The Beneficial Lady Beetles: Good Luck Bugs or God’s Little Cows

J.B.S. Haldane, one of the founders of population genetics, is credited with saying, “If one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of creation it would appear that God has an inordinate fondness for stars and beetles.”  Like most quotes attributed to famous people, it is probably apocryphal, but the point is valid.  There are a lot of Coleoptera species in the world, not as many as there are stars in the sky, but 1 out of 4 animal species in the world is a beetle of some sort. Many people experience an inordinate queasiness around insects and other arthropods.  There are a few species, however, that rarely elicit distaste.  Of these the Coccinellidae or  Ladybugs (also called Lady Birds and Lady Bird Beetles) are particularly adored.  The most iconic of these are the jewel-like red and black spotted types, of which there are many.  All told there are some 5,000 species of ladybugs around the world, not all of which are red, around 450 in North America, and approximately 175 species in California alone.  All ladybugs share the endearing, rounded shape that their name, Coccinellidae (meaning “little sphere” – Note: some sources suggest that this name means “scarlet”), derives from.  These are primarily solitary little beetles that are found nearly everywhere there are a lot of plants, especially in gardens, fields, grasslands, and shrublands.

Convergent Ladybug (Hippodamia convergens) on manzanita leaf

Convergent Lady Beetle (Hippodamia convergens) on manzanita leaf

The rounded shape that gives ladybugs somewhat of a bumbling appearance is actually highly effective armor to protect them from ants.  “Why do they need protection from ants?” one might ask.  Well, contrary to their appearance, they are fierce and merciless predators, specializing in aphids.  Hungry ladybugs will eat a wide variety of insects, but to reproduce they must eat aphids and eat large quantities of them.  An adult Convergent Lady Beetle (Hippodamia convergens), a common and easily identifiable ladybug found in the Americas from Canada to northern Bolivia, eats 40-75 aphids a day with the larvae eating only slightly fewer.  Aphids have a special relationship with ants. Aphids by themselves are small, defenseless, and relatively harmless, but, as any gardener or farmer knows and fears, they can very quickly reach immense numbers.  Aphids live off of plant sap, sinking their mouthparts into soft plant tissue like miniature vampires.  Plant sap is high in sugars that the aphids excrete in the form of honeydew.  Ants, like many animals, have an affinity for sugar and collect the sweet honeydew from aphids, in some cases treating them not so differently from the way we treat free range cows.  In exchange for honeydew the ants protect the diminutive aphid herds from predators.  Predators such as the voracious and heavily armored ladybug. Farmers and gardeners have a particular fondness for ladybugs as they can potentially save a whole crop from devastation.  The name “Ladybug” or “Lady Beetle” supposedly derives from vast numbers of ladybugs descending on pest infested fields after villagers prayed to the Virgin Mary to protect their crops.  In Germany one of the names was Mary’s Chicken, in Sweden The Virgin Mary’s Golden Hen, in Spain Gods Little Cow, in Turkey they have the name Good Luck Bug, and in Yiddish they are called Moses’s Little Cow.  In Russia seeing a ladybug indicates that a wish will soon be granted or is an indication to make a wish.  Before Christianity took over northern Europe their name was tied with the Norse goddess Frejya rather than with Mary.  Nearly all the names for ladybugs indicate how well respected and loved they are, though there are a few names reflect the burning aspect of the chemical defense they use to deter larger predators. The Convergent Lady Beetle is particularly favored by farmers in the US as a natural pest control method.  Despite their solitary nature one acre of alfalfa suffering from an aphid infestation can support up to 50,000 ladybugs by Dr. Kenneth Hagen’s estimate.  Many farmers take preemptive steps to control aphid infestations by releasing ladybugs in bulk, purchasing buckets containing between 70,000 and 80,000 individuals per gallon.

Convergent Ladybug (Hippodamia convergens) in a hibernation swarm.

Convergent Lady Beetle (Hippodamia convergens) in a hibernation swarm.

If ladybugs are solitary, how does one collect 70,000 of them?  They migrate; I’ve mentioned insect migration before, but this is not the extraordinary long distance flight of dragon flies or monarch butterflies.  This is a short migration up into the hills and mountains where the ladybugs cluster in protected areas and wait for the weather to warm up. Ladybugs do not fly if the temperature drops below 55ºF (13ºC) and the Convergent Lady Beetle spends the cooler months in diapause, an insect analogue to hibernation.  In California, Convergent Lady Beetles living in the Central Valley head up into the Sierras while those closer to the coast find local hollows and protected areas to gather in.  They often show fidelity to specific sites and, in the Sierras, can gather in vast numbers.  Individual sites can have as much as 500 gallons of ladybugs, or more than 37 million individuals.  Collectors scoop these ladybugs up and sell them to agriculturalists around the country. In the coastal portions of California the distances the ladybugs travel to wintering sites is not as great and they do not gather in the same density.

Hippodamia convergens in Redwood Regional Park

Hippodamia convergens in Redwood Regional Park

One place to see Hippodamia convergens gathering is in Redwood Regional Park in Oakland.  There is one spot that they return to, a glade near one of the streams.  They coat the low growing and dead vegetation, branches, and logs in an intermittent film of slowly moving red gems.

Hippodamia convergens on dead vegetation

Hippodamia convergens on dead vegetation

In some spots they clump like globs of foam stuck to old hemlock stalks, in other areas they gather on lichen covered logs.

Hippodamia convergens on log

Hippodamia convergens on log

They are not completely dormant.  If you sit and watch them for a few minutes you will see them slowly mill about.

Hippodamia convergens on twig

Hippodamia convergens on twig

In a few places they form a nearly even coat over branches.

Hippodamia convergens covering a branch

Hippodamia convergens covering a branch

In other spots they cluster between the stalks of old flower-heads.

Hippodamia convergens on flower head

Hippodamia convergens on flower head

Finding these conglomerations of ladybugs is particularly exciting, in part as it is so shocking even when you are expecting it.  We have so few opportunities to see large numbers of wild animals in their natural environment any more that when we do it is particularly impacting, especially if it is of a type of animal we usually see as solitary individuals.  The ladybugs are also very pretty, which is always a bonus. *** Macro photos taken with a 70-300mm lens and kenko macro-tubes at a high ISO due to the late time of day and shade.

Of Woodchucks (and Lawns)

Lawns.  I am not a big fan of them.  I love meadows, or even lightly tended fields.

Summer rain over a Vermont field full of buttercups (Ranunculus spp.)

I prefer to have a yard rather than a lawn, that flat expanse of close trimmed grass we call a lawn has never been all that appealing to me.  A “yard” does not carry the implication of maintenance that a “lawn” implies.  Lawns are an integral part of American life though, and are found even in places completely unsuited to their presence.  In some areas neighborhood associations mandate how your lawn must look, what you can and can’t have on it, and, in extreme cases, what shade of green it must be and how many inches tall it must be.

There are many theories behind why lawns exist, some people claim that it is a relict of animal husbandry, particularly sheep and how a grazed landscape looks.  Others claim that it taps into some deep species memory of living on a savanna, that the flat, open land is visually soothing and  provides a sense of safety and removal from danger and the unknown.  Some claim that lawns are a symbol of our control over nature, our own private, manufactured landscapes.

The most interesting idea I’ve heard for the prevalence of lawns in the US is in Charles C. Mann’s excellent book 1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created.  He suggests that wide, expansive lawns may have been an anti-malaria survival strategy.  A house on a rise on the landscape with cleared land around it would catch the breeze and prevent malaria carrying mosquitoes from getting into the house.  Lawns became embedded in the social consciousness of the emerging United States and spread with the population, as symbolic as the flag or fireworks, though more subtle and having greater practical value.  It is an interesting idea and makes as much, or more, sense as any other idea concerning lawns that I have read.

What bothers me about lawns is that they tend to be uniform monocrops with little three-dimensional texture.  This lack of diversity limits what wildlife visits a lawn, and I, as an ecologist and someone who is always investigating things, love diversity.  My yard here in Vermont is diverse, but my landlord likes a short lawn and cuts it down to an inch or two in height.  Every time he does so all the insects, birds, and mammals flee, taking weeks to return.  I like all those mobile visitors.

Dew covered Funnel-Web or Grass Spider webs (Agelenopsis spp.)

One of the visitors to my lawn is a plump woodchuck (Marmota monax).  It only crosses the road to my lawn when the vegetation reaches 6-8 inches, then it visits nearly every evening and some mornings a well.  This rotund fellow is wary and alert, standing up and peering about at the slightest out of place sound.

Woodchuck (Marmota monax) alert for danger

The name Woodchuck is actually a derivative of a Native American name wuchak, and has nothing to do with either wood or chucking, despite generations of woodchuck chucking wood tongue-twisters.

Woodchucks, also known as Groundhogs, Land-Beavers, and, my favorite, Whistle-Pigs are marmots, large rodents related to ground squirrels.  Most of the marmot family are alpine dwellers, commonly found in high grassy places from Europe to Asia and through North America, but the woodchuck is a lowland species wide-spread in the northeastern and central United States, and through Canada up to Alaska.  Like other marmots woodchucks have a piercing alarm call, a sharp whistle that carries far, sometimes with a bit of a burbling quality to it.

Woodchuck from the rear

Most often a woodchuck will appear as a furry lump on the grass, something like a cross of a loaf of bread, a caterpillar, and a fat otter pretending to be a cat.  Many people have a particular dislike for woodchucks because they eat garden vegetables and ornamental plants.  A good friend of mine has been driven to distraction by one that is eating her hydrangeas.  The one that visits my lawn (but only when it has not been cut for a while) eats the dandelions and fleabane, basically weeding the yard for me.

Woodchuck eating weeds from my yard

During the spring, summer, and fall woodchucks pile on as much fat as they can, much like small bears.  Come winter they retreat to a specially dug winter burrow to hibernate.  Marmots are some of the few animals that enter true hibernation.  They radically slow all their metabolic processes and remain oblivious to the world until mating time, often beginning in February or March, possibly later the further north they live.

Woodchucks have marvelously thick and soft fur, as do other marmots.  I have a hat I bought in western China with a marmot fur ruff that is too warm for me to wear in nearly any weather.  Despite putting on a tremendous amount of fat their flesh is lean, most of the fat is in a subcutaneous layer, just beneath the skin, with the rest stored in the body cavity between the internal organs.

Woodchucks are the most solitary of marmots and are said to be aggressive.  They can be hand raised to be cuddly, but it takes a great deal of effort to overcome their feisty nature.

Surprisingly, woodchucks are reputed to be agile climbers in an emergency, though I have yet to see one scale a tree.  Most often what I see is one popping up to look about:

Wary woodchuck watches for danger

Followed by a rapid retreat if I am not careful, quiet, and slow moving:

Just too dangerous around here…

I like this occasional visitor to my yard, and, given the option, do not mow my lawn as if I do it will not come by to visit.

Mainly because it is silly – if the animation is not working, click the image

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A note:  my posts may become a bit erratic for a few months, I am in the midst of finishing one job, moving (maybe twice), and will hopefully be beginning a new job in a different country.  Eventually this will provide great material for the ongoing exploration of nature, but the route there may be a little irregular and unpredictable.  Bear with it, I will not abandon my writing and photography.