For the Love of Bees

Hive of Activity. Photo credit: Gabe Andrews

Oh How She Glows

In Yellow, She Glows. Photo credit: Gabe Andrews

We want cheap groceries, strawberries in March, and impeccable lawns. We strive for dominion over the web of life, especially our domesticated crops and the pests that threaten them. Bees get caught in the middle of it all. Habitat homogenization and the increased use of pesticides –particularly neonicotinoids – have contributed to the decline of our pollinators, and bees have been hit the hardest. There are practical implications for this loss. We could talk about the $15 billion that honeybees contribute to the U.S. crop economy, or about the food on our fork (of which 1 in 3 bites requires insect pollination) [1]. Undoubtedly, California’s profitable almond industry – a crop entirely reliant on honeybee pollination – would crumble overnight with the complete loss of honeybees. But with the disappearance of these proficient pollinators we risk much more than a painful sting to our economy; we jeopardize our humanity.

Bees offer us creative inspiration. The hive and its workers give us metaphors persistent in everyday language. The brilliant construction of hexagonal honeycomb encourages architectural marvels that promote efficient design (circles, pentagons and octagons leave wasted space; triangles and squares –with their greater relative circumference –lack the storage capacity of hexagons) [3]. The cooperative society inside a hive emboldens us to become better humans. The careful collection of nectar reminds us to slow down and taste the sweetness of a good day. As worker bees gradually transform nectar to honey, they teach us fortitude and patience. Though these lessons are in shorter supply with a decline in apian educators, our individual and collective actions can keep them from disappearing altogether.

Humble Bumble

The Humble Bumble. Photo credit: Gabe Andrews

Many already stand –smoker in hand – ready to save the bees. Hobby beekeeping has gathered momentum, pollinator-friendly gardens are on the rise, and even the federal government has perked its ears. Organic agriculture has grown by 250% since 2002, a sign that consumer decisions have driven the market away from pesticide reliance [4]. All of this comes as welcome news to honeybees, but their step-sisters haven’t received nearly the hype. With all the attention placed on domesticated bees, wild bees continue their downward spiral. In the Northeast alone, close to 25% of bumblebee species (Bombus spp.) have disappeared or declined throughout their range [5]. Hopefully we can target our efforts more broadly to protect all genera of bees.

We know that habitat loss severely influences pollinator decline; our porches and backyards cover once-wild ground, but let’s keep our vision on the present for a minute. Landscaping with native plants is a great way to attract and support your local bees (not to mention reduce your mowing commitment). When the time comes for pruning, the hollow twigs of some goldenrods (Solidago spp.) and coneflowers (Echinacea spp.) make great homes for orchard (Osmia spp.) and small carpenter (Ceratina spp.) bees. Wooden boxes filled with holes serve a similar purpose for larger bees.  Don’t forget to leave pockets of bare soil for ground-nesting bees (Colletes spp.). Minimizing pesticide use could help keep bees from dying, but habitat and food will give bees a chance to live.

Watching and keeping bees is more art than science. With this mindful craft comes patience, awareness, and imagination, but you don’t need a honeybee hive to enjoy such an experience. Yes, bees are essential to the health of our economy, our planet, and the diversity of our dinner plate. A world without almonds and apples would be a shame. But to live without the unwavering brilliance of such humble insects would be a tragedy.

Gabe Andrews is a first-year graduate student in the Field Naturalist Program at UVM. 

[1] Hopwood, J. et al. (2012). Are neonicotinoids killing bees? A review of research into the effects of neonicotinoid insecticides on bees, with recommendations for actionThe Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation.

[2] Williams, G.R. et al., 2015. Neonicotinoid pesticides severely affect honey bee queens. Scientific Reports, 5, p.14621. Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1038/srep14621.

[3] Mathis, C.R. and Tarpy, D.R. (2007). 70 Million years of building thermal envelope experience: building science lessons from the honey bee. Available at: https://www.cals.ncsu.edu

[4] USDA Office of Communications bulletin April 15, 2015

[5] Vermont Center for Ecostudies: Bumble Bees

 

Cryptic Croakers

Northern leopard frog among fallen maple leaves.

Northern leopard frog spot on with a fallen maple leaf

Hiding in plain sight

Hiding in plain sight

Imagine that you are the size of a Reese’s cup and, to many animals, equally delicious. You occupy a precarious position in the food chain; you are a danger to many, and safe from few. You dine on insects, slugs, snails and even the occasional small bird. Predators that hover above include herons, hawks, and waterfowl. Raccoons, foxes and snakes lurk behind stumps on the ground, awaiting your misstep. Water, your true home, swarms with otter, mink and bullfrogs, each hungry for their main course delicacy. How do you, a northern leopard frog (Lithobates pipiens), survive such an onslaught?

Many of us may think that we witness a frog’s primary defense as it jumps away. But this erratic hopping demonstrates a last-ditch effort to stay alive. Before he leaps for his life, stillness keeps him hidden among the leaves; camouflage is his best friend. Numerous amphibians employ camouflage to protect themselves from potential predators, but few excel in this department as well as the northern leopard frog. Under the cloak of camo, this frog gains the opportunity to find dinner without always becoming it.

The waning months of summer in Vermont bring about new dangers for these cryptic croakers, as they venture from the water’s edge into meadows to forage for food. Luckily, hues of green and brown underlie rounded black spots that decorate the skin in a pattern that serves function over fashion. These colors blend in inconspicuously to the fields of forbs, grasses, and goldenrods in a cloak of camouflage. This crypsis is termed background matching.

The use of background matching is not uncommon elsewhere in the animal kingdom. A white-tailed deer fawn (Odocoileus virginianus) resting on the forest floor, an eastern screech owl (Megascops asio) waiting motionless in the hollow of a tree, or a spring peeper (Pseudacris crucifer) hiding amongst the autumn leaves are all able to avoid detection with their special camouflage. Whether feather, fur or frog, these animals are a rare treat if your eye can pick them out of the patchwork.

With the warmer portion of fall still upon us, spend a Saturday in the meadows of the Champlain Valley and try to catch a glimpse of a leopard frog during its feeding forays. Vermont winters hit hard for these amphibians. Soon, they’ll head for the trenches with the northern map turtles (Graptemys geographica). Both of these cold-blooded critters move to well-oxygenated waters to escape the brutal winter winds and hunker down into hibernation. They begin to tuck themselves in by late October to early November, and won’t fully emerge until February or March. By then, it will be time to fatten up, find a mate, and blend into their surroundings once more.

Gabe is a first-year Field Naturalist student at UVM

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