Hemiptera

True bugs, hoppers, aphids, whiteflies, & scale insects. Largest order of Exopterygota. Fossil record from Lower Permian to Recent. Predominantly plant feeding insects, some predaceous or parasitic.

BugShot 2011 – Lesson 2

/ Ted C. MacRae / 11 Comments

Most of my insect photography is done up close using fast shutter speeds (to prevent motion blur) and small apertures (to maximize depth of field).  This necessitates the use of full flash – the amount of light reaching the camera sensor at f/16 and 1/250 sec is not enough to show any image at all, much less one properly exposed.  Full flash photography has its own set of challenges, but for the most part it can be used to produce excellent closeup photographs of insects, even very small ones.  One thing that has always bothered me about full flash photography, however, is the “black background” effect when photographing an insect sitting up on a plant without something else in the immediate background to reflect light.  Not that I don’t like black backgrounds—they can be used to stunning effect with the right subject.  I just don’t want it to be my only option for insects that I photograph up off the ground. Of course, it is rather a simple matter to place something in the background that is close enough to reflect light but far enough away to remain out of focus, but what I really want to be able to do sometimes is have a blue sky.  I always thought this meant natural light, with its low f stops, slow shutter speeds, and the resulting motion blur and loss of depth of field. 

Of the many things I learned today, how to include a blue sky background in a closeup photograph at f/16 was my favorite.  This is accomplished by bumping up the ISO to 400 (to make the camera sensor more receptive to light) and decreasing the shutter speed to 1/60 sec.  Keeping the f stop high maintains the depth of field, but the increased ISO and decreased shutter speed allows sufficient light from a sky background to register on the sensor.  By themselves, however, these setting will still result in an underexposed subject, which is illuminated instead by fill flash.  Despite the slower shutter speed, there is no motion blur because the “effective” shutter speed for the subject is the duration of the flash pulse rather than the camera shutter speed—it’s like combining two exposure speeds in a single photograph, one for the background and another for the subject.

The following three photographs illustrate this principle—again, they are not technically perfect photos, but rather the result of quick experimentation to understand the principles involved.  Photo 1 is from yesterday’s post and illustrates what my typical settings have always been: ISO 160, f/16, and 1/250 sec.  It’s a decent photo of the treehopper, Acutalis tartarea; however, black is perhaps the least appropriate background to choose for this black species. Until now, it would have been my only option unless I tried arranging foliage in its background.  Photos 2 and 3 are of another individual of this species that I found today (fortunately in similar orientation to the individual photographed yesterday).  In both photos I kept the flash unit set to ETTL (adjusting FEC as appropriate for the shots).  In Photo 2 I bumped up the ISO to 400 but kept the shutter speed fast (1/200 sec)—you can see some effect in that the background is not truly black, having received some light from the blue sky.  It’s not enough, however, because the shutter speed was still too fast.  In Photo 3 the ISO remained at 400 but the shutter speed was also decreased to 1/60 sec.  The shutter staying open that long allows enough light from the sky to register on the sensor and, Voila!, we have a blue sky background that creates nice value contrast with the black subject.  The subject these photos is not terribly sharp, but that is just lack of focus—not motion blur from a slow shutter (sorry, I was just practicing settings rather than going for a perfect shot). All three photos were shot with the Canon 100mm macro lens + 68 mm of extension tube (total magnification ~2X).

''Typical'' insect macro settings: ISO 160, 1/250 sec, f/16

ISO increased to 400 (1/200 sec, f/16)

Shutter speed decreased to 1/60 (ISO 400, f/16)


Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

BugShot 2011 – Lesson 1

/ Ted C. MacRae / 7 Comments

I’m a lucky guy! First, I’m one of the fortunate attending this weekend’s BugShot insect photography workshop. Second, this first-of-a-kind event is being held only 13 miles from my home at Shaw Nature Reserve in Gray Summit, Missouri. Third, I was “adopted” by the BugShot instructors to assist in the event. Who are the instructors? None other than John Abbott from Austin, Texas—an expert on dragonfly biology and insect action photography, Thomas Shahan from Norman, Oklahoma—master of close-up arthropod (especially jumping spider) portraiture, and Alex Wild from Champaign-Urbana, Illinois—ant photographer extraordinaire and author of the most popular insect blog on the net.  In 2009 I picked up a digital SLR camera for the first time ever—in 2011 I am rubbing shoulders, discussing exposure and lighting, and enjoying social time with three of the country’s most accomplished insect macrophotographers (and some other very cool people as well).

I have come a long way, but I still have much to learn.  Intimate understanding of lighting, exposure, and the creative use of flash still eludes me—I can do a few things well, but there is much more I can’t do at all.  Today was my first time experimenting with the effect of lighting direction, i.e. taking the flash heads off their fixed position on the front of the lens and hand-holding them in different positions.  This simple technique can have dramatic effects on the look of a photograph, as illustrated by the following two photographs.  In the first, both flash heads of my Canon MT-24EX twin flash are attached to the front of the lens (as they have been for every single flash photograph I’ve ever taken up to this point).  In the second, only the right flash head remains attached to the lens, while the left head has been detached and is being hand-held directly above the subject (in this case, the treehopper Acutalis tartarea on Solidago sp.).  Technically they are not very good photographs, but they illustrate well the dramatic differences that can be achieved by varying the position of the flash heads.  Among other things, this is a technique that I will be exploring much over the coming weeks.

Both flash heads attached to front of lens.

Right flash head attached to front of lens; left flash head held directly above subject.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

Vinerunt, futuerunt, ierunt

/ jtrager / 8 Comments

Very rough translation: They loved us, then left us. (the cicadas, that is.)¹ 

¹ Guest blogger’s subtext — Maybe if I dazzle the readers with a title in the colorful language of Pompeiian graffiti, they’ll forgive me for not posting pictures as beautiful as Ted’s. Well, anyway…

On this year’s US Independence Day, we in the St. Louis area were able to proclaim our freedom from the 5-week-long din of cicadas, or so the TV “news” reporters would have us believe. For me, it was more of a return to the dominance of human-made noise; the faint drone of a distant highway, the monotone roar of a neighbor’s lawn mower, the repetitively plosive engine of one of the many diesel pickups that float by, with the CD player’s bass thumping at an almost certainly hearing-damaging decibel level.

Magicicada burrows

I started my celebration early in the day, by doing some gardening and rearranging in the yard. Moving a pile of concrete paving stones, I reached the bottom one and lifted it, and was greeted with a view of abandoned nymphal emergence burrows made by just a few of the many thousands of periodical cicadas that graced my yard with their presence this year. The burrows were already showing wear at the edges in their disuse. A little later later in the morning, I heard the whoooooooa-ooh of a last, lone Magicicada tredecim male from the hackberry tree—first one call, then another, then no more. But nature’s course proceeds, and as afternoon drifted into evening, I was pleased to hear the first of the dogday, or annual, cicadas of the genus Tibicen. These are not truly annual; They emerge every year, but actually take several years—4 or 5, it is said—to develop from egg to adult. 

The four Magicicada species that can be found in the St. Louis area, near the western edge of Periodical Cicada Brood XIX (a.k.a. the Great Southern Brood), are famous for their intermittent emergence as adults, every 13 years. (Life spans of 17 years occur in three, more northern species that do not occur in the St. Louis area). In fact, during years to either side of the two emergences of Brood XIX that I’ve experienced since moving to this area 24 years ago, I have always heard, and if really lucky, seen a few, one or two years before and after the “scheduled” emergence. But, the vast majority stick to the plan of feeding on the xylem sap of tree roots as subterranean, tan-colored nymphs for 13 seasons before coming out of the ground, then molting to the ever-so-buggy-looking, winged, black insects with red eyes and wing veins, that “freak everyone out” during their mass emergences. 

The mass emergence is all about reproduction, the successful transmission of genes to the next generation—you know, Darwinian fitness. When a female happens to “like” the song of a particular male, she flies to him, then is courted a for a bit with a different song, before “succumbing to his charms”. Mating typically takes place up in trees. But, being amoral creatures of little brain or scruples, they may choose indelicately to copulate on a porch rail or other such public place. 

Magicicada mating

Magicicada sipping Gentiana andrewsii

Consumed with sex, the adults don’t eat much, but occasionally one sees a cicada poking its proboscis into some soft plant tissue for a drink of sap (clearly exhibiting the relationship of these large insects to those smaller sap-feeders, the aphids and such). A little sap-drinking does little damage to plants, but the insertion of eggs by the mated females into small twigs of woody plants can do quite a bit of “natural pruning”. This would be more of a concern if it happened every year, I suppose, but it really also does little damage in the long run, especially on a mature tree. Still, I would have appreciated it they hadn’t found my recently planted black gum tree such an attractive oviposition site. 

Magicicada damage on Acer saccharum

Magicicada meets Nyssa sapling

But I don’t begrudge them this. I miss their mass serenade. I treasure the remembered sight of a corpulent hairy woodpecker muddying itself to pull one nymph after another from rain saturated ground. I delighted in seeing a surprisingly chubby chipmunk perched fearlessly on an exposed root as it munched a cicada whose wings never properly expanded. Perhaps best of all was watching a red-shouldered hawk clumsily hop about on the lawn to snarf up cicadas that weakly fluttered to the ground. But now, the periodical cicadas are, till May of 2024, mere shells of their former selves. 

To end on a pretty note, here’s a gaudy cicada that was attracted to lights of the scientific station’s laboratory building in Yasuní National Park, Ecuador, and obligingly posed for a photo on the windowsill.

Ecuadorian cicada

Copyright © James Trager 2011

Predator Satiation

/ Ted C. MacRae / 25 Comments

Polistes carolina/perplexus with Magicicada prey | Shaw Nature Reserve, Missouri

I’ve probably used the term predator satiation more often during the past couple of weeks than I have during the entire rest of my life.  Students of ecology know this as an antipredator adaptation in which prey occur at such high population densities that they overwhelm predator populations.¹  This ‘safety in numbers’ strategy reduces the probability that any given individual will be consumed, thereby ensuring that enough individuals survive to reproduce.  With St. Louis currently experiencing the appearance of Brood XIX of periodical cicadas, I’ve gotten lots of questions recently from many coworkers and friends wanting to know more about these cicadas.   Often the first question is “What is their purpose?”  My standard reply begins with a statement that they, like all living organisms, are the products of natural selection, which then presents an opportunity to explain how natural selection might result in such massive, temporally synchronized, multiple-species populations.  A few eyes have glazed over, but I think most have found my answer interesting, often even leading to further questions about where they lay their eggs, what is their life cycle, why are they so loud, how do they “do it” and select mates, etc.  Of course, as an entomologist with a strong natural history orientation, I’m always anxious to introduce people to ecological concepts, and right now the periodical cicada is providing a conspicuous, real-life example of such.

¹ Also called “predator saturation,” although this term might be misconstrued to mean that it is the predators that are over-abundant.

First the eyes...

A few weeks ago, right at the beginning of their emergence in the St. Louis area, my friend Rich Thoma and I observed predator satiation in action.  While hiking one of the trails at Shaw Nature Reserve, we heard the unmistakable shriek and cellophane-sounding wing flapping of a just-captured male cicada.  Tussling on the ground ahead of us was the cicada in the grasp of a Polistes carolina/perplexus wasp, which was repeatedly stinging the hapless cicada on the underside of the abdomen.  The shrieking and wing-flapping grew less frequent as the stinging continued, until at last the cicada lay quiet.  As we approached, the wasp spooked and flew off, but we knew it would be back—we parked ourselves in place while I setup the camera, and before long the wasp returned.  It took several minutes of searching from the air and on the ground before the wasp finally relocated her prey, but once she did she began voraciously devouring it.  As the wasp was searching, we hypothesized that our presence had altered the visual cues she had memorized when flying off, resulting in some confusion when she returned, and thus the long period of time required to relocate her prey.

...then the legs!

We watched for awhile—first the eyes were consumed, then the legs.  As it consumed its prey, Rich remarked that he bet he could pick up the wasp and not get stung—likely the entirety of its venom load had been pumped into the cicada.  Both of us declined to test his hypothesis.  We also wondered if the wasp would butcher the cicada after consuming part of it and bring the remaining pieces back to the nest.  We had seen a European hornet do this once with a band-winged grasshopper, consuming the head, then cutting off the legs from the thorax and flying away with it before returning to collect the abdomen as well.  No butchering took place this time, however, the wasp seemed content to continue eating as much of the cicada as possible—a satiated predator if there ever was one!

Leg after leg is consumed.

One eye and all six legs down, time to start on the abdomen.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

They’re baaaaack… finally!

/ Ted C. MacRae / 21 Comments

For almost a month I waited—waited for that spaceship-sounding drone from the trees; waited for their bodies to drip from the vegetation and their skins to litter the yard; waited for their delightful shrieks every time I jostle a tree branch. I had seen them mass emerging from the ground in southern Missouri in late April, but just 100 miles north in my hometown it seemed they would never show. Cold, rainy springs must not be to their liking, as it was not until the sun finally broke through and temperatures climbed into the 80s that they finally made their appearance in St. Louis—nearly a month after that mass emergence event further south had me looking and listening daily for one of North America’s most spectacular natural history events, Brood XIX of the periodical cicada!

Finally, on May 21 I saw the first adults of the year at Shaw Nature Reserve not too far from my house (not intending to claim this as the date of their first appearance in my area!). They were not yet singing, but the adults were everywhere, many sitting right next to the skins they had just emerged from the previous evening. I had to travel on business through the southeastern U.S. that following week, and it was while visiting the beautiful MSU campus in Starkville, MS that I got my first taste of their late-afternoon synchronized, pulsating song. Upon my return to St. Louis at the end of the week, the eery drone filled the air as soon as I stepped out of the airport. It had been 13 years since I’d heard that sound, but euphoric recall instantly transported me back to 1998 and 1985 and my experiences with these marvels of evolution.

I don’t know that there is anything I can say about the periodical cicada that hasn’t already been said—repeatedly—by the numerous, more erudite sources that are following this event as if it were the approach of Haley’s comet. I don’t even know for sure which species are in my area and how to tell them apart. All I do know is that the constant droning of their singing is both maddening and amazing—a spectacle to behold for what it is, knowing that it will be the year 2024 before I have my next chance to witness it.

As I write this, I’m sitting in my hotel room in Salem, AR, where the cicadas are even more abundant than around my home in the woods—several stops to check building lights for beetles have ended in frustration because the cicadas were so numerous that they virtually swamped the space on the walls under the lights. There do seem to be two species here—a smaller one with a completely dark underside and the raspy, screeching sound that I am familiar with, and a larger one with the abdominal segments light along the posterior margins and a softer trill that almost reminds me of the song of an American toad. Maybe there are other species mixed in that I have not discerned, but I’ll not concern myself with that. Instead, I will continue to marvel at the extraordinary event unfolding before me, watch it as it cycles out, and chuckle at the complaints of the masses bemoaning their temporary inconveniences.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

Stink Bugs on Soybean in Argentina

/ Ted C. MacRae / 17 Comments

Despite the natural history and taxonomic focus on beetles and other insects I have adopted for this blog, I am by day an agricultural research entomologist.  For the past 15 years soybean entomology has been my focus, and there is no better nexus for soybeans and entomology than South America.  Cultivated hectares have increased dramatically in Argentina and Brazil over the past several decades, now totaling nearly 80 million acres in those two countries alone (roughly the same area as in the US, by far the world’s largest producer of soybean).  Unlike the US, however, where insect pressure is minor outside of a small number of acres in the southeast, significant pressure occurs in nearly 100% of South America’s soybean acres.  Lepidopterans, primarily species in the family Noctuidae such as velvetbean caterpillar (Anticarsia gemmatalis) and soybean looper (Pseudoplusia includens), are the most important pests, followed closely by stink bugs.  This latter group is especially problematic for growers to deal with.  Stink bugs feed on the developing seeds, causing direct yield impacts through reductions in weight and quality, and because they are a guild of insects rather than a single species, differences in product efficacy against the different species can lead to ineffective or inconsistent control.  I’m involved in trying to do something about this, and while I hate to be deliberately coy, suffice it to say that there is an awful lot of insecticide being sprayed on an awful lot of acres and that the world really would be better off if this weren’t the case.

During my recent visit to Argentina this past March, I took advantage of the opportunity while touring soybeanland to photograph a number of these stink bug species.  Proper identification of stink bugs in a crop is the first step towards controlling them, thus I present here my own photographic guide to some of the more important stink bug species found on soybean in Argentina.

Nezara viridula (chinche verde), adult | Pergamino, Argentina

Nezara viridula, 5th instar nymph | San Pedro, Argentina

Nezara viridula, 1st instar nymphs on egg mass | Oliveros, Argentina

Piezodorus guildinii (chinche de las leguminosas), adult | Pergamino, Argentina

Piezodorus guildinii, 1st instar nymphs on egg mass | Acevedo, Argentina

Edessa meditabunda (alquiche chico), adult | Acevedo, Argentina

Edessa meditabunda, 1st instar nymphs on egg mass | San Pedro, Argentina

Edessa meditabunda, eggs nearing eclosion (note eye spots) | Oliveros, Argentina

Euschistus heros (chinche marrón), adult | Oliveros, Argentina

Dichelops furcatus (chinche de los cuernos - note two ''horns'' in front), adult | Inés Indart, Argentina

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

Bichos Argentinos #12 – Lace Bugs

/ Ted C. MacRae / 9 Comments

Corythaica cyathicollis on upper leaf surface of Solanum granuloso-leprosum.

Shortly after entering La Reserva Ecológica Costanera Sur (Buenos Aires, Argentina) during my early March visit, I noticed a fairly large patch of solanaceous-looking shrubs.  Even from a distance, I could see patterns of white stippling on the foliage immediately identifiable as signs of lace bugs, true bugs (order Hemiptera) in the family Tingidae.  As the only arborescent solanaceous plant recorded from the reserve, I was quickly able to identify the plant as Solanum granuloso-leprosum (Haene and Aparicio 2007), but I expected an identification of the bug to be much more difficult to come by.  Afterall, 84 species of tingids distributed in 25 genera have been recorded from Argentina (Montemayor and Cascarón 2005), and lace bug photos aren’t very frequently encountered in the variety of web sites that I visit when trying to get a lead on the identity of insects outside my area of expertise.

Corythaica cyathicollis adult. The black spots either represent frass or protective egg coverings.

Still, I had a clue—the association of the species with Solanum. Lace bugs are predominantly specialist feeders, with many species showing fidelity to a particular plant genus or group of related genera. The genus Solanum contains a number of economically important species, thus, it was a good bet that this species has at some point been considered an economic pest. With this in mind, I opened my volume of Heteroptera of Economic Importance (Schaefer and Panizzi 2000) to the chapter on lace bugs (Neal and Schaefer 2000) and began looking through the species accounts for South American species recorded on Solanum or other species in the family Solanaceae. I only had to reach the second species account before finding Corythaica cyathicollis and the statement “This Neotropical species is a pest on many solanaceous crops…” The identification was confirmed when I found a rather complete description of the species’ systematics, biology, and economic importance (Kogan 1960), complete with line drawings of the adults and all immature stages. Comparison of my photos with these drawings leaves little doubt that this is, indeed, C. cyathicollis.  (Interestingly, Montemayor and Cascarón (2005) list 28 species of Solanum as recorded hosts for C. cyathicollis in their Argentina checklist; however, S. granuloso-leprosum is not among them…)

Corythaica cyathicollis late-instar nymphs.

The bristles of needle-like setae exhibited by the nymphs may be useful for species identification by entomologists (and even phylogenetic analyses—see Guilbert 2005), but for the nymphs themselves it seems fairly obvious that they serve some adaptive function for protection. Neal and Schaefer (2000) note that nymphs of many species of Tingidae seem to be protected by a wide variety of other adaptive mechanisms as well, including maternal care, the production of alarm pheromones and possibly the secretion of noxious compounds. Indeed, most tingids occur in multiple aggregations with large numbers of nymphs of the same species on a single host plant relatively free of predation and parasitism—it is difficult to imagine that such aggregations could exist without employing a strong arsenal of multiple defense mechanisms.

A presumably teneral adult Corythaica cyathicollis.

Occasional adults were seen within the aggregations that showed decidedly lighter coloration than the majority of adults seen. The aggregations were comprised primarily of adults and late-instar nymphs, so I presume these light-colored adults represented newly molted, teneral individuals that will eventually assume normal coloration once their new adult exoskeleton fully hardens.

Adult Gargaphia lunulata on lower leaf surface of Ricinus communis.

Later in the day, I encountered a different lace bug species on a different shrub—Ricinus communis.  This is the famous castor oil plant, a member of the Euphorbiaceae, native to the Old World and now widely distributed throughout tropical regions.  Despite castor oil’s reputed ability to heal wounds and cure ailments, the beans and other plant parts also contain ricin—a toxin with known insecticidal properties.  Apparently these lace bugs possess some mechanism that makes them immune from its effects.

Gargaphia lunulata 5th instar nymphs (and an apparent 1st instar in lower left corner).

This species was also fairly easy to identify—one of the species listed in Neal and Schaefer (2000) as feeding on Ricinus is Gargaphia lunulata, which they note feeds on several useful South American plants belonging to a number of families, including the Euphorbiaceae.  Photographs and drawings of this species can be found in Ajmat et al. (2003) and agree well with the adults and nymphs I found on this plant.  Unlike C. cyathicollis, which were found on the adaxial (upper) surface of the leaves, I found G. lunulata exclusively on the abaxial (lower) surfaces.  Nevertheless, the characteristic white stippling was easily visible on the leaves and gave immediate clue to their presence.

Photo Details: Canon 50D w/ MP-E 65mm 1-5X macro lens (ISO 100, 1/200 sec, f/13), Canon MT-24EX flash w/ Sto-Fen + GFPuffer diffusers. Typical post-processing (levels, minor cropping, unsharp mask). Photo 1 taken at 1X, photos 2 through 6 taken at or near 5X.

REFERENCES:

Ajmat, M. V., S. G. Bado, M. A. Coviella and M. J. Pannuzio. 2003. Aspectos morfológicos, biológicos y daño de Gargaphia lunulata (Mayr) 1865 (Heteroptera: Tingidae) sobre Passiflora caerulea L. (Passifloraceae). Boletin Sanidad Vegetal Plagas 29:339–346.

Guilbert, É. 2005. Morphology and evolution of larval outgrowths of Tingidae (Insecta, Heteroptera), with description of new larvae. Zoosystema27(1):95–113.

Haene, E. and G. Aparicio.  2007.  100 Trees of Argentina. Editorial Albatros, Buenos Aires, República Argentina, 128 pp.

Kogan, M.  1960.  Corythaica cyathicollis (Costa, 1864), aspectos sistemáticos, biológicos e econômicos (Hemiptera, Tingidae). Memorias Instituto Oswaldo Cruz 58(1):59–88.

Montemayor, S. and M. del Carmen Coscarón. 2005. List of Argentinian Tingidae Laporte (Heteroptera) with their host plants. Zootaxa 1065:29–50.

Neal, J. W., Jr. and C. W. Schaefer. 2000. Chapter 4. Lace Bugs (Tingidae), pp. 85–137. In:C. W. Schaefer and A. R. Panizzi (Eds.). Heteroptera of Economic Importance, CRC Press LLC, Boca Raton, 828 pp.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011

“They’re baaaaack!”

/ Ted C. MacRae / 24 Comments

The recent run of seemingly interminable rains and HF4 tornadoes may have delayed the Annual-Birthday-First-Bug-Collecting-Trip-of-the-Year™, but it could not cancel it.  On Thursday this week, for the first time since the same time last week, a strange ball of hot gas appeared in the sky, temperatures tickled the 70°F mark, and the only moisture we encountered was already on the ground.  The weatherman said several days ago it would happen, so I put my faith in his word and made plans with my dad to do what I had planned to do last week – officially open the 2011 bug collecting season.  It was a marvelous day in which many interesting stories unfolded, one of which I’ve heard (literally) a few times already.

One of our stops was Sam A. Baker State Park in southeastern Missouri.  My original reason for coming here involved dead wood retrieval (success) and rattlesnakes (failure, though with a consolation prize – more later).  As we were walking the trail in the bottomland forest along Big Creek, I noticed all these holes in ground.  At first I assumed a group of hikers wielding their fashionable trekking poles had gone before us and left their mark in the muddy, recently flooded soil, but the holes were just too numerous and not all perfectly round.  I had just commented to my dad, “What the heck caused all these holes?”, when I saw the culprit – a fully grown periodical cicada nymph crawling on the ground looking for a tree to climb and begin life as one of the noisiest insects on earth.  I looked around and saw another one, and another… they were everywhere!  Boy, are we gonna be in for it this year!

Missouri and several other Midwestern states will be hosting periodical cicada Brood XIX—the Great Southern Brood!  All four of the 13-year species (Magicidada tredecassini, M. tredecula, M. tredecim, and M. neotredecim) participate in this brood, the largest of the 13-year broods by geographical extent, and occur in Missouri in variously overlapping ranges.  Magicicada tredecim and M. neotredecim are the two most common species in the Ozark Highlands across the southern part of the state, so the nymphs shown here likely represent one or both of those species.

I remember well the previous two appearances of brood XIX in Missouri in 1998 and 1985, when beating for buprestids during May and June was an exercise in futility due to every tree branch literally dripping with these bumbling, screeching insects (too bad I never find buprestids dripping from tree branches like this).  Those that didn’t land flapping clumsily on the sheet ended up desperately clinging to my head or flying into my face.  If swatting at these flying bullets wasn’t maddening enough, the ceaseless, droning, omnipresent cacophony of their singing was almost enough to send me to the local psycho ward begging for admittance.

I think I’ll skip trying to use the beating sheet this year.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2011