The Carpenter Bee and Her Mate
Today I witnessed (and was an integral part of) one of the strangest and coolest insect-related events I've been privy to.
My wife and I are trying to get our home fixed up to be put on the market. One of the things we will be doing is repainting our front porch. Unfortunately, our porch is riddled with holes under the edge (that are invisible because of their positions). The holes themselves aren't a major problem, though appraisers certainly take note of them.
You see, the holes are caused by the Eastern Carpenter Bee (Xylocopa virginica). We live in the woods and hundreds of them buzz around me daily. They're actually pretty cute and are quite important pollinators. The trouble comes when woodpeckers, mostly Red-bellied Woodpecker (Melanerpes carolinus), take note of them and destroy the wood to get at the tasty bees and their offspring within the bees' tunnels.
So this morning, after watching a bee exit the hole (I initially thought it was a male but now I know it was a female), I promptly sealed the hole with putty thinking the problem was solved. I felt a little bit bad that all the bee's excavation work had been for nothing - but what could I do? Holes in my house structure are not a good thing.
Two hours passed.
I stepped out onto my porch and saw the bee again. This time however, she was frantically chewing at the wood above the bore tunnel (the entrances are always on the underside of the wood). In fact, she had already dug a hole large enough to stick her head through.
Then I noticed that there was another bee inside the burrow. I could see his little head staring upwards from the new hole (I now know that males have a characteristic white face).
I had sealed in the bee's mate!!
The bee kept sticking her head into the hole, followed by a strange buzzy chatter between the two bees. She kept trying to climb in but she hadn't made the hole big enough yet.
Eastern Carpenter Bee attempting a daring rescue
"Don't worry, Bjorn! I'll get you out!"
You must check out the video.
At this point I thought "Well, I sealed in her man, she thwarted my big-brained attempt at sealing the wood, and it's clear that she desperately wants back in - I might as well help a bee out."
So I grabbed my pliers, shooed her away from the hole, and widened it enough for her to fit through. She immediately went straight inside, after which there was much buzzy rejoicing (at least that's my own anthropomorphic imagining of what all the buzzing meant).
I ripped the hole wider with pliers and in she went.
I didn't really expect a rescue with the both of them exiting into the sunset to find a new home. I fully expected them to resume normal life (though it was still a rescue). In fact, I decided that since I don't really need to seal the hole right now, and since the bee had shown an amazing dedication to her mate (or more likely, her brood), I'd let them get through their rites of spring.
My wife witnessed the whole thing and felt bad for the bee as well, so she was happy to let them keep their home a little while longer.
But as I said, I really don't know much about carpenter bees. So a little research was in order. I found two excellent websites on carpenter bee life cycles and habits: One at Penn State and one at Ohio State. From these sites I learned a few details that made my plan a bit moot.
About the Eastern Carpenter Bee
First of all, unlike social bees such as bumblebees and honeybees, carpenter bees are much less social. A male and female pair up, the female excavates the burrow, and the male hovers around the burrow defending their territory.
The defense of the home is actually quite entertaining to watch. Every few minutes one (or sometimes several) bees will come near the nest. The diligent male immediately locks into a hurtling, writhing ball with the other males while making a loud ruckus, and chases them away.
This explains why I had only seen the one bee actually enter the nest. The female remains mostly inside the nest, though I must have happened to catch them while he was in and she was out.
Second, after the female excavates the entrance, she makes a 90 degree turn and continues the tunnel along the wood grain. After completing her tunnel, she deposits eggs (along with a food ball) one-by-one inside the burrow, sealing each "brood chamber" behind her. The chambers are collectively termed a "gallery."
Unfortunately, much like other insects, cephalopods, and many other animals, the female dies shortly after laying her eggs. So she is a goner no matter what I do.
The eggs that she lays then take about seven weeks to reach adulthood. However, they don't emerge from the burrow until August! They collect pollen and store it inside the galleries, and hibernate inside throughout the winter. In the spring, they emerge again to begin their own life as mating adult bees.
One thing I am certain of is that I can't wait until August to seal the holes - and even if I did I would probably just be dooming the new adults to a cold wintry death. So really, my entire altruistic idea is a moot point. I'm not really sure what I'm gonna do about them now.
Obviously, they are "just" insects. I'm certainly no St. Francis of Assissi1 or Ko Hung2. That being said, I don't generally enjoy killing anything unnecessarily. As I said before, we are surrounded by carpenter bees - our woods provide ample habitat - so I certainly won't be hurting the population.
Most people just shoot pesticides into the nests. I, however, refuse to use pesticides on my property (partly because we are on well water). I guess I could just try to seal it again, though I imagine they will find a way back in (or out).
What do you think I should do?
A couple of other points
Male carpenter bees cannot sting (males are distinguished by a white face - see image below).
Females can sting (but you basically have to handle them before they will).
Carpenter bees at my house buzz me constantly, hover in my face, land on me - but I have never once seen one act aggressive, even if I bat them to get out of my face. They are mainly just curious and very gentle creatures.
Male:
Eastern carpenter bee male showing large eyes, white face and mouthparts (image via Wikipedia)
Footnotes
- "Not to hurt our humble brethren (the animals) is our first duty to them, but to stop there is not enough. We have a higher mission--to be of service to them whenever they require it... If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men." - St. Francis of Assissi
- "Respect the old and cherish the young. Even insects, grass and trees you must not hurt”. T’ai-shang kan-ying p’ien, a Confucian-Taoist treatise. Attributed to Ko Hung"
Circus of the Spineless – The Other 95%
badge made by me for the love of bugs (not just hemipterans - the "true bugs")
Do you love invertebrates as much as I?
If so, make your way now over to the resurrected Circus of the Spineless, a blog carnival devoted to the world of invertebrates, hosted this 35th edition by Kevin Zelnio of The Other 95% and Deep Sea News.
And to my old ecology/zoology professor, Dr. Matt Moran - thank you so much for making me memorize every major order of insects! It came in handy reading this edition of the CotS. I love the organization.
Note: Kevin kindly included my own post on Black Widows around my house (with cool videos).
Don’t Fear the Creatures
Me manly. Throw baby.
I fear nothing.
No, that is not statement of my own masculine machismo, which I generally lack. In fact, if you were to stick a fuzzy kitten or a baby before me, you would find me near-instantly reduced to fawning and cooing like a 5-year old girl. I’m not ashamed of that.
No, what I mean is that, for whatever reason – be it upbringing or genetics – I seem to lack a trait that in my experience 95% of the general public harbors. That trait is an irrational fear of some aspect of the living world.
Here is one example of this. I have talked to literally hundreds of people about this over the course of my thirty years, and without fail, nearly everyone I have ever spoken to reveal some sort of prejudicial bias against some specific branch of the animal kingdom. Usually it either is bugs in general, spiders, or snakes. For others it is raccoons, or opossoms, or rats, or any “pesky” vermin.
Often, instead of verbalizing it as fear, they will say “oh, I hate them,” or “I really don’t like them.” However, it all seems to break down to the same thing: an irrational distaste for entire groups of living creatures.
"I hate you too."
I simply cannot understand it. I mean, yes I understand intense phobias. My wife is a psychologist and I have a firm grasp on the nature of phobias. But the prevalence of this hatred and fear seems to go far beyond a massive case of societal phobia.
Considering that I seem to be alone in this (though in view of the subject of this blog in general, I’m sure many of you readers are like me), it seems to me that the main question I have is not “why do they fear?” but “why do I not fear?”
I was raised as a redneck rat-tailed child in the woods in Northeast Texas and then in the Ozark Mountains of Northwest Arkansas. I grew up surrounded with snakes, spiders, scorpions, and all manner of wildlife. But the rub of it is this: so did everyone else I ever grew up around! So did my parents, my siblings, and my friends. Yet still, all of them have some major irrational bias or another against one or more of these creatures.
So why is it you can throw a timber rattlesnake 3 feet in front of me and I’ll be like “wow! cool!”, whereas most people will scream and cry? My entire property is overrun with Northern Black Widows (see pics and video here), yet I have never had the faintest urge to call an exterminator.
I think at this point I should quickly define fear. If you stuck the same snake within striking distance of my body, you can be damn sure that fight-or-flight would kick in and I’d retreat in haste. I wouldn’t dare handle a black widow. The fight-or-flight is reflex to avoid bodily harm. The rest is rational fear, or more accurately, simple respect. This is not the fear I am talking about. I’m referring to the guttural yuk, eww, or aghhh factor that so many harbor.
So tell me, dear reader, because I honestly would like to understand – why do you fear/hate/dislike whatever part of the animal world you do?
I have thought about this a lot, and my best hypothesis is that, for me, fascination trumps fear, and even kills it. I have had an insanely passionate fascination in all things biology (and science in general) since I was 5 (as far back as I can remember). When I was young, I dissected dead things, I played with insects, and I handled king snakes. Some of my little friends did this, but even then, I remember that I seemed much more interested by those things than my friends did. So is this the simple answer? Maybe, but I’m not so sure.
If so, the question just shifts a degree to “why the hell doesn’t everyone else find the living world as fascinating as I do?”
"Be glad glass is too smooth. Be very very glad."
I had several traumatic animal-related events as a child. When I was 9, a scorpion found its way into my pajamas while I slept. It got wedged against my calf where it stung me 8 times. My dad ran in, ripped my pants down, and stomped the scorpion that fell to the ground, while I screamed bloody murder. Still, I think scorpions are awesome. A giant black rat snake I once handled grabbed my hand and chewed it until the blood flowed (also see my related post on black rat snakes and ignorant rednecks). I’ve been stung by countless hymenoptera (hornets bees, wasps, yellow jackets). I’ve been bitten by spiders. Still, I love them all.
Is my brain simply not wired to make the kind of phobic connections that so many others have? My wife is deathly afraid of cockroaches, yet I’m sure the worst that ever happened was that she got one in her hair. Somehow I doubt that a difference in my own susceptibility to phobias or conditioning is the answer – I can’t imagine I wouldn’t develop PTSD if a truly traumatic event were to occur to me.
Am I more rational? I know that in many cases I’m much more rational than others, though I still have my own irrational quirks. However, my lack of fear also extends to other things – like death. I have thought and thought and I can honestly say there is nothing that I simply fear. There are many things that I’d rather not happen, but none that I chronically fear.
I don’t mean this to come across as arrogant at all. I have many many faults, most of which I can admit. But this seems to be a trait of mine I have observed. Those that know me – tell me if you disagree.
It just doesn’t make any sense to me to dislike, hate, or fear any type of creature. There is nothing logical about it. To me it’s like saying “I don’t like the color green.” What does that even mean? I can understand not wanting to wear green because one finds it less aesthetically pleasing or because it doesn't match one's eyes. But this is fundamentally different from not liking the color itself. I would be scared to tromp through a grizzly den, but I don’t hate or fear grizzlies in general.
Anyway, I’ve rambled enough on this. I would very much like to hear any thoughts any of you have.
Spiders and Insects Around the House
First, for the last two summers my property has been overrun by the Northern Black Widow (Latrodectus variolus). These are distinguishable from the Southern Black Widow (Latrodectus mactans) by the fact that Northern Widows have broken hourglasses on their abdomen, while Southern widows have complete hourglasses. Note the broken hourglass on the female below.
Next up, we have the Yellow Garden Spider (Argiope aurantia), or I used to call them when I was a kid: the "zig-zag spider", for obvious reasons. I love it when I get these around the house. They're just plain cool. I also have an amazing video of the female below spinning her egg case.
These are freaky little creatures: I believe they are Coreidae sp. That's about all I can figure out with a quick look on bug guide.
Menacing Giant Stag Beetle (Lucanus elaphus). These things scare the crap out of my wife.
And finally, an awesome example of obvious Natural Selection: a moth of the Hydriomena genus.
