within 24 hours. To put this in perspective, humans have a stomach acid pH of about 2 while battery acid has a pH of about 0.8. Bearded vultures are the only carnivores capable of completely digesting bone.
Bearded vultures appear different from most other vultures due to the lack of a bald head. Most vultures are known for having no feathers around their head and neck which helps them remain clean when scavenging carrion. Bearded vultures, because of their chosen bone-based diet, do not need this adaptation, and sport a feathered head. Adults have white feathers along their body, chest, and face while their wings are dark brown. Black tufts protrude from their chin which gives them their modern namesake of bearded vulture.
Bearded vultures have large, glacier-white eyes that help them spot carcasses from the sky. As Old World vultures, their sense of smell is not advanced and they rely primarily on their eyesight when scavenging. When threatened or excited, the scleral ring around their eyes turns a bright red.
Bearded vultures have a unique propensity for the color red, so much so that they dye their white feathers a rusty vermilion. These birds will seek iron-oxide rich pools of muddy water or dust and bathe in it to color themselves a red-orange hue. Researchers are unsure of why they do this. Some posit that it is a sign of status – the redder the bird, the higher the seniority. Others believe the iron-oxide coloring helps prevent infections when breeding. Whatever the reason, bearded vultures paint themselves into a real-life phoenix.
Bearded vultures call the mountainous regions of Eurasia, East Africa, and parts of the Middle East their home. They prefer to live in areas that grant them the best visibility such as remote mountain ranges, steppes, canyons, and alpine valleys.
These birds tend to fly at high altitudes of about 6,500 feet above sea level. They utilize updrafts to ride the air currents which helps them conserve energy and glide for many miles.
In the early 1900s bearded vultures were hunted in Europe due to a false myth that they supposedly preyed upon children and livestock. The population in this area declined and is still recovering today. Currently, humans are the greatest threat to bearded vultures as habitat loss and poisoning endanger the remaining populations. The species is listed as near threatened by the IUCN.
Bearded vultures are an incredibly important species for the ecosystem because they act as nature’s garbage disposal. They help clean the environment of carcasses and diseases which keeps other species healthy.
Soaring away for now, Joely
Joely Hart is a wildlife enthusiast writing to inspire curiosity about Earth’s creatures. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in creative writing from the University of Central Florida and has a special interest in obscure, lesser-known species.
The Cork Oak is a unique tree species whose bark is an ancient renewable and biodynamic material that supports a valuable Portuguese industry. Portugal produces 50% of the world’s cork, thanks to the abundance of the native Cork Oak that covers 8% of the country’s total land area and makes up 28% of its forests.
The harvested cork is made into the wine stoppers we all know, but cork is also used to create flooring, furniture, a variety of household items, and has even broken into the fashion industry in the form of clothing and accessories. Across Portugal, (where the Cork Oak is the National Tree), you’ll find locals sporting cork backpacks, wallets, sandals, and belts, to name a few.
On a recent trip to the Douro Valley in northeastern Portugal, I was inspired by the locality of the wine-making process, exemplified by the roadside Cork Oaks whose harvested bark was used to plug the bottles of Portuguese wine made with grapes grown on the same hills.
The material is gaining more international recognition as a highly renewable and biodegradable resource that can replace traditional, more carbon intensive materials like wood, plastic, leather, and cotton in a wide variety of settings.
The Cork Oak, or Quercus Suber, is an evergreen oak species native to the Mediterranean region, most commonly in Portugal, Spain, Italy, Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia. A lover of full sun, mild winters, and well-drained soil, the Cork Oak grows to a height of 40-70 feet. Its rounded crown consists of ovular, four-inch leaves that are dark green and leathery on top with a fuzzy, gray underside. The tree is characterized by its recognizable, fissured bark.
Cork Oaks are environmental stalwarts, working hard to prevent erosion and increasing the moisture level in the soil. These services are crucial: Cork Oaks are on the front lines as desertification creeps northward in Africa. These Mediterranean Forests are home to surprisingly biodiverse ecosystems with nearly 135 plant species per kilometer, including other oaks and wild olive trees. These forests shelter a wide variety of animal species and are final strongholds for crucially endangered species like the Iberian Lynx and Imperial Eagle. Their acorns serve as food for native birds and rodents, their yellow flowers feed pollinators, and their unique ability to regenerate their bark makes them a valuable resource for humans.
What sets Cork Oaks apart is their thick, fissured bark with the rare capacity to regenerate every 9-12 years. Its harvest is a heavily regulated process in Portugal that takes place between May and August each year. Laws allow the harvest of a single tree only once every nine years starting at age 25. The process leaves the tree standing, and allows time for the bark to regenerate completely between harvests. Large swaths of the outer bark is cut and peeled off by hand, exposing the tree’s striking, reddish-brown trunk. The last number of the harvest year is then marked on the tree in white paint, as seen below with a tree in the Douro Valley whose bark was harvested in 2023. This tree will be ready for another harvest in 2032, nine years later. With a lifespan of around 200 years, a single cork oak can be harvested up to 15 times!
Photo by Morgan Moscinski (Douro Valley, Portugal)
Once the cork has been aged slightly, pressurized, and boiled (a six-month process), it becomes the lightweight and elastic material we find in our wine bottles. Naturally impervious to liquid while allowing a little air movement over time (this helps wine mature), the Ancient Greeks were the first to use cork as a bottle stopper over 2,000 years ago! It remains the preferred closure solution of contemporary winemakers.
With immense environmental and economic value, the Cork Oak is a unique species working hard to keep the deserts at bay and the wine drinkers happy. A protected species in Portugal since the 13th century, the ancient practice of cork bark harvesting is more important than ever. The tree is not harmed by this process; it actually helps it become a larger carbon sink. The photosynthesis required to regrow its bark results in additional carbon dioxide drawn down from the atmosphere after each harvest. This fascinating process is a rare win-win in the search for biodynamic and sustainable materials. How will we use it next?
So, the next time you celebrate a special occasion, share a bottle with friends, or enjoy a glass of Douro Valley Moscatel after dinner (something I recommend), take a moment to think about the wonderful uniqueness of the material at play. And don’t forget to compost those corks at the end of the night!
Off I pop! Ryan
Ryan Pagois is a climate advocate and systems thinker serving as an Associate Director at Built Environment Plus, helping to drive sustainable building solutions in MA. He is passionate about urban ecology, carbon balance, and rewilding cities. He is excited to pursue a Masters of Ecological Design at the Conway School starting this fall, to explore how low-impact urban development can be our greatest climate solution and community resilience tool. He grew up in Minnesota and studied environmental policy and international relations at Boston University.
The iconic red plumage of the Northern Cardinal is a staple of backyard gardens across the Eastern United States and Mexico, and is a rare example of a species thriving amidst the expansion of the built environment. While Cardinalis cardinalis is a marker of springtime in New England, these non-migratory birds make permanent homes in open woodlands, thickets, and backyards, their striking red feathers bringing a welcome burst of color to the white backdrop of northern winters.
When March rolls around, starting the cardinal breeding season, you’ll begin to hear the mating calls of female birds. Some of the most vocal songbirds around, the Northern Cardinal has a wide variety of chirps, whistles, calls, and songs – even duets unique to mated pairs – that serve a range of purposes. Their vocal acrobatics and flashy appearance have made them a favorite among birders and state governments alike. The Northern Cardinal is the state bird of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, North Carolina, Ohio, Virginia, and West Virginia – the nation’s most popular choice with 7 state titles.
Cardinals were originally named for the male bird’s resemblance to the bright red robes and caps of the cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church. In 1983, the “Northern” qualifier was added to differentiate the bird from its Southern cousins, including species like the Yellow Cardinal. Male Northern Cardinals possess those iconic red feathers, while the female is less flamboyant: brown in color with a reddish tint that is most noticeable while in flight. The male’s vibrancy may be useful to attract a mate, but the more neutral brown of the female helps to camouflage the nest during the incubation of eggs and subsequent brooding of chicks. This results in a natural division of parenting duties.
Mating calls announce the start of nesting season in early March, and the cardinals’ prolific musical repertoire can be heard through late August or September. Northern cardinals select one mate for the extent of the breeding season and divide up the parenting responsibilities. With the red of the males easily spotted by predators, only the females sit on the nest. The males are resigned to foraging, allowed back to the nest only when a chirp from the female signals the coast is clear.
Cardinal chicks feed primarily on nutrient-rich insects until they leave the nest 10 days after hatching. After the chicks fledge, or grow their flight feathers, the parents continue to feed the young birds for another month or more, transitioning them to a granivorous diet consisting of seeds and grain – easily shelled by their conical, orange beaks – with the occasional berry or insect. Around June, the cardinal parents are free to start their next brood. Northern cardinals often raise two rounds of chicks, ranging from 1-3 eggs per nest for a total of 3-5 eggs per season. Territories are fiercely defended by males, who are often seen attacking their own reflection in windows and mirrors. You can’t be too careful!
When the mating season winds down in late summer, it is not uncommon to spot the occasional bald cardinal, but don’t worry, the birds aren’t sick! Cardinals usually replace their crest feathers gradually throughout the summer, but sometimes they’re all molted at once, exposing their dark skin. The effect is only temporary, with their notable crest growing back in a matter of weeks.
Image by Ryan Pagois (Eagan, MN)
A well-adapted species
While most species around the world are confronting immense challenges and population declines as a result of urbanization and global warming, the range and population of Northern Cardinals is actually increasing. The growth of suburbs has increased their nesting habitat, as the birds favor the thick branches of bushes and shrubs, common in woodland edges and backyard gardens. Their expansion has been aided by the presence of birdfeeders, providing cardinals with an easy food source in urban areas that give them an advantage over most native bird species. (Sunflower seeds are a cardinal’s preferred snack, for anyone looking to attract these beautiful birds.)
Cardinals may be more protected in urban areas with an absence of larger predators, but they still play a role in their local ecosystems. They serve as seed-dispersers as they forage for food, and can become a meal for the occasional predator. Domestic cats and dogs do pose a threat to them, as do hawks and owls, while small snakes, squirrels, chipmunks, and blue jays tend to go after cardinal eggs. However, cardinals have proved exceptionally adaptable in the age of human expansion. Their range has crept northward to Maine and southern Canada in the past 100 years as temperatures increase, with Northern Cardinals now numbering around 130 million.
While not a species of concern, may we continue to pay attention to and take inspiration from the Northern Cardinal, a proven adapter to the Anthropocene and a gentle backyard reminder of the beautiful sights and sounds of the natural world.
With a spring in my step, Ryan
Ryan Pagois is a climate advocate and systems thinker serving as an Associate Director at Built Environment Plus, helping to drive sustainable building solutions in MA. He is passionate about urban ecology, carbon balance, and rewilding cities. He is excited to pursue a Masters of Ecological Design at the Conway School starting this fall, to explore how low-impact urban development can be our greatest climate solution and community resilience tool. He grew up in Minnesota and studied environmental policy and international relations at Boston University.
In the lush landscapes of North America, the Northern Red Oak stands as a timeless symbol of strength, resilience, and enduring beauty. Revered for its towering stature, vibrant foliage, and essential ecological contributions, this iconic species holds a cherished place in both natural ecosystems and human communities.
The state tree of New Jersey, the Northern Red Oak is sometimes referred to as the “champion oak,” and it certainly qualifies as a biodiversity and climate champion!
The Northern Red Oak, or Quercus rubra, is an impressive hardwood tree that graces the forests of Eastern and Central North America. Its grandeur is exemplified by its towering height, often reaching between 70 to 90 feet, and its robust, straight trunk. Adorned with deeply lobed, glossy green leaves, the Northern Red Oak undergoes a breathtaking transformation in the autumn, as its foliage turns into a symphony of red, russet, and orange hues, captivating onlookers and adding a burst of color to the landscape.
I got to know my oaks over the past few years as I’ve dived more deeply into the native ecology of New England. Like maples and tulip trees, oaks have fairly recognizable leaves, and make an accessible place to start with species identification. It took me a bit longer to discern between different types of oaks, from the sharp edged Northern Red Oak leaves to the rounded edges of the Swamp White Oak leaves, but it’s a satisfying journey to take to get to know these hallmarks of the landscape better. As I learn trees’ names, patterns, life cycles, and roles, I get to establish a greater kinship with these beings, and witness the beautiful ways they interact with the people, birds, insects, and animals in the ecosystem.
Beyond its visual allure, the Northern Red Oak plays a crucial role in maintaining the health and balance of its ecosystems. Its extensive root system helps prevent soil erosion, and improves the soil sponge for water infiltration, buffering against the intensifying drought and flood cycles affecting our environments. These trees also provide essential food and habitat for a biodiverse array of wildlife.
As many scientists and foresters are beginning to recognize in greater numbers, the more we can preserve and plant keystone native species of our ecosystems, the more deeply and powerfully those ecosystems can mitigate the extreme effects of climate change and global warming. Healthy ecosystems are full of complexity, and in part it is the relationships between different species of vegetation, fungi, microbes, and wildlife that make the whole so successful. Northern Red Oaks are particularly valuable bulwarks of the forest ecosystems of the Eastern and Central US, where they support almost 500 different of butterfly and moth species, which in turn feed the larger food chain. These trees’ acorns also directly supply vital sustenance for many types of wildlife, including blue jays, woodpeckers, turkeys, squirrels, raccoons, and deer. Finally, as old trees begin to decay and die, their trunks and branches go on to house many animals’ dens and nests, continuing to provide throughout the stages their life cycle.
The Northern Red Oak has traditionally been valued for its economic significance, which characterizes a lot of the information you can find on this beautiful tree. Revered for its durable wood, the Northern Red Oak is a prized timber species, notable for its strength, durability, and attractive grain pattern. Its wood can be found in various woodworking applications, including furniture, cabinetry, flooring, and veneer. So next time you see a product boasting its oak hardwood, imagine the long history of that material that lies beneath the surface.
Image by Nicholas A. Tonelli from Northeast Pennsylvania, USA, CC BY 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
Vital and Versatile
Adaptability is another hallmark of the Northern Red Oak, as these trees thrive in a wide range of soil types and environmental conditions. From lush forests to urban parks, this resilient species can flourish in diverse habitats, underscoring its importance as a cornerstone of biodiversity.
In urban forestry and landscaping, Northern Red Oaks are treasured for providing shade, natural beauty, and environmental benefits to parks, streetscapes, and residential areas. Sometimes, biodiversity value and hardiness to poor soil conditions and urban stressors are thought of as tradeoffs that urban foresters must navigate. However, the Northern Red Oak (and many other remarkable trees) prove that sometimes, you can have it all.
Northern Red Oak sapling in our Danehy Park Miyawaki Forest (Image by Maya Dutta)
Despite its resilience, the Northern Red Oak faces threats from pests, diseases, and habitat loss from logging, degradation, and fragmentation, underscoring the need for transforming our relationship to forests and vegetation, these powerful systems for cooling and carbon sequestration. By protecting and preserving Northern Red Oak populations, prioritizing biodiversity and holistic ecosystem health in our climate resilience efforts, we can make a cooler, greener, healthier world for ourselves and the many species we share our home with.
May we make that dream a reality,
Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
Crows, members of the Corvus genus, stand out as some of the most intelligent and adaptable birds on the planet. These corvids include over 40 species, such as the American crow, hooded crow, and fish crow, and they inhabit diverse habitats ranging from dense forests to urban landscapes.
Known for their resourcefulness and problem-solving skills, crows have captivated scientists and observers alike with their remarkable behaviors. Crows continue to push the boundaries of how we understand animal intelligence, with recent studies on their tool use, awareness, and relationship to complex concepts gaining them well-deserved recognition and a place in the conservation conversation.
Crows are a fairly common sight in many parts of the world, with recognizable shiny black feathers and a familiar ‘caw.’ They are ground foragers with an incredibly diverse diet, ranging from insects and fruits to small animals and human food scraps. They tend to be associated with scavenging but are true omnivores, and can benefit soils and ecosystems by helping keep insect populations from surging out of balance. In urban settings, they are involved in flock feeding on human food scraps and garbage, and this adaptability to human environments means certain (though not all) species of crow maintain strong population numbers in the face of decreased access to natural habitat.
Communication and Complexity
While the crow ‘caw’ may seem like a simple call recognizable to many people, crow vocalization turns out to be quite differentiated. It has been discovered that among crows, groups form ‘dialects’ based on region. They also possess remarkable vocal mimicry skills, allowing them to imitate the sounds of other birds, animals, and even human speech. All of this allows the crow to engage in communication, social bonding, and strategic goals of deception and resource acquisition.
These crafty corvids possess a level of intelligence comparable to great apes and human children, allowing them to solve complex problems and even make and use tools. For instance, the New Caledonian crow, widely regarded as the most intelligent species among the corvid family, creates hooks and skewers from twigs to extract insects from crevices, showcasing their ingenuity. Researchers have studied crows’ usage of tools and observed that these birds will not only use pre-made tools or create simple combinations of tools in pursuit of their goal, but create multi-part composite tools, a behavior observed in only a few primates.
Famously, Aesop’s fables summarized long ago, “A thirsty crow wanted water from a pitcher, so he filled it with pebbles to raise the water level to drink.” Though the story is thousands of years old, these behaviors are still being studied and producing new insight today.
Some of the most fascinating recent inquiries into crow intelligence have probed crows’ sense of self-awareness, long-term gratification, playfulness, and their understanding of complex concepts. As a math lover, one of my favorites among these is a unique phenomenon – conceptualization of ‘zero’. While many animals are able to perform basic counting, zero is generally a trickier beast, one that was absent from many ancient human civilizations’ numerical systems. However, crows are among the very few animals that grasp this number.
Additionally, crows exhibit impressive memory skills and can recognize individual human faces, reacting differently to perceived threats than to harmless humans. They are even known for ‘holding grudges,’ or conversely, remembering favorable relationships with people for years at a time. The ability to remember and share information within families and flocks may provide them with a significant evolutionary advantage in protecting themselves from harm.
Birds of a Feather Flock Together
In addition to their intelligence and adaptability, crows exhibit fascinating social behaviors. They often engage in cooperative mobbing to fend off predators, perform elaborate aerial displays to attract mates, and maintain strong family bonds by living in cooperative family groups. While adult crows primarily socialize just with their monogamous mate (with whom they pair for life), young crows stay with their parents for the first two years of life, and juvenile crows live in highly social ‘juvenile gangs.’ One theory into crow intelligence suggests that their ingenuity is due to the relatively long period of time young crows spend with their parents and the learning this enables.
Some crows, like American Crows, are also known to flock in large groups in winter months, both foraging for food and roosting together. These roosts can range from a few hundred to up to two million crows, with some roosts forming in the same general area for well over 100 years. Moreover, crows hold “funerals” for deceased members of their community, demonstrating a level of social complexity often overlooked among animals.
Crows will even form bonds with other animals. Crows in the wild have been observed playing with young wolves, and forming mutual attachments with these other social and intelligent creatures. Of course, there are many stories of the relationships humans have forged with individual crows, forming patterns of exchanging food for gifts or receiving trinkets after showing an injured bird care. One charming crow, Tuck, who has spent his life in a bird sanctuary in Tennessee, shares a moving friendship with his primary human caretaker, and has even become a conservation ambassador:
While many human cultures have depicted crows with respect for their ingenuity, recent trends have given crows a bad rap, primarily for the disturbance they cause to crops (hence the need for ‘scarecrows’). Despite their reputation as pests, though, crows play a crucial role in ecosystems as efficient garden helpers and natural pest controllers. They feast on insect pests like caterpillars and beetles, disperse seeds, and maintain a healthy balance in the garden ecosystem. Some crow species face significant challenges to their survival, such as habitat loss, disease, and predation, and crucial conservation efforts are underway to protect endangered species like the Hawaiian Crow through habitat restoration and captive breeding programs.
Crows have been both feared and revered by humans throughout history, often associated with death, darkness, and supernatural powers. The term “murder of crows” reflects their association with death and darkness in folklore, although alternative names like “horde” or “parliament” better capture their intelligent and social nature without perpetuating negative connotations. And many cultures and people have great respect for the clever crow, with whom we have coexisted for thousands of years. Despite their complex relationship with humans, crows continue to fascinate and inspire awe, challenging our limiting notions of animal behavior.
For a deeper dive into crows and the insights they share on animal intelligence, check out this fascinating video and the sources below:
May we continue to learn from our animal kin,
Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
What furry feline has stealthy skills, built-in snow gear, and a surprising screech?
The Canada lynx!
Photo by Kevin Pepper
The Canada lynx, also known as Lynx canadensis or the Inuktut name of ᐱᖅᑐᖅᓯᕋᖅ (‘piqtuqsiraq’), is a charismatic mammal of the Northernmost parts of North America. This furry, fierce cousin of the bobcat can be found in Canada, of course, as well as Alaska and in some parts of Northern Maine.
This forest feline may resemble a larger version of a housecat, but its predatory prowess is nothing short of formidable. With a heavy coat of fur, including distinctive tufts at its ears and a short, black-tipped tail, large paws that help navigate snowy terrain, and excellent vision and hearing, the Canada lynx is extremely well adapted to its environment.
Photo by Laura Lorman from National Wildlife Federation
Prime Predator
In terms of physical attributes and behavior, the Canada lynx possesses exceptional senses, including large eyes and acute hearing, making it an adept nocturnal hunter. In fact, they are able to detect prey in the darkness from as far as 250 feet (76 m) away.
Although not known for speed, these stealthy predators rely on their knack for stealth. They often lie in wait, concealed in strategic hiding spots, before making a calculated pounce on unsuspecting prey. Patiently biding their time for hours on end is not uncommon in their pursuit of sustenance.
Exhibiting a very specific carnivorous diet, these lynxes primarily subsist on snowshoe hares, and fluctuations in hare populations directly correlate with the rise and fall of lynx numbers. When it is available, a single lynx might consume an entire hare for a meal, storing remnants for later consumption. In the absence of hares, they resort to hunting small mammals, birds, and occasionally larger prey such as caribou.
Photo from Shuttershock
Suited to the snow
Characterized by a compact body, diminutive tail, and elongated legs, the Canada lynx sports a dense, lengthy, and gray fur coat during winter, while transitioning to a shorter, lighter brown coat in summer. Their facial appearance appears broad due to elongated fur patches extending from their cheeks that can give the appearance of a two-pronged beard. They also sport distinctive black-tipped, bobbed tails and elongated tufts on their triangular ears.
Closely resembling the southern-dwelling bobcat, the key difference lies in their tails— the Canada lynx boasts completely black-tipped tails compared to the bobcat’s tail that features a white ring below the black tip. Moreover, the lynx’s sizable, heavily furred paws act as natural snowshoes, with a high surface area to support their movement over deep snow, aiding their mobility during winter hunts.
Residing across forested regions spanning Canada, Alaska, and certain parts of the contiguous United States, Canada lynxes prefer making dens under fallen trees, tree stumps, rock formations, or dense vegetation. These territorial animals are mostly solitary, particularly with male lynxes leading an almost entirely solitary existence.
Photo from National Geographic
However, young lynxes stay in the care of their mothers for about a year, and some females have been observed living and hunting in pairs, raising questions for scientists about the social behavior of these big cats. Recently, a team of researchers has begun delving into the social lives of lynxes by tracking their vocalizations. And whether or not you are engaged in studying lynx populations, it’s well worth checking out the haunting sounds of the lynx call:
Big Cats of the Boreal
The Canada lynx, a native denizen of the expansive Boreal Forest, relies heavily on this vast and biodiverse habitat for survival. The boreal ecosystem, characterized by its dense forests of coniferous trees, provides the ideal cover and sustenance for these elusive predators. The lynx thrives amidst the rich tapestry of dense vegetation, fallen trees, and rocky outcrops, creating a mosaic of hiding spots and denning sites crucial for their survival. However, threats to the Boreal Forest, including deforestation, habitat fragmentation, and climate change, pose significant risks to the Canada lynx population.
Deforestation for logging, mining, and human settlement disrupts the lynx’s habitat, diminishing their hunting grounds and safe havens. Fragmentation of the forest reduces connectivity between lynx populations, affecting genetic diversity and hindering their ability to roam and find suitable mates. Climate change exacerbates these issues, altering the boreal ecosystem and impacting prey availability, which is pivotal for the lynx’s sustenance. The cumulative effect of these threats imperils the Canada lynx, highlighting the urgent need for conservation efforts to safeguard both the lynx and its vital habitat in the Boreal Forest, which in turn plays an essential role regulating the carbon and water cycles and overall stability of our climate.
The Canada lynx is more than just an example of might and physical prowess in nature. A true embodiment of the northern forests, these elusive creatures and their unique lifestyle are treasures of the wild. Let us work for ecological integrity in all forests and ecosystems, Boreal and beyond.
For my fellow cat lovers,
Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
What Nat King Cole, Mel Torme’ and Bing Crosby Were Singing About
According to legend, songwriter Robert Wells, trying to stay cool during the hot summer of 1945, put to paper his favorite parts of winter, eventually turning those thoughts into “The Christmas Song.” First on his list – “chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”
Now maybe, if you are like me, you find that a curious choice. Were chestnuts really that important to the Christmas experience? Before yuletide carols and Jack Frost? Before turkeys and mistletoe and tiny tots who can’t sleep because “SantaSantaSanta?” Why, when penning his favorite parts of winter, did his first thought turn to chestnuts?
Which brings us to the Columbian Exchange.
What is the Columbian Exchange?
The Columbian Exchange, for those who don’t know, refers to the massive transfer of plants, animals, germs, ideas, people, and more that occurred in the wake of Christopher Columbus’ arrival in the Americas. While a detailed analysis of all the impacts of the Columbian Exchange is far beyond the scope of this piece, from a strictly biological standpoint, it began a fierce evolutionary battle as previously unseen species entered new territory for the first time.
One of the most notable victims of this exchange turned out to be the American Chestnut Tree.
For more than 2,000 years, the American Chestnut dominated the mountains and forests of the Eastern United States, allowing adventurous squirrels to travel, according to legend, from Georgia to New England without ever touching the ground or another species of tree. Each year it provided much of the diet for many species, including black bears, deer, turkeys, the (now extinct) passenger pigeon and more.
The chestnuts, which grew three at a time inside the velvety lining of a spiny burr, contained more nutrients than other trees in the East, making them especially valuable to Indigenous peoples who relied on them as a food source and used them in traditional medicines. Europeans would later use the nuts as feed for their animals, or forage to use them for food or trade. In addition, since the trees grew faster than oak and were highly resistant to decay, the lumber was highly-prized for construction—to this day American chestnut, reclaimed from older buildings, is sometimes used to create furniture.
Harvesting an American chestnut at TACF’s Meadowview Research FarmsOpen bur of an American chestnut Young green burs at Meadowview Research FarmsWild American chestnut seedling in NY
The chestnuts were, in fact, such a staple that, in the late fall and early winter after the trees had delivered their harvest, city streets would be lined with carts roasting the nuts for sale. They are reported to be richer and sweeter than other varieties of chestnut and were a much sought-after wintertime treat. Today, roasted chestnuts are typically imported, and either European or Chinese chestnuts are used and, if our great-grandparents are to be believed, those species are just not as good. In addition, the loss of the American Chestnut deprived the United States of an important export.
So, What Happened?
After Columbus arrived, a fella by the name of Thomas Jefferson danced into his Virginia home-sweet-home with some European chestnuts to plant at Monticello. Somebody else imported Chinese chestnuts and, before too long, ink disease had practically eliminated the American chestnut in the southern portion of its range.
Then, in 1876, Japanese chestnuts were introduced into the United States in upstate New York and, a few decades later, a blight was discovered at the Bronx Zoo (then known as New York Zoological Park) that, by 1906, had killed 98% of the American chestnuts in the borough. Since Asian chestnuts, and to a lesser extent European chestnuts, had evolved alongside the blight, they were able to survive. But the American Chestnut tree (and its cousin the Allegheny Chinquapin) could not. Over the coming decades the airborne fungus, which could spread 50 miles in a year and kill an infected American Chestnut within ten years, had rendered the American Chestnut functionally extinct.
Canker and blightBlight on young chestnut trees.
What Does That Mean, “Functionally” Extinct?
While the American Chestnut may be “functionally” extinct, that is not the same as being extinct. The root systems of the trees in many cases have survived, as the blight only kills the above-ground portion, and the below-ground components remain. Every so often a new shoot will sprout from the roots not killed when the main tree stem died. These shoots are only able to grow for a few years before they are infected with the blight, and they never reach a point of bearing fruit and reproducing, but they do grow. For that reason, the tree is classified as “functionally” extinct, but not extinct. In addition, isolated pockets of the species have been found, or planted, west of the trees’ historical range where the blight has not yet reached.
A Tufted Titmouse sits on the limb of an American chestnut
Red-spotted purple butterfly on an American hybridGray Tree Frog in Chestnut Tree
Will I Ever Get to Eat a Roasted American Chestnut?
While you probably won’t get to have the full roasted chestnuts experience as Robert Wells once did, there is hope for this species and hope that maybe your grandchildren will enjoy them as your great-grandparents once did. Programs at several universities such as the University of Tennessee and the State University of New York along with the USDA, US Forest Service and some non-profits like the American Chestnut Foundation are actively working to bring the species back by either cross pollinating blight-resistant specimens or combining them with more resistant species. You can learn more about these efforts toward resilient chestnuts by exploring the sources below.
Ho ho ho,
Mike
Mike Conway is a part-time freelance writer who lives with his wife, kids, and dog Smudge (pictured) in Northern Virginia.
With over 1,600 species of bamboo worldwide, this subfamily (Bambusidae) has a great deal of diversity, and well-earned acclaim. These plants are actually the largest grasses, or members of the family Poaceae.
This talented family boasts a remarkable diversity, with bamboo species native to every continent besides Antarctica and Europe. People and cultures across the world have come to prize bamboo for its amazing growth rates, its extraordinary flexibility and strength, and its ecological contributions to clean air, soil, and water. Whether as a symbol of luck and fortune, a provider of adaptable materials, or an ecosystem restoration MVP, bamboo reminds us of nature’s incredible ability to captivate and nurture.
The word “bamboo” is thought to originate in the Malay word “mambu.” During the late 16th century, the Dutch adopted the term and coined their own version, “bamboes,” which eventually became the “bamboo” we know and love today.
One great grower
Bamboo holds the crown for being the fastest-growing plant on Earth. Some species can achieve astonishing growth rates of up to 90 centimeters (35 inches) in just 24 hours. While giant sea kelp (actually an algae) can surpass bamboo’s growth rates in ideal conditions, the rapid growth of bamboo remains unparalleled among vegetation and land-based photosynthesizers.
Another of bamboo’s most notable qualities is its ability to be harvested without uprooting the plant. This feature allows for comparatively sustainable manufacturing processes, as bamboo regenerates quickly from its robust root system and does not require its rhizomes to be replanted.
Over centuries, people have found uses for bamboo in various industries, such as construction, furniture, textiles, and paper, and in the present day many are looking to bamboo for greener alternatives to traditional materials. You might see this trend taking off in the latest utensils, toothbrushes, or toilet papers hitting the market, but experiments using these plants are no new fad.
One of the most famous examples of bamboo taking a central stage in innovation came in 1880, when Thomas Edison used carbonized bamboo fiber to conduct electrical current through a lightbulb. After testing a wide variety of materials, he found the bamboo fiber to perform the best, lasting 1,200 hours as the conductor.
Bamboo harvested at Murshidabad, India (Photo by Biswarup Ganguly, CC by 3.0)
Bamboo is particularly renowned for its unique combination of flexibility and strength. This exceptional quality has made it a popular choice in construction. Notably, in Sichuan, China, a thousand-year-old bridge made of bamboo stands as a testament to the plant’s durability. The bridge is still in use today with ongoing maintenance, showcasing the long-lasting potential of bamboo.
People have naturally turned to bamboo for some of our most fundamental activities, like creating shelter, harvesting firewood, making clothing and home goods, and of course, eating. Bamboo shoots are featured in dishes across Asia, while its sap, seeds, leaves, and even the hollow stalks can be used in cooking or fermentation processes. Bamboo textiles offer durability, hypoallergenic properties, natural cooling, and moisture-wicking capabilities, making them ideal for bedding and clothing. Bamboo has also been used to create paper, writing implements, musical instruments, weapons, fishing and aquaculture equipment, baskets, firecrackers, medicine, and more. Truly, what can’t this plant do?
Bamboo trays used in mussel farming in Abucay, Bataan, Philippines (Photo by Ramon F. Velasquez, CC by 3.0)
An asset to the ecosystem
While humans have found many ways to work with harvested bamboo, I think these amazing grasses are most impressive as living organisms in their environment. Bamboo plays a vital ecological role in its surroundings, working to regulate intact ecosystems and repair degraded ones.
Bamboo’s extensive root system helps control soil erosion, preventing the loss of vital topsoil and providing stability to sloped areas and river systems. Some bamboo species are able to stabilize and hold in place up to six cubic meters of soil with their long roots. Additionally, bamboo can be extremely effective at absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen into the atmosphere. In particular, “clumping” types of bamboo that grow thickly in dense clusters can filter air up to 30% more effectively than other plants.
Park signage in New Delhi featuring good filtering plants, including bamboo (Photo by Maya Dutta)
Bamboo thrives in diverse environments, from tropical to high-altitude regions. It demonstrates exceptional resilience, withstanding extreme cold below -20°C (-4°F) in the Andes and Himalayas and heat up to 50°C (122°F). Notably, bamboo groves were the only plant life to survive the atomic bombings in Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945, and were among the first to resprout after the devastation.
Some species of bamboo are able to survive and thrive even in areas of high pollution, making them an extremely important ally in remediation efforts to remove heavy metals or other toxic substances from soil or wastewater. As a result of these advantages, many people have introduced bamboo species outside of their native areas. In doing so, it is essential to be aware of the potential for displacing vegetation important to local wildlife.
Some bamboo that clusters densely can easily crowd out competition, while other bamboo species can produce allelopathic compounds (natural herbicides) that prevent other plants from growing. In any interventions we make, especially for the good of our environments, a comprehensive systems approach is key. Understanding the elements of an ecosystem and the dynamics that make it function, as well as what outcomes you want to bring about, can help prevent single-minded solutions and unintended consequences that harm biodiversity and ecosystem function in the long run.
Bamboo under Spring Rain by Xia Chang (Image from Wikimedia Commons)
Strength in symbolism
Given its history of cultivation that dates back around 6000 years, it is unsurprising that Bamboo holds deep symbolic significance in cultures around the world. In China, it represents various values, including fairness, beauty, virtue, and strength. Its tall, upright growth is associated with integrity and the ability to adapt to challenging circumstances. In India, bamboo is considered a symbol of friendship and enlightenment, embodying qualities of unity and harmony.
One myth with several variants around Asia tells us that humanity emerged from a bamboo stem. If that is the case, then we are coming back to our roots. Let us embrace all this might mean for us — flexibility, fairness, adaptability, strength, and, of course, our interdependence with the biodiverse wonders of this world.
Rooted in admiration,
Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
You’ve never heard of Pando? Neither had I, till Paula Phipps here at Bio4Climate suggested it as a Featured Creature!
Pando is a 108-acre forest of quaking aspens in Utah, thousands of years old, in which all of the trees are genetically identical! These trees are all branches on a shared root system that is thousands of years old, so the whole forest is one single organism!
Known as the “Trembling Giant,” Pando is more than just your average arbor. It’s so unique it has a name. In a sense, Pando “redefines trees,” says Lance Oditt, who directs the nonprofit Friends of Pando (you will see his name on some of the photos in this piece). Pando also has symbolic significance to many people. Former First Lady of California Maria Shriver puts it this way: “Pando means I belong to you, you belong to me, we belong to each other.”
Aerial outline of Pando, with Fish Lake in the foreground. Lance Oditt/Friends of Pando (Wikimedia Commons)
Pando (Latin for “I spread”) is a single clonal organism, i.e., it is one unified plant representing one individual male quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides). This living organism was identified as a single creature because its parts possess identical genes with a unitary massively-interconnected underground root system. This plant is located in the Fremont River Ranger District of the Fishlake National Forest in south-central Utah, United States, around 1 mile (1.6 km) southwest of Fish Lake. Pando occupies 108 acres (43.6 ha) and is estimated to weigh collectively 6,000 tonnes (6,000,000 kg), making it the heaviest known organism on earth.
Its age has been estimated at between 10,000 and 80,000 years, since there is no way to assess it with any precision due to the irrelevance of branch core samples to the age of the whole creature. Its size, weight, and prehistoric age have given it worldwide fame. These trees not only cover 108 acres of national forestland, but weigh a shocking six million kilograms (13 million pounds). This makes Pando the most massive genetically distinct organism. However, the title for the largest organism goes to “the humongous fungus,” a network of dark honey fungus (Armillaria ostoyae) in Oregon that covers an amazing 2,200 acres. I had no idea such single living organisms could exist! I was instantaneously intrigued, and wanted to learn more about this curious entity.
Deer eating Pando shoots. (Lance Oditt/Friends of Pando)
Pando is also in trouble, because older branches (since it is not composed of individual “trees” despite its appearance, but sprouts from one extensive root system) are not being replaced by young shoots to perpetuate the organism. The reason is difficult to determine, between issues of drought, human development, aging, excessive grazing by herbivores (cattle, elk and deer), and fire suppression (as fire benefits aspens). The forest is being studied, and fencing has been put up around most of the area to prevent browsing animals from entering the forest and eating up the young shoots sprouting from this unified root system. Scientists believe that both the ongoing management of this area and uncontrolled foraging by wild and domestic animals have had deeply adverse effects on Pando’s long-term resilience. Overgrazing by deer and elk has become one of the biggest worries. Wolves and cougars once kept the numbers in check of these herbivores, but their herds are now much larger because of the loss of such apex predators. These game species also tend to congregate around Pando as they have learned that they are not in any danger of being hunted in this protected woodland.
An Epic History
Despite its fame today, the Pando tree was not even identified until 1976. The clone was re-examined in 1992 and named Pando, recognized as a single asexual entity based on its morphological characteristics, and described as the world’s largest organism by weight. In 2006 the U.S. Postal Service honored the Pando Clone with a commemorative stamp as one of the “40 Wonders of America.”
Genetic sampling and analysis in 2008 increased the clone’s estimated size from 43.3 to 43.6 hectares. The first complete assessment of Pando’s status was conducted in 2018 with a new understanding of the importance of reducing herbivory by mule deer and elk to protect the future of Pando. These findings were also reinforced with further research in 2019. But Pando is constantly changing its shape and form, moving in any direction the sun and soil conditions create advantages. Any place a branch comes up is a new hub that can send the tree in a new direction. If you visit the tree and see new stems, you are witnessing the tree moving or “spreading” out in that direction.
Botanists Burton Barnes and Jerry Kemperman were the first to identify Pando as a single organism after examining aerial photographs and conducting land delineation (basically, tracking its borders). They revealed their groundbreaking discovery in a 1976 paper.
Today, perhaps the person who knows the most about Pando’s genetics is Karen Mock, a molecular ecologist at Utah State University in Logan. She and three other scientists ground the aspen’s leaves into a fine powder and then extracted DNA from the dried samples. “When we started our research, I was expecting that it wouldn’t be one single clone,” as is the case with other systems, Mock says. “I was wrong. Pando is a ginormous single clone.” They published their findings in a 2008 study. The group also confirmed that this quaking giant is male, creates pollen and constantly regenerates itself by sending new branches up from its root system in a process called “suckering.”
“The original seed started out about the same size as an aphid,” Mock says. “It’s tiny, and to think that it started this one little tree, its roots spreading and sending up suckers to become one vast single clone.” For context, Pando’s current size is about 10-11 times bigger than that!
Their research has forever changed the way that the scientific community approaches Pando and helped raise public awareness of this unique clone growing in southern Utah while providing it additional protection. For example, Friends of Pando has fixed numerous broken fences that were allowing deer access to the tree.
A wintry vista on Monroe Mountain gives us an idea of what the land the Pando Seed sat down in may have looked like (Lance Oditt/Friends of Pando)
Speculating about how Pando started, biologists have woven a rough image of its early origins. They describe Pando as a tree that transcends nearly every concept of trees and natural classifications we have today. Pando is simultaneously the heaviest tree, the largest tree by land mass, and the largest quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides). A masterpiece of botanical imagination, how Pando came to be is even more improbable than the challenge of classifying it. One possibility is that on one of the first warm spring days of the year, thousands of years after the last ice age, a single Aspen seed floating 9,000 feet in the sky came to rest on the southeastern edge of the Fishlake Basin, a land littered with massive volcanic boulders, split apart along an active fault line, carved by glaciers, littered with mineral rich glacial till and shaped by landslides and torrential snow melts that continue to this day.
But what would appear to be a wasteland to the untrained eye made for a perfect home for the Pando seed. This was a prime location along the steep side of a spreading fault zone that provides water drainage to the lake below and a barren landscape with rich soil laid down by glaciers. Therefore this was a place where the light-hungry Pando seed would face no competition for sunlight. Underground, a tumultuous geologic landscape favored Pando’s sideways moving roots system over other native trees that prefer to dig down.
If we were to see the first branch of Pando, we might think nothing of it, not knowing what was in store for this organism with the ability to grow up to 3 feet per year. Those first years, any number of disasters could have destroyed the tree altogether.
In fact, for Pando to exist at all, at least one disaster likely set the tree on a new course that created the tree we know today. As a male tree, Pando only produces pollen so, to advance itself over the land, Pando has to replicate itself by sending up new stems from its root, a process called suckering. Probably at some time during those first 150 years of Pando’s life, something disrupted the growth hormones underground and within its trunk, creating an imbalance so Pando began to sucker. Although there’s no way to tell what that force was, we do know that was the moment Pando started to self-propagate, to spread both across the land and toward us in time. And today, that one tree has become a lattice-work of roots and stems that a rough field estimate indicates would conceivably be able to stretch as far as 12,000 miles or about halfway around the world.
Opinions do seem to vary on different estimates of Pando’s real weight and age. One source said Pando’s collective weight was 13 million pounds, double the estimate stated above, with the root system of these aspens believed to have been born from a single seed at the end of the last major ice age (about 2.6 million years ago). As we cannot measure Pando’s true age, we are left with intelligent guesses. This reminds me of what I often jestfully say might be an academic’s ideal state of mind, to be “unencumbered by facts or information and thus free to theorize”!
While Pando is the largest known aspen clone, other large and old clones exist, so Pando is not totally unique. According to a 2000 OECD report, clonal groups of Populus tremuloides in eastern North America are very common, but generally less than 0.1 hectare in size, while in areas of Utah, groups as large as 80 hectares have been observed. The age of this species is difficult to establish with any precision. In the western United States, some argue that widespread seedling establishment has not occurred since the last glaciation, some 10,000 years ago, but some biologists think these western clones could be as much as 1 million years old.
Pando encompasses 108 acres, weighs nearly 6,000 metric tons, and has over 40,000 stems or trunks, which die individually and are replaced by new stems growing from its roots. The root system is estimated to be several thousand years old with habitat modeling suggesting a maximum age of 14,000 years, but others estimate it as much older than that. Individual aspen stems typically do not live beyond 100–130 years and mature areas within Pando are approaching this limit. Indeed, the worry is that there are so few younger stems surviving that the whole organism is being placed at risk. This is why the scientists are trying to restrict herbivore access to this protected area.
A 72 year aerial photo chronosequence showing forest cover change within the Pando aspenclone. Base images courtesy of USDA Aerial Photography Field Office, Salt Lake City, Utah
This ancient giant, however, has been shrinking since the 1960s or 70s. This timing is no coincidence. As human activity has grown in the western United States, so has our impact on the surrounding ecosystems. The biggest factor behind this shrinking is a lack of “new recruits.” The shoots that form from Pando’s ancient rootstock are not making it to maturity. Instead, they are being eaten while they are still small, soft, and nutritious. Mule deer are the main culprits. Cattle are also allowed to browse in this forest for brief intervals every year, and the combined herbivory has thwarted Pando’s efforts to keep up with old dying trees.
These changes have led to a thinning of the forest. One study used aerial imagery to identify these changes, showing that Pando isn’t regenerating in the way that it should. Researchers assessed 65 plots that had been subjected to varying degrees of human efforts to protect the grove: some plots had been surrounded by a fence, some had been fenced in and regulated through interventions like shrub removal and selective tree cutting, and some were untouched. The team tracked the number of living and dead trees, along with the number of new stems. Researchers also examined animal feces to determine how species that graze in Fishlake National Forest might be impacting Pando’s health.
The problem is that with enough loss of old trees, the grove will lose its ability to regenerate. A dense forest can feed its roots with fuel from photosynthesis, and is able to send up new shoots regularly. But as it loses leaves and their photosynthetic capability, it can start to shrink.
A map showing the extent of Pando as well as recent fencing installations to protect its growth Image courtesy of Paul Rogers and Darren McAvoy, St. George News
As part of this new study, the team analyzed aerial photographs of Pando taken over the past 72 years (see previous image above with photos from 1939 to 2011). These impressions drive home the grove’s dire state. In the late 1930s, the crowns of the trees were touching. But over the past 30 to 40 years, gaps begin to appear within the forest, indicating that new trees aren’t cropping up to replace the ones that have died. And that isn’t great news for the animals and plants that depend on the trees to survive, researcher Paul C. Rogers said in a statement.
Fortunately, all is not lost. There are ways that humans can intervene to give Pando the time it needs to get back on track, among them culling voracious deer and putting up better fencing to keep the animals away from saplings. As Rogers says, “It would be a shame to witness the significant reduction of this iconic forest when reversing this decline is realizable should we demonstrate the will to do so.”
Though it seems easy to blame these changes on deer, the real blame still lies with us humans. Throughout the 20th century, deer populations have been hugely impacted by humans. Human impacts on ecosystems are complex and far-reaching. A major problem is the lack of apex predators in the area; in the early 1900s, humans aggressively hunted animals like wolves, mountain lions and grizzly bears, which helped keep mule deer in check. And much of the fencing that was erected to protect Pando isn’t working: mule deer, it seems, are able to jump over the fences. So we need to monitor all ecosystems to understand how they respond to human activity if we are to minimize damage, and take steps to compensate for the imbalances we create.
The aspen clone is one of the largest living organisms on the planet. (Lance Oditt/Friends of Pando)
Though it is hotly contested by ranchers wanting to protect their cattle, wolf reintroduction is ongoing in the West. Hunting is also regulated by federal and state agencies, which artificially adjust deer populations. The effects of these changes are not always immediately apparent. Forest managers do their best to replicate historical levels and manage new threats.
However, we lack good historical data on herbivory in Pando or many other surrounding areas. Controlling herbivory with more hunting is one remedial option. Reduced cattle grazing in the grove has also been suggested by researchers.
Reproduction and Threats
As mentioned, the asexual reproductive process for this entity is not like that of a regular forest. An individual stem sends out lateral roots that, under the right conditions, send up other erect stems which look just like individual trees. The process is then repeated until a whole stand, of what appear to be individual trees, forms. These collections of multiple stems, called ramets, all together form one, single, genetic individual, usually termed a clone. Thus, although it looks like a woodland of individual trees, with striking white bark and small leaves that flutter in the slightest breeze, they are one entity all linked together underground by a single complex system of roots.
Lance Oditt demonstrates how to use a 360-degree camerafor the Pando Photographic Survey. As of July, Oditt and his team had taken around 7,300 photos (Credit: Tonia Lewis)
A healthy aspen grove can replace dying trees with young saplings. As dying trees clear the canopy, more sunlight makes it to the forest floor, where young shoots can take advantage of the opening to rapidly grow. This keeps the forest eternally young, cycling through trees of all ages, as new clonal stems start growing, but when grazing animals eat the tops off newly forming stems, they die. This is why large portions of Pando have seen very little new growth.
The exception is one area that was fenced off a few decades ago to remove dying trees. This area excluded elk and deer from browsing and thus has experienced a successful regeneration of new clonal stems, with dense growth referred to as the “bamboo garden.”
Some other amazing features of Pando rise from the way aspens grow and develop. In Canada, aspen have earned the nickname “asbestos forests” as they have two unique characteristics that make them more fire tolerant. Aspen store massive quantities of water, allowing them to thwart low and medium intensity fires by simply being less flammable. They also do not create large quantities of flammable volatile oils that can make their conifer cousins so fire prone. Second, their branches reach high rather than spreading densely at the base, allowing them to avoid catching flame from fires that move over the land below.
Living where the growing season is short and winters are harsh, Pando features another advantage over other trees. It contains chlorophyll in its bark which allows it to create energy without leaves during the dark, cold winter months. Although this process is nowhere near as efficient as the energy production of the leaves in summer, this small energy boost allows Pando to get a head start by surging into bloom once temperatures reach 54 degrees for more than 6 days each spring.
However, the older stems in Pando are affected by at least three diseases: sooty bark canker, leaf spot, and conk fungal disease. While plant diseases have thrived in aspen stands for millennia, it is unknown what their ongoing ecosystemic effects might be, given Pando’s lack of new growth and an ever-increasing list of other pressures on the clonal giant, including that of climate change. Pando arose after the last ice age, so has had the benefit of a largely stable climate ever since, but that stability may be changing enough to endanger Pando’s long-term survival.
A scientist can plug in the metadata of a particular tree within the clone and be taken directly to that tree without having to navigate the entire forest virtually. (Intermountain Forest Service, USDA Region 4 Photography (Public domain via Wikimedia Commons)
Insects such as bark beetles and disease such as root rot and cankers attack the overstory trees, weakening and killing them. A lack of regeneration combined with weakening and dying trees, in time, could result in a smaller clone or a complete die-off. So the Forest Service in cooperation with partner organizations are working together to study Pando and address these issues. Over the years, foresters have tested different methods to stimulate the roots to encourage new sprouting. Research plots have been set up in all treated areas to track Pando’s progress, as foresters learn from Pando and adapt to their evolving understanding.
With regard to our changing climate, Pando inhabits an alpine region surrounded by desert, meaning it is no stranger to warm temperatures or drought. But climate change threatens the size and lifespan of the tree, as well as the whole complex ecosystem that it hosts. Aspen stands in other locations have struggled with climate-related pressures, such as reduced water supply and heat spells, all of which make it harder for these trees to form new leaves, which lead to declines in photosynthetic coverage and the continued viability of this amazing organism.
With more competition for ever-dwindling water resources (the nearby Fish Lake is just out of reach of the tree’s root system), with summertime temperatures expected to continue to reach record highs, and with the threat of more intense wildfires, Pando will certainly have to struggle to adjust to these fast-changing conditions while maintaining its full extent and size.
Age Estimates for Pando
Due to the progressive replacement of stems and roots, the overall age of an aspen clone cannot be determined from tree rings. In Pando’s case, ages up to 1 million years have therefore been suggested. An age of 80,000 years is often given for Pando, but this claim has not been verified and is inconsistent with the Forest Service‘s post ice-age estimate. Glaciers have repeatedly formed on the Fish Lake Plateau over the past several hundred thousand years and the Fish Lake valley occupied by Pando was partially filled by ice as recently as the last glacial maximum, about 20,000 to 30,000 years ago. Consequently, ages greater than approximately 16,000 years require Pando to have survived at least the Pinedale glaciation, something that appears unlikely under current genetic estimates of Pando’s age and the likely variation in Pando’s local climate.
Its longevity and remoteness have enabled a whole ecosystem of 68 plant species and many animals to evolve and be supported under its shade. However, this entire ecosystem relies on the aspen remaining healthy and upright. Though Pando is protected by the US National Forest Service and is not in danger of being cut down, it is in danger of disappearing due to several other factors and concerns, as noted above.
Estimates of Pando’s age have also been affected by changes in our understanding of aspen clones in western North America. Earlier sources argued germination and successful establishment of aspen on new sites was rare in the last 10,000 years, implying that Pando’s root system was likely over 10,000 years old. More recent observations, however, have disproved that view, showing seedling establishment of new aspen clones as a regular occurrence, especially on sites exposed to wildfire.
More recent research has documented post-fire quaking aspen seedling establishment following the 1986 and 1988 fires in Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks, respectively, where seedlings were concentrated in kettles and other topographic depressions, seeps, springs, lake margins, and burnt-out riparian zones. A few seedlings were widely scattered throughout the burns. Seedlings surviving past one season occurred almost exclusively on severely burned surfaces. While these findings haven’t led to a conclusive settling of Pando’s age, they do leave us with much to marvel over in this species’ longevity and history.
“Geologic Map of Fishlake Basin in Utah. Inset, an illustration of a Graben shows forces that continue to shape the land today.” (Friends of Pando)
Pando’s Uncertain Future
Pando is resilient; it has already survived rapid environmental changes, especially when European settlers arrived in the area in the 19th century, and after the rise of many intrusive 20th-century recreational activities. It has survived through disease, wildfires, and too much grazing before. Pando also remains the world’s largest single organism enjoying close scientific documentation. Thus, in spite of all these concerns, there is reason for hopefulness as scientists are working to unlock the secrets to Pando’s resilience, while conservation groups and the US Forest Service are working diligently to protect this tree and its associated ecosystem. A new group called the Friends of Pando is also making this tree accessible to virtually everyone through a series of 360˚ video recordings.
If you were able to visit Pando in summertime, you would walk under a series of towering mature stems swaying and “quaking” in the gentle breeze, between some thick new growth in the “bamboo garden,” and even venturing into charming meadows that puncture portions of the otherwise-enclosed center. You would see all sorts of wildflowers and other plants under the dappled shade canopy, along with lots of pollinating insects, birds, foxes, beaver, and deer, all using some part of the rich ecosystem created by Pando. In the summer the green, fluttering leaves symbolize the relief from summer’s heat that you get coming to the basin. In autumn the oranges and yellows of the leaves as they change color give a hint of the fall spectacular that is the Fish Lake Basin. All this can give us a renewed appreciation of how all these plants, animals, and ecosystems are well worth defending. And with respect to Pando, we can work to protect all three.
But attempts to do so have had some surprising consequences that were quite unexpected. When land managers, recognizing the stress that Pando was under from herbivores, fenced off one part of the stand to protect it from browsing, they split the grove into three parts: an unfenced control zone, an area with a fence erected in 2013, and another area that was first fenced in 2014. The 2014 fence was built from older materials to save money. This fence quickly fell into disrepair, such that mule deer could easily get around it until it was repaired in 2019. As a result, though they did not design it this way, managers had effectively created three treatment zones: a control area, a browse-free zone, and an area that experienced some browsing between 2014 and 2019. Unfortunately, these good intentions confused Pando. In 2021, it appeared that Pando was fracturing into three separate forests. With only 16 percent of the fenced area effectively keeping out herbivores, and over half of Pando without fencing, a single organism was effectively cut into 3 separate parts and exposed to varying ecological pressures.
The diverging ecologies of the world’s largest living organism, an aspen stand called Pando. Credit: Infographic Lael Gilbert
Bottom of Form
As Rogers explained, “Barriers appear to be having unintended consequences, potentially sectioning Pando into divergent ecological zones rather than encouraging a single resilient forest.” So not only does the stubborn trend of limited stand replacement persist in Pando, but by applying three treatments to a single organism, we also encouraged it to fracture into three distinct entities. The stumble makes sense; it is hard to understand whether fencing will work unless we compare the treatment to a control group. But the strategy does show our failing to understand Pando as one entity. After all, we would not apply three treatments to a single human. These surprising outcomes fuel vital learning experiences for researchers.
Furthermore, it may be that fencing Pando is not a solution to its regeneration problems. While unfenced areas are rapidly dying off, fencing alone is encouraging single-aged regeneration in a forest that has sustained itself over the centuries by varying growth. While this may not seem critical, aspen and understory growth patterns at odds from the past are already occurring, said Rogers. In Utah and across the West, Pando is iconic, and something of a canary in the coal mine.
As a keystone species, aspen forests support high levels of biodiversity—from chickadees to thimbleberry. As aspen ecosystems flourish or diminish, myriad dependent species follow suit. Long-term failure for new recruitment in aspen systems may have cascading effects on hundreds of species dependent on them.
Additionally, there are aesthetic and philosophical problems with a fencing strategy, said Rogers. “I think that if we try to save the organism with fences alone, we’ll find ourselves trying to create something like a zoo in the wild,” said Rogers. “Although the fencing strategy is well-intentioned, we’ll ultimately need to address the underlying problems of too many browsing deer and cattle on this landscape.”
Pando’s Songs?
“Microphones attached to Pando”. Photo Credit: Jeff Rice
Lance Oditt, Executive Director of Friends of Pando, is always searching for better ways to get his head around a tree this enormous. And he started wondering: “What would happen if we asked a sound conservationist to record the tree? What could a geologist, for example, learn from that, or a wildlife biologist?” So, Oditt invited sound artist Jeff Rice to visit Pando and record the tree.
“I just dove in and started recording everything I could in any way that I could,” says Rice, after making his pilgrimage to the mighty aspen. Rice says his sound recordings aren’t just works of art. “They also are a record of the place in time, the species and the health of the environment,” he says. “You can use these recordings as a baseline as the environment changes.” The wonders of science and curiosity never cease, do they?
In mid-summer, the aspen’s leaves are pretty much at their largest. “And there’s just a really nice shimmering quality to Pando when you walk through it,” says Rice. “It’s like a presence when the wind blows.” So that’s what Rice wanted to capture first — the sound of those bright lime green leaves fluttering in the wind. He then attached little contact microphones to individual leaves and was treated to a unique sound in return. The leaves had “this percussive quality,” he says. “And I knew that all of these vibrating leaves would create a significant amount of vibration within the tree.” Rice then set out to capture that tree-wide vibration in the midst of a thunderstorm. “I was hunkered down and huddling, trying to stay out of the lightning. When those storms come through Pando, they’re pretty big. They’re pretty dramatic.” All that wind blowing through the innumerable leaves offered Rice a sonic opportunity to record the tree.
A hydrophone was placed in contact with the roots of a tree (or “stem”) in the Pando aspen forest in south-central Utah. The sound captures vibrations from beneath the tree that may be emanating from the root system or the soil. The recording was made during a July 2022 thunderstorm and represents perhaps millions of aspen leaves trembling in the wind. It was made by Jeff Rice as part of an artist residency with the non-profit group Friends of Pando. Rice gives special thanks to Lance Oditt for his help in identifying recording locations, including the mysterious “portal to Pando.”
“We found this incredible opening in one of the [stems] that I’ve dubbed the Pando portal,” he says. Into that portal, he lowered a mic until it was touching the massive tangle of roots below. “As soon as the wind would blow and the leaves would start to vibrate,” Rice says, “you would hear this amazing low rumble.” The vibrations, he says, were passing through Pando’s branches and trunks into the ground. “It’s almost like the whole Earth is vibrating,” says Rice. “It just emphasizes the power of all of these trembling leaves, the connectedness, I think, of this as a single organism.” Rice and Oditt presented these recordings at an Acoustical Society of America meeting in Chicago.
“Field Technicians Rebekah Adams and Etta Crowley take vegetation measurement under Pando, the world’s largest living organism. A recent evaluation of the massive aspen stand in south-central Utah found that Pando seems to be taking three disparate ecological paths based on how the different segments are managed.” Credit: Paul Rogers
“This is the song of this ecosystem, this tree,” says Oditt. “So now we know sound is another way we can understand the tree.” In fact, the recordings have given Oditt research ideas, like using sound to map Pando’s labyrinth of roots. But above all, they’re a sonic snapshot of this leviathan at this moment in time. “We have to keep in mind,” says Oditt, “that it’s been changing shape and form for like 9000 years. I call it the David Bowie problem. It’s constantly reinventing itself!” And now, we’ve turned up the volume to hear Pando as the baritone soloist it has always been.
Pando as Teacher and Metaphor
Pando is seen as an inspiring symbol of our connectedness, in many engaging statements found here. I put just a few of them below, to give you the idea of how various people have reacted to Pando and its potential significance.
From The Rev. Ed Bacon, Former Senior Rector, All Saints Church, Pasadena, and Board Member, Pando Populus:
“‘We are already one but we imagine that we are not.’ Thomas Merton said those words just before his accidental death. A few months earlier in 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King in his last Sunday sermon notes that the ‘universe is constructed’ in an interdependent way: my destiny depends on yours. If there is one truth that will see us through whatever threats and chaos lie before us, it is that there will be no future without policies and attitudes based in the kind of Oneness we see in the one-tree Forest, Pando.”
FromJohn B. Cobb, Jr., Member, American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and Board Chair, Pando Populus:
“The one-tree forest we call Pando is a community. The health and well-being of every tree contributes to the whole of the root system and lives from it. But does it make sense today for Pando to be the symbol of what we aspire to in this country, when there are such intense political feelings and competing fears? Yes, it is in just such circumstances that seeking community is most important. If you are in any of the country’s opposing camps, you can begin by formulating the way people in other camps view the world and you. You do not have to agree. But if you understand why so many people feel so disturbed and even threatened by you and your values and beliefs, you have the beginning of community. Even that beginning might save us from the worst.”
From Paul Rogers, Chief Scientist for the Pando Aspen Clone and Director of the Western Aspen Alliance:
“In recent decades resource misuse – comorbid to a warming planet – have left a long-thriving colossus gasping for breath. In Pando, as in human societies, it is easy to forget vital relations between individuals and communities. Impulses are shared as mortality portends rebirth. Vast root networks maintain a single immense colony: e pluribus unum. Pando’s 47,000 stems with enumerable variation remain linked by DNA. Humans, though genetically distinct, are joined by need, desire, and innate dependence on Mother Earth. Pando’s paradox implores us to mutually foster communities and individuals. He is the trembling giant. She is the nurturing spring.”
From Devorah Brous, environmental consultant:
“To foster wholesale systems change, go to the roots. We gather in a sacred grove and branch out to feed shared roots – as descendants of colonizers and the colonized. We break bread as formerly enslaved peoples and enslavers, as immigrants, as indigenous peoples, as refugees. As ranchers and vegans. As scientists and spiritualists. As non-binary changemakers, and established clergy. As creatives, pioneers, and politicians. To study the known and unknown teachings of the trees – we sit still under a canopy of stark differences and harvest the nature of unity. We quest to feed and water a dying tree of life.”
* * * * *
I’ve written such a lengthy piece about Pando because it has so many fascinating and unusual characteristics. Who could ever imagine all the wondrous things that Nature creates? I think Her endless spontaneity in developing biodiverse life-forms is a truly intriguing phenomenon that motivates so many of our ‘Featured Creature’ essays. And exploring them is such an interesting process. We learn new aspects of Nature’s mysteries every time. Perhaps Pando has additional lessons for us as well!
So let us continue to root for this amazingly unified tree named Pando…
Fred
Fred is from Ipswich, MA, where he has spent most of his life. He is an ecological economist with a B.A. from Harvard and a Ph.D. from Stanford, both in economics. Fred is also an avid conservationist and fly fisherman. He enjoys the outdoors, and has written about natural processes and about economic theory. He has 40 years of teaching and research experience, first in academics and then in economic litigation. He also enjoys his seasonal practice as a saltwater fly fishing guide in Ipswich, MA. Fred joined Biodiversity for a Livable Climate in 2016.
A songbird with fearless attitude, the black drongo, or Dicrurus macrocercus, can be found across Southeast Asia. I first encountered this amazing avian when visiting India, where drongos could be seen across the treetops of Delhi and Kolkata. Their variety of calls and distinctive two-pronged tail caught my attention, and the more I learned about these creatures, the more I came to respect their cleverness and adaptability.
Some consider drongos to be a symbol of good fortune. This may be related to their ecological role controlling the population of certain insects that can prove to be major pests in agricultural areas. Whether due to their beauty, their singing talents, or contributions to ecological balance, black drongos’ deserve our respect and high regard.
One of the most amazing characteristics of these songbirds is their brazen behavior. Though they have an average size of about 11 inches (or 28 cm), black drongos don’t shy away from conflict with much bigger neighbors.
During nesting season, when birds of prey pose a threat to drongos’ nests, drongos have been known to band together and fight back. They employ the technique of ‘mobbing’ the predators, gathering in numbers to harass the threat and drive it out of the area. In certain cases, drongos have taken to this behavior year-round, preemptively “cleaning up the neighborhood” before bigger birds have a chance to locate and disrupt their nests.
Naturally, other small birds have come to appreciate this service, and species like bulbuls, orioles, doves, and pigeons tend to nest near drongos to enjoy their protection. One beautiful display of mutualism has been recorded in which a red-vented bulbul fed the chicks of a black drongo. Talk about community building!
As drongos’ forked tails may suggest, these birds are built to be incredibly aerodynamic. They often dart through the air in pursuit of their insect prey, and have been observed on daring escapades through fiery skies, as farmers using seasonal burns on their agricultural fields cause insects in those habitats to flee. The drongos happily browse the feast in these dramatic events, and in general they’re not too picky about how they get their meal.
Black drongos will fly near tree branches to disturb insects and pick them off, or forage for grubs and caterpillars on the ground. They’ll eat cicadas, grasshoppers, ants, wasps, beetles, dragonflies, and more insects, and will even occasionally consume bigger prey like small birds, reptiles, bats, and fish. Living along forest edges, farmland, meadows, wetlands, and fields, black drongos benefit by having a wide diet that can suit their circumstances.
Photo by Maya Dutta
Clever callers
In addition to their flying skills, drongos use their vocal talents to rustle up a good meal. These birds are far from one-note. They have tremendous range in the calls they produce, and have become quite adept in the art of mimicry. Drongos sometimes sound alarms, causing other creatures to flee and abandon their food, leaving it up for grabs.
Fork-tailed drongos (the black drongo’s African cousins) have been observed tricking meerkats in this way, and you can watch their wily ways on BBC Earth:
Black drongos of Asia do the same, imitating the call of the shikra (a small raptor) to scare myna birds away from their meals, and swooping in to enjoy the spoils. Perhaps they aren’t the best neighbors after all…
Drongos’ variety of calls shows just how complex their communication can be. In order to mate, nest, forage, feed, mob, and play, the drongo requires a wide vocabulary, and while its most common sound is a two note ‘tee-hee’, drongos are capable of many more songs and sounds to express themselves. Listen in here:
Drongos demonstrate how using your voice and your talents cleverly can help you adapt to any number of circumstances. On that note, I’ll fly off now!
Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
Which creature is the largest Asian antelope, considered sacred to some and pest to others?
The Nilgai!
Photo by Hemant Goyal from Pexels
This fascinating four-legged friend could be described by a whole host of leading questions, depending on which notable features we want to emphasize. Elizabeth Cary Mungall’s Exotic Animal Field Guide introduced the nilgai with the question “What animal looks like the combination of a horse and a cow with the beard of a turkey and short devil’s horns?”
Personally, I find the nilgai much cuter than that combination might suggest, but it may all be in the eye of the beholder. The name ‘nilgai’ translates to ‘blue cow’, but the nilgai is really most closely related to other antelopes within the bovine family Bovidae. Mature males do indeed have a blue tint to their coat, while calves and mature females remain tawny brown in color.
Photo by Clicker Babu from Unsplash
As their physiology suggests, nilgai are browsers that roam in small herds, with a strong running and climbing ability. I encountered them in the biodiversity parks of New Delhi and Gurgaon, where efforts to rewild the landscape to its original dry deciduous forest make for ideal stomping grounds for the nilgai.
Prolific Browsers
Indigenous to the Indian subcontinent, the nilgai is at home in savanna and thin woodland, and tends to avoid dense forest. Instead, they roam through open woods, where they have room to browse, feeding on grasses and trees alike. They’re considered mixed feeders for that reason, and will adjust their diet according to the landscape. Nilgai are adept eaters, standing on their hind legs to reach trees’ fruits and flowers and relying on their impressive stature (which ranges from 3 to 5 feet, or 1 to 1.5 m, at the shoulder) to get what they need.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Akkida, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34508948)
Like other large herbivores, nilgai play an important role in nutrient cycling and maintaining the ecosystems they’re a part of. In this case, that looks like feeding on shrubs and trees to keep woodlands relatively open, as well as dispersing seeds through their dung. One 1994 study noted the ecological value of the nilgai in ravines lining the Yamuna River, where the nitrogen contained in their fecal matter can make a large difference in soil quality, particularly in hot summer months.
These creatures actually defecate strategically, creating dung piles that are thought to mark territory between dominant males. As a clever evasion tactic, these are often created at crossroads in paths through forest or savanna-scape, so that predators may not be able to trace the nilgai’s next steps so easily.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Bernard Gagnon – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30634949)
Food webs for changing times
The natural predators of the nilgai once included the Bengal tiger and Asiatic lion, as well as leopards, Indian wolves, striped hyena, and dholes (or Indian wild dogs) which sometimes prey on juveniles. However, as deforestation, habitat loss and fragmentation, and development pressures change the face of the subcontinent, the ecological role of the nilgai has become more complicated. While their association with cows, a sacred animal in Hinduism, has widely prevented nilgai from being killed by humans, the relationship between people and nilgai is becoming more contentious.
Where nilgai lack their traditional habitat to browse, they turn to plundering agricultural fields, frustrating the farmers who work so hard to cultivate these crops. Farmers in many Indian states thus consider them pests, and the state of Bihar has now classified them as ‘vermin’ and allowed them to be culled.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Jon Connell – https://www.flickr.com/photos/ciamabue/4570527773/in/photostream/, CC BY 2.0)
There’s no place like… Texas?
Strangely enough, when I got inspired by my nilgai sightings in India and decided to learn more about these Asian antelopes, one of the first search results I encountered involved nilgai populations here in the US. Specifically in Texas, an introduction of nilgai in the 1920 and 30s has spawned a population of feral roamers. Accounts say that nilgai were originally brought to the North King Ranch both for conservation and for exotic game hunting, somewhat distinct priorities that regardless led to the same result, a Texas population that now booms at over 30,000 individuals.
In this locale, nilgai largely graze grasses and crops, as well as scrub and oak forests. Here hunters have no qualms about killing them, but some animal rights groups object, and popular opinion remains divided on whether such treatment is cruelty or, well, fair game.
These days, one concern is that a large nilgai population contributes to the spread of the cattle fever tick. Another concern remains about these grazers acting as ‘pests’ on agricultural land.
Fundamentally there is a question that lies at the heart of the nilgai’s fate, both at home in India and Bangladesh, where natural predators and original habitat have steeply declined, and abroad, where they weren’t a part of the original ecosystem at all: what do you do when an animal’s ecological role is out of balance?
In my view, there are no easy answers, but a familiar pattern we seem to uncover – that healthy ecosystems, where intact, harbor more complexity than we can recreate or give them credit for. Little by little, I hope we can support their conservation and resurgence.
By Maya Dutta
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. She is the Assistant Director of Regenerative Projects at Bio4Climate.
As the movement to restore native biodiversity grows, we are seeing trends like No-Mow May, Leave the Leaves, and pollinator-friendly gardens gain popularity as ways to support the intricate web of biodiversity. Often, part of the campaign for preserving and nurturing these essential soil-plant-insect-animal interactions involves highlighting some of the charismatic creatures who stand to benefit from rewilding efforts. If you are looking for a creature to champion in the work for native biodiversity, look no further than the Luna Moth!
When I was little I used to think the woods were magic. I read Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree and imagined what fantastical creatures I might meet if I got to wander through the forest. For the most part, my adventures were confined to chasing fireflies in New York City parks, but that was enough to convince me I was onto something. Those lucky enough to meet the tree-dwelling luna moth might agree, because these big bright fluttering beauties would fit right into any fantasy setting.
The luna moth, or Actias luna, is a species of giant silk moth endemic to North America. It is known for its distinctive shape, green color, and shockingly long wingspan of up to 7 inches! In discussing the biodiversity we are fighting for by restoring landscapes and rewilding our built environment, the lovely luna moth has come up several times for the sheer wonder it brings people. Like a real-life tinkerbell, this intricate insect inspires us with its beauty and shows how much transformation a single individual can undergo in a lifetime.
While many animals (and particularly insects), can challenge our human perspective of time with their fleeting life spans, the luna moth takes this to new extremes. Not only do adult luna moths live for just a week, but they have a very clear purpose in that time to mate and reproduce. They are so single-minded that they don’t undertake one of the other major activities of the natural world – eating! The luna moth emerges from its cocoon with all the energy needed to carry out its week of mature adult life.
Though it may be brief, the luna moth’s existence, from egg to adult stage, with all the growth and survival that entails, is anything but simple.
Like other moths and butterflies, luna moths undergo a dramatic transformation in their life cycle from their humble beginnings as eggs. After approximately 10 days, they hatch into their larval stage on the underside of the leaves where they were laid. Caterpillar larvae actually undergo several stages of molting in which they grow in size and change in appearance, sporting spots and changing color from a bright green to a darker yellow or orange. They cocoon themselves after several weeks as larvae, entering the pupal stage for 2-3 weeks before finally emerging as the beautiful moths we’ve come to recognize.
With a name derived from the latin word for moon, these nocturnal creatures can be observed during the evening in late Spring or early Summer, depending on the region. While they range from Canada to Florida in areas east of the Great Plains, the timing and duration of their life cycles vary by location and climate. Indeed, Northern populations of luna moths have just one generation per year, while further South in warmer conditions, they’ve been known to have as many as three generations per year.
As caterpillars, luna moth larvae feast on the leaves of the trees they call home. They love several species of broadleaf trees, including walnut, hickory, sumac, and sweet gum. While they can be Very Hungry Caterpillars, voraciously consuming leaves to grow, populations of luna moths tend not to reach a density that starts to harm their host plants. Instead, they are a beautiful feature of the ecosystems of trees that they dwell in, and themselves become food for other species, including birds, bats, and some parasitic flies.
Survival with a flourish
The adult luna moth uses a very special survival strategy to evade bats who are out hunting at night. While their green camouflage might keep them safe from predators relying on eyesight to hunt, they need to try something different to out-maneuver a bat’s echolocation. The long curved tails of the luna moth serve just this purpose. When under pressure from a bat’s pursuit, luna moths spin the frills at the end of their tails, disrupting the vibrations through the air that help the bats navigate and giving moths an essential boost in getting away. These beautiful features offer the moth both form and function.
The luna moth is a stunning example of the creativity, elegance, and transience of the natural world. While a single luna moth may not live very long, their impact persists across generations, inspiring naturalists young and old who are lucky enough to catch a glimpse. These creatures are one of many reasons to keep preserving and planting native trees. When we do, living wonders await.
With that, I’ll flutter off for now! Maya
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. Having grown up in New York City and lived in cities all her life, Maya is interested in creating more natural infrastructure, biodiversity, and access to nature and ecological connection in urban areas.
At Bio4Climate, we LOVE beavers. We’re borderline obsessed with them (or maybe not so borderline) because they do SO much for Earth’s ecosystems, natural cycles, and biodiversity. These furry, water-loving creatures are finally beginning to receive the recognition they deserve in mainstream media now that more people see how their existence and behaviors lead to numerous benefits for everyone’s climate resilience.
We are one of the many organizations advocating for their reintroduction across North America and some places in Europe. For this reason, when I spotted one on a hike during my time in Tennessee, I did what any Bio4Climate team member would do: jump in excitement, yell out “Oh my gosh it’s a BEAVER!” and take a picture that I’ll treasure forever.
Photo by Tania Roa
The rockin’ rodent
Beavers live in family groups of up to eight members. Offspring stay with their parents for up to two years, meanwhile helping with newborns, food gathering, and dam building. To create dams, beavers use their large teeth to cut down trees and lug over branches, rocks, and mud until they successfully slow down the flow of water. These dams include lodges that beavers use as bedrooms and to escape from predators. Dams are designed according to the water’s speed: in steady water, the dam is built straight across, and in rushing water the dam is built with a curve. These engineers build their dams in a way that makes them nearly indestructible against storms, fires, and floods.
Look at those bright orange teeth! The color is thanks to an iron-rich protective coating. Beaver teeth grow continuously, and require gnawing on trees for trimming.
Beaver dams are what make these rodents, the largest ones in North America, so special. When dams alter the flow of water, they create ponds that stretch out a river into a wide wetland. These ponds filter pollutants and store nutrients that then attract a variety of wildlife including fish seeking nurseries, amphibians looking for shelter, and mammals and birds searching for food and water sources.
The abundance of wildlife and the storage of necessary nutrients in beaver ponds classifies these places as biodiversity hotspots, meaning they are “biogeographic regions with significant levels of biodiversity that are threatened by human habitation” (Wikipedia). Beaver ponds also store sediment, and this helps recharge groundwater. Due to the sheer wetness of these ponds, and how deep the water filters into the soil, fires are often extinguished as soon as they reach a beaver pond. In this way, beavers are nature’s firefighters, of which we need many more in areas where extreme heat is increasing.
“There’s a beaver for that” — Ben Goldfarb
Wetland Creation
Biodiversity Support
Water Filtration
Erosion Control
Wildlife Habitat
Flood Management
Drought Resilience
Forest Fire Prevention
Carbon Sequestration
They’re Cool (pun intended)
Beavers are considered ‘ecosystem engineers’ because they actively shift the landscape by fluctuating the flow of water and the placement of plants and trees. Muskrats, minks, and river otters also find refuge in beaver lodges. When beavers take down trees, they create pockets of refuge for insects. Using their constructive talents, beavers significantly modify the region and, in turn, create much-needed habitat for many. Numerous creatures rely on beaver dams for survival, and the local ecosystem dramatically changes when a beaver family is exterminated; for these reasons, we also consider them ‘keystone species.’
Disliked dam builders
Despite the positive impact beavers have on biodiversity and ecosystems, we humans have viewed them as fur, pests, and perfume. By 1900, beavers went nearly extinct across Europe and North America. We hunted them for their fur in response to fashion trends, and trapped them for their anal musk glands, or castors, which produce castoreum, a secretion that beavers use to mark their homes and that humans use to make perfume. When beaver populations plummeted, so did the number of dams and ponds, meaning vast swaths of land were drastically altered during this time – and not for the better. To this day, we kill beavers when they wander into military bases or near urban areas since we see their dam-building behaviors as potentially damaging to man-made properties.
Thankfully, as more ‘Beaver Believers’ speak out against these practices and more authorities recognize the importance of beaver benefits, these rodents are beginning to return to their original homes. California recently passed a program specifically for beaver reintroduction efforts across the state. Washington, Utah, and Massachusetts are other states witnessing the return of beavers. People like Skip Lisle of Beaver Deceivers are designing culverts that prevent beaver dams from damaging infrastructure, but allow the beavers to create their biodiverse-filled ponds. These are just a few examples of the ways we can coexist with beavers, and in turn heal our communities.
There are places in North America where water sources are decreasing for all living things, and in other regions the amount of rainfall is increasing while the amount of snow is decreasing. These weather conditions are detrimental to all of our health, unless we welcome back beavers.
As the effects of climate change and biodiversity loss increase, storing water, preventing runoff and erosion, and protecting biodiverse hotspots become more important by the hour. By restoring local water cycles, beaver ponds provide a source of life. By spreading water channels and creating new ones, beaver dams prevent flooding and stave off wildfires. By encouraging the cycling and storage of nutrients, beaver ponds nurture soil health and that leads to carbon sequestration. We all have something to gain from beavers as long as we allow them to do what they do best: build those dams.
To learn more about beavers, watch the video below and the two in the ‘Sources’ section. We also highly recommend Ben Goldfarb’s Eager: The Surprising Secret Life of Beavers and Why They Matter for further reading.
This year I took two trips – one to Nashville, Tennessee and another to the Northeast, specifically to White Mountain National Forest in New Hampshire (Abenaki Penacook land). Both of these places have more trees than I’m used to in Southern California, so I was instantly amazed by everything that grew throughout these forest wonderlands, especially the turkey tails.
Turkey tails have three scientific names (depending on whom you ask): Trametes versicolor, Coriolus versicolor, and Polyporus versicolor. The common name, turkey tail, derives from the mushroom’s bands that resemble a wild turkey’s tail in color and shape. The ‘versicolor’ in the scientific names refers to the mushroom’s cap and its many colorations, from white, red, orange, to dark brown. This part of the mushroom has a fuzzy texture, almost as if it had tiny hairs all over, and is extremely flexible so you can bend it without breaking it. The ‘trametes’ in one of the scientific names refers to the genus, and the ‘polyporus’ refers to the placement of the pores. Turkey tails are a type of mushroom with pores on their undersides, in contrast to other mushrooms that have gills on their sides.
Polyporous mushrooms tend to grow on dead logs. Turkey tails can be found on fallen trees in nearly every forest worldwide. They grow year-round, but will be extra easy to spot when it’s time to release their spores (in North America, this happens between May and December). You can identify a family of turkey tails by their banding pattern – all the offspring of one individual will sport the same pattern as their ‘parent.’ It’s a fungal fingerprint!
Apart from their colors and tail-like shapes, turkey tails are extra intriguing for their health benefits. They contain numerous properties, including:
Antioxidants, such as phenols and flavonoids, which reduce inflammation and oxidative stress (an imbalance in our systems when we’re unable to detoxify).
Protein-bound polysaccharides (carbohydrates), one being Krestin which promotes immunity to toxins and regulates immune responses. It also activates white blood cells which protect our bodies from harmful bacteria.
Prebiotics, which foster beneficial bacteria. They also regulate our gut microbiome, leading to better digestion and lower cholesterol.
Fiber, found in many mushrooms, which also promotes better digestion.
People who consume turkey tail extract report better athletic performance, less fatigue, and when combined with chemotherapy, increased effectiveness of cancer treatments. By promoting our body’s natural production of beneficial compounds, and counteracting substances that harm us, turkey tails improve overall health when taken as a supplement.
There are some mushrooms you can eat right after foraging, but turkey tails are not one of those. To receive the many benefits from Trametes versicolor, you’ll need some prep work.
Due to the thick and woody structure of turkey tails, they’re extremely difficult to consume and, therefore, essentially inedible. However, when you dry them out and grind them to create a powder, you can reap their benefits in no time. After letting them dry, and cleaning them to ensure no dirt or insects remain, you can grind them up. The resulting powder can be put into capsules to be taken as a pill-based supplement, or you can brew some tea to extract the most beneficial compounds. Other mushrooms require a process that involves alcohol before eating, but not turkey tails!
If you’re feeling creative, you can also add the powder to your everyday meals. Since these mushrooms are relatively plain in flavor, people will add the extract to smoothies, oatmeal, or soup to add taste. The powder can be stored for years as long as it’s in an airtight container and kept in the pantry, away from the heat and sun.
We can thank ancient teachings for these turkey tail tips. Traditional Chinese medicine is the first documented time people practiced the art of extracting beneficial compounds from turkey tails. They originally used the extract to treat lung, liver, and spleen issues.
If you try any of these recipes, let us know your experience (you can email us at staff@bio4climate.org)!
A word of caution: If you do decide to forage, for turkey tails or any other organisms, please do so with consideration for the local ecosystem’s health. Only forage what you need, so as to not exploit natural resources.
It’s also best to forage with others when starting out (and it’s more fun this way!). You could join a local foraging group to gain access to resources regarding ecosystem health and potential contaminants in the area. This way, you can learn how to forage without causing harm to your body, other people, or the landscape.
Tea time, anyone?
Tania Roa
Tania graduated from Tufts University with a Master of Science in Animals and Public Policy. Her academic research projects focused on wildlife conservation efforts, and the impacts that human activities have on wild habitats. As a writer and activist, Tania emphasizes the connections between planet, human, and animal health. She is a co-founder of the podcast Closing the Gap, and works on outreach and communications for Sustainable Harvest International. She loves hiking, snorkeling, and advocating for social justice.
When creatures possess a defense mechanism capable of hurting us (like a sting), we categorize them as ‘dangerous.’ When they look differently than we do, we categorize them as ‘strange,’ and when they get attracted to man-made cities or agricultural fields due to the buffet of food we lay out for them, we categorize them as a ‘nuisance.’ When it comes to wasps, we call them all the above.
Whenever a creature has a negative reputation, people wonder, “Why do we even need them? Can’t we just get rid of them?” It’s a painful reminder of the Ego mindset, the one that sets us above other species. But if we take a moment to learn about other creatures, especially the ones we consider “pests,” we soon move towards an Eco mindset. We begin to realize that all species are important for balancing Earth’s ecosystems, and that each individual brings something unique and irreplaceable to this planet. When we embody the Eco mindset, we no longer see humans as dominant, but as equal participants in nature’s systems.
Wide Range
The term ‘wasps’ includes a variety of species that are generally separated by their behavior (and not all of them are yellow and black – in fact, only about 1% of wasps sport those colors). Social wasps, such as yellowjackets and hornets, live in colonies with hierarchies similar to bees and ants while solitary wasps, such as potter wasps, do not. Social wasps start a new colony every spring. Each colony begins with a queen, and she will raise a few worker wasps to enlarge the nest and bring food. Once the nest is spacious enough, the queen will lay eggs, and by the end of the summer there will be thousands of colony members. Throughout autumn, all wasps will perish except for a few new queens. Over the winter, this new set of royalty will find shelter in a fallen log or an abandoned burrow, and when spring returns they will venture out to create new colonies.
Wasps, unlike honeybees, cannot produce wax. To build nests, most species create a paper-like material out of wood pulp and shape the material into cells perfect for rearing. The manufacturing process involves gathering wood fibers from strips of bark, softening the wood by chewing and mixing it with saliva, and spitting it back out to form the cells. Some species, like Potter Wasps, prefer to design nests from mud.
Theory has it that 2,000 years ago, a Chinese official named Cai Lun invented our modern use of paper after watching wasps build a nest in his garden. So next time you read a book, write a note, or receive one of our letters in the mail, you can thank wasps for their ingenious skills! Although many of us may not enjoy having a wasp nest in or near our home, it’s best to leave them alone when possible. Remember that a colony only lasts for a season, and once the wasps leave you can remove the remaining nest. If you need more convincing for leaving wasp nests intact, keep reading to learn how these creatures contribute to the environment.
Work-oriented
Despite the lack of recognition, wasps contribute to man-made gardens and agricultural fields by eating other ‘pests,’ or insects, that harm crops. Their wide-ranging diet and wide geographical range (they exist on every continent except Antarctica) means they contribute to human food sources worldwide. Wasps eat flies and grasshoppers, and will feed aphids to their growing larvae. Some also eat nectar, making them pollinators. Around the world, many farmers consider them essential for their food-production methods. When it comes to food security, we can thank wasps for looking after our crops.
I recently had my first fig, grown organically without any pesticides or chemical fertilizers, ever. It was delicious, and when I asked the manager of Sarvodaya Farm for another, we began to discuss the important role of wasps in fig reproduction.
Although figs are considered a fruit, they are actually an inverted flower. The fig blooms inside the pod, rather than outside, and so it relies on insect pollination to reproduce. It takes a special pollinator to crawl through a small opening and into the fig’s pod to bring the flower its much-needed pollen. Wasps like to lay their eggs in cavities, so they developed a mutually beneficial (or symbiotic) relationship with fig trees. Wasps get a home protected from predators to raise their young, and figs get to reproduce.
Some species of wasps have developed a similar mutualistic relationship with orchids. The extinction of wasps would not only be detrimental for figs, orchids, and other plants that rely on insect eaters or pollinators, it would also be tragic for the many organisms that eat those plants (which, as a new fig fanatic, now includes me).
My first fig ever, from Sarvodaya Farms, where I learned about the mutually beneficial relationship between figs and wasps
Warriors of disease
In case the invention of paper, crop protection, and pollination were still not enough to impress you, one species of wasp found in Brazil also produces a toxin in its venom that contains cancer-fighting properties. Even the substance that enables some wasps to kill larger prey contains healing properties.
By writing about creatures a lot of people see as ‘pests,’ I hope to do my part in speaking against the way we view and treat other animals. I also hope these stories encourage you to take the time to learn from our non-human neighbors. Cai Lun demonstrated the incredible tools we can design when we look to nature for inspiration, a practice known as biomimicry. The solutions are all around us, but it’s up to us to be still, inquisitive, and open-minded, and to let nature show off her magic.
Wishfully yours,
Tania
Tania graduated from Tufts University with a Master of Science in Animals and Public Policy. Her academic research projects focused on wildlife conservation efforts, and the impacts that human activities have on wild habitats. As a writer and activist, Tania emphasizes the connections between planet, human, and animal health. She is a co-founder of the podcast Closing the Gap, and works on outreach and communications for Sustainable Harvest International. She loves hiking, snorkeling, and advocating for social justice.
The Banded Mongoose is a small mammal with a mass of approximately ≤2kg (or 4 lbs) found in (and indigenous to) various parts of Africa. While most other mongoose species live a solitary life, the banded mongoose is gregarious living in groups of approximately 5-40 individuals with at least one breeding male and female. They are named so due to the black stripes across their greyish-brown dorsal area (back) while their ventral area (chest and stomach) is lighter than other parts. This species is commonly known for its ability and behavior to attack, kill, and eat snakes – even venomous ones!
Banded mongooses are mostly found occupying covered areas like savannahs, open forests, and grasslands for vigilance. They sleep and nurture their young in dens such as abandoned termite mounds, buildings, and even under bridges. By possessing short muscular limbs with strong claws, banded mongooses can dig to find food and get creative at creating and modifying their dens. Because they live in large groups as compared with other mongooses, their burrows have many entrances to ensure their escape during an attack and for sufficient ventilation. Despite having such nice dens, they are not sedentary to the specific den but rather frequently move from place to place every few days to avoid and distract their enemies. However, they can return to their favorite den after a certain time. In addition, their body color allows them to blend with several habitats and hence ensures their safety.
Like other animals, banded mongoose adults, especially males, are responsible for the safety of the whole group. Unlike many other animals, all adult members are fully responsible for raising their young who are born synchronously (all matured female members get pregnant and give birth at the same time). Having muscular limbs, banded mongooses can stand by using their hind limbs just like their cousins (meerkats) to ensure the area is safe.
These animals also exhibit altruistic behaviours whereby adults are ready to give up their life for the safety of the group. They were recorded standing and fighting against lions, birds of prey, and other animals, and while doing so other group members evacuated from the area. Additionally, since they are small in size, they move in groups and close to each other so that they may be seen as one large animal. And as they move, the young ones are located in the middle and the adult ones around them.
Diet and behavioral adaptation
The banded mongoose is a meso-carnivore with a diet consisting primarily of invertebrates such as beetles, millipedes, scorpions and others. Nevertheless, they also eat vertebrates such as snakes, rats, amphibians, mice, young birds and eggs. And in the case of plants, they eat wild fruits (if they’re available). Normally, they move together while locating the food area but each member finds and eats its food. In urban areas, they are mostly found around damp areas during their mealtime because there is plenty of food there, and then they rest in the covered areas mostly at noon to avoid the day heat.
On other hand, banded mongooses cope with food problems by using different symbiotic relationships with other animals like birds, warthogs (watch the video below to see this in action), elephants, and others (see more from attached YouTube links in the References). In this way, they become more successful in foraging and thriving in nature. They also use other animals, especially birds, to be alerted of various threats around them.
Though they are social animals, banded mongooses also exhibit inter-group territorial behaviour and their territories are marked with various scents, especially urine. Not only are territories scent-marked but so are group members. This is well seen when new pups are taken out for their first foraging and adults urinate over the young ones. When two different groups meet, they normally fight and the winning group takes over the area that they fought for. However, during the fight, some mature males and females from each group may mate.
Communication
Banded mongooses mainly communicate through sounds and scents. They possess various sound pitches, each with a different meaning and message to other members. They also developed anal and cheek glands which assist in the marking of their territory and young. They have a well-developed sense of smell, which they use to detect food.
Threats
Currently, banded mongooses are not faced with any critical danger and are listed as a“Least Concern” species due to their large population number and distribution in most parts of Africa. But this does not mean they don’t need any concern at all. I found some of them died in road accidents, and for those in urban areas most people used to attack them. Remember, even extinct species were once “Least Concern” and where are they now? Therefore, let’s give attention to every species in the world before their situation becomes worse.
Lesson to humanity
From such a small animal, we may think that there is nothing to gain, but there is a lot to learn from it. Banded mongooses, as said before, are ready to sacrifice their safety and even life just to make sure their groups are safe. This act shows love for others, something which nowadays very few people can do to others regardless of whether the one in need is their relative or not. I also like the way they raise their family. All group members are fully responsible for that, and if people were to do the same, there would be no street children and other problems also could be solved.
This lesson shows how we can learn from banded mongooses, but it is not just this species that we can learn things from. The whole of nature provides us with enough knowledge, materials and services that are essential for our survival. Therefore, let’s love nature and put our individual or organizational efforts into conserving it to ensure its natural existence lasts and more generations to come will continue to gain what we are gaining now.
Though we know lichens as creatures in and of themselves, lichens are actually a result of symbiosis, a mutually beneficial relationship between two or more species. In the lichen’s case, algae and fungi come together to form a new creature. No two lichens are alike. They vary in form, color, and which type of algae they have – either green, blue-green, or both.
The fungus gives the lichen a majority of its traits, including shape and anatomy. The algae determines the color, from orange to yellow to neon green. The fungus partners with the algae out of necessity for food. Since the algae, or cyanobacteria, can photosynthesize, they provide food for the fungus in exchange for shelter. Therefore, each party relies on the other for survival.
From hot deserts and windy coastlines to the arctic tundra, lichen are found around the world. In North America alone, there are thought to be 3600 different species! They grow on trees, rocks, and soil. They can even grow on things made out of one of the above, such as a house made out of wood. If a sand dune remains stable for long enough, soil crusts will form and lichens will begin to appear along the crusts. Essentially, all lichens need is something solid to hang onto.
Lichens require a stable habitat because they take a long time to grow. Every year, they only grow 1-2 mm. To promote their growth cycle, lichens will often partner with moss, adding yet another organism to the party. Mosses are simple plants (meaning they lack roots, stems, and leaves) that retain water, and since lichens have two creatures to sustain (the algae and fungi), this water source is a welcomed one. This partnership is so common that if you look up ‘lichen’ on the internet, a majority of pictures will contain both lichen and moss. They are truly geniuses of cooperation!
The lichen Letharia vulpina at Mt. Gleason, CA (Photo by Jason Hollinger from Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0)
Welcomed by All
At first glance, it may look like lichens harm trees. (After all, if you or I had something bright green or orange growing on our limbs, we should call the doctor). But fear not – lichens don’t harm any plants they attach themselves to. On the contrary, they benefit many other species, such as birds that use lichen as nesting material. Numerous invertebrates see lichen as a source for food and shelter and, as a result, the more lichen in a forest, the more organisms the ecosystem can sustain.
Humans have reaped the benefits of lichen, too. We have used them for clothing, decorations, and food. They are also highly valued for their antibiotic properties. Today, we use them in toothpastes, salves, deodorants, and other products. So you can thank lichens for helping us stay clean and healthy!
Since the algae in lichen photosynthesize, lichens contribute to the important function of converting carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to oxygen. The fungus in lichen contribute to this function, too, by allowing algae to live in places they wouldn’t be able to on their own. By providing a form of shelter, the fungus gives an opportunity for more algae to exist and thrive, and that means we have more creatures sequestering carbon and stabilizing the climate.
Lichens also play a vital role in soil formation and development by helping to break down solid minerals like rock. This process creates pockets in the soil – perfect for larger organisms to thrive in. It also creates pathways for nutrients to sink deep into the Earth, where they will later benefit plants and other creatures. As we like to say at Bio4Climate, healthy soil makes for a healthy planet.
Last but not least, lichens give us an insight on the amount of pollution in their respective area. Lichens absorb everything around them – including air, nutrients, water, and pollutants. Scientists study lichens in order to understand the type of toxins present in the environment and their levels. This information gives us insights on the root causes of disease and environmental degradation. With that knowledge, we can address issues affecting human and wildlife communities – creating a cleaner environment for us all.
That’s all for now, but I hope you’re lichen this series! Tania
Tania graduated from Tufts University with a Master of Science in Animals and Public Policy. Her academic research projects focused on wildlife conservation efforts, and the impacts that human activities have on wild habitats. As a writer and activist, Tania emphasizes the connections between planet, human, and animal health. She is a co-founder of the podcast Closing the Gap, and works on outreach and communications for Sustainable Harvest International. She loves hiking, snorkeling, and advocating for social justice.
Atlas moths live throughout India, China, Indonesia and Malaysia. This wide distribution covers secondary forests, shrublands, tropical areas, and rainforests.
The name “Atlas” likely came from the moth’s vibrant, unique patterns that resemble geological formations shown on a map, or atlas. Another theory behind the name comes from Greek mythology. According to myth, Atlas was a Titan who was ordered by Zeus to hold the sky on his shoulders as punishment for rebelling against the gods. A big task like that requires a big titan, so “Atlas” Moth could refer to the large size of this creature.
The Atlas moth is the largest moth due to its massive wing surface area. Females are larger than males, and they can measure up to 12 in, reaching a surface area of 62 in2 – that’s one huge moth!
The last theory behind the Atlas moth’s name is the Cantonese translation, which means “snake’s head moth,” and that refers to the distinct snake face shape on the tip of the moth’s wings. Can you see it?
The Atlas moth uses this snake head pattern to its advantage. If the moth feels threatened while in a resting position, it will quickly begin flapping its wings to mimic a moving snake head. I’m sure snakes must appreciate the Atlas moth’s methods. After all, mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery.
Sadly, our beloved moth has a short lifespan. After emerging from their cocoons, they live for two weeks. This is just enough time to find a mate and reproduce. Atlas moths are so busy with these two tasks during that time period that they don’t even eat. They depend solely on the energy they stored during their caterpillar, or larva, stage. The moth has so evolved to this fasting lifestyle that it doesn’t even have a mouth!
To get ready for the moth stage, atlas moth caterpillars will devour citrus fruits, cinnamon, guava, evergreen tree leaves and willow. The caterpillars have their own defense system, too. When threatened, they spray a potent, foul-smelling substance that can reach up to 50 cm. So don’t mess with these caterpillars!
People throughout the countries the atlas moth lives in admire this creature. In India, their cocoons are used to create a silk called fagara. In Taiwan, local people collect the cocoons and create a variety of products. Purses are made by simply adding a zipper to nature’s design.
Although local communities have been practicing sustainable cocoon-harvesting practices for some time, throughout recent decades the moth itself has been targeted- to be sold alive as a pet, or dead as a display item. Perhaps we can learn from this moth by showing our admiration through mimicry, rather than taking them out of their natural habitat.
Wishfully yours,
Tania
Tania graduated from Tufts University with a Master of Science in Animals and Public Policy. Her academic research projects focused on wildlife conservation efforts, and the impacts that human activities have on wild habitats. As a writer and activist, Tania emphasizes the connections between planet, human, and animal health. She is a co-founder of the podcast Closing the Gap, and works on outreach and communications for Sustainable Harvest International. She loves hiking, snorkeling, and advocating for social justice.
Poison dart frogs – so named because the Indigenous Emberá people of Colombia traditionally used the venom in blow darts – are some of the most toxic creatures on Earth. Some carry enough poison to kill ten grown men or to poison 20,000 mice.
This potent toxicity originally comes from plant poisons that were ingested by the frogs’ insect prey. The effects of this diet, whose repercussions pass from plant to insect to frog to human hunters, shows just how interconnected these ecosystems are. Though it’s not established how the plant poison is processed into venom, when poison dart frogs are bred in captivity and fed a different diet, they do not develop the venom.
Why are poison dart frogs so colorful?
The poison dart frog uses bright colors and patterns as a warning to predators – do not attack if you wish to live! Various species come in bright yellow, turquoise and black, or strawberry red, and these eye-catching visuals broadcast to predators that they’re venomous and dangerous.
They use poison in self-defense, not in hunting, excreting venom into their skin when they’re threatened, so that a single touch would be enough to stop a human heart. This is such an effective tool that many species have evolved to mimic the bright colors and patterns of poison dart frogs in order to get some of that protection from predators by association.
What are other characteristics of poison dart frogs?
They’re tiny! Grown adult frogs typically measure one to two inches, and can be held on a single fingertip (though you wouldn’t want to try this at home).
Like all frogs, they’re amphibious, which means they lay eggs that hatch tadpoles, and have permeable skin through which they can absorb water and oxygen.
How are human activities impacting poison dart frogs?
Deforestation is one of the biggest threats to the poison dart frog. Poison dart frogs are spread across the rainforests of Central and South America. There are over one hundred species of them, and new ones continue to be found! However, habitat loss across these areas, especially in the Amazon, put them at risk of extinction.
Check out this brief look at the life of one golden dart frog:
These bright creatures may be dangerous, but they are just as dazzling. They show that brilliant things can come in small packages.
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