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About Evan Barrientos

Evan Barrientos is a naturalist and conservationist living in Fort Collins, Colorado. His passion is using photography, videography, and writing to inspire people to explore and care for nature. He works for the National Audubon Society as the communications and marketing manager for Colorado, Wyoming, and Utah.

Hubbard Fellowship Post – Mother Owl

This post was written by Evan Barrientos, one of our Hubbard Fellows.  Evan is a talented writer and photographer and I encourage you to check out his personal blog.

Warning: This post contains images of fluffy, baby animals.

Along the edge of one of our prairies there is a road lined with mature cottonwood trees. Although I appreciate the wide-open prairie environment, I like to take a walk once a week in the shady security of this miniature forest. The rustling leaves are soothing, shade is a novelty, and the trees bring back memories of hiking in New York’s forests. I also happen to see a lot of interesting wildlife behavior when I go here. One morning in July I was jogging down this road when I spotted an Eastern Screech-Owl being mobbed by Baltimore Orioles and American Robins. I sprinted back to my house, grabbed my video equipment, and hurried back before the action was over.

For several minutes I filmed as the orioles and robins viciously pelted the seemingly harmless owl (click here for a previous post I wrote about this behavior). It amazed me that the owl could withstand such harassment so patiently. Despite several painful-looking beak-jabs to the back of the head, the brave little owl outlasted the assault and was finally left in peace. Only then did I realize why she had refused to leave; she had babies to look after!

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In a nearby branch I finally noticed three owl fledglings trying to sleep. In addition, there was a second adult screech-owl who seemed equally intent upon sleeping unnoticed. I don’t know which adult was which gender, but I like to imagine that it was the mother who bravely endured blows from the angry songbirds in order to let her family sleep in peace while the lazy dad took a nap. Either way, I always find it touching when I see animals put such great effort into protecting their young.

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On another subject, all three birds in this post are species that used to be much less common in Nebraska. Before Europeans arrived, trees were hard to come by in central Nebraska. Over the last century, however, trees from the East have spread into the state as people have planted them around their crops for windbreaks and around their homes for shade. With trees leading the way, many forest species from the East, such as Eastern Screech-Owls, have ventured into Nebraska and the Great Plains. The ecological effects of this tree march are more complex than I’ll go into here, but overall they’re detrimental to grassland plant and wildlife populations. Here are just a few examples:

  1. Trees provide perches for aerial predators (such as owls and hawks), which increases predation rates of prairie grouse and mammals.
  2. Tree corridors provide safehavens for woodland nest predators (such as skunks and opossums) as well as brood parasites (i.e. Brown-headed Cowbirds), who venture into the prairies for prey/hosts. Thus, wildlife in small prairies bordered by trees experience abnormally high rates of nest depredation and parasitism.
  3. If uncontrolled, trees form dense canopies that shade out prairie plants, which are adapted to full sun. This makes it harder for prairie fauna that rely on prairie plants for food and shelter to survive. The result is a positive feedback loop: the presence of trees encourages more trees to grow.
Doom on the horizon? The trees bordering this prairie are the same ones that love walking through.

Trouble on the horizon? The trees bordering this prairie are the same ones that I love walking through.

So what’s the takeaway? Our relationship to nature is complicated. Nothing is simply good or evil. On one hand, trees may seem like a existential threat to prairies, but on the other, I value them for their soothing shelter and the species they harbor. I think the key to this dilemma is diversity. Although I appreciate woodlands, I also appreciate prairies. But healthy prairies are so much more scarce in eastern Nebraska than wooded roadsides, and grassland species are generally in decline, while most woodland species are stable or even increasing.* Therefore, I would choose to cut down trees that are encroaching upon prairies. This does not mean that I think all trees in Nebraska are evil and must be destroyed, just that we need to keep them in check in order to maintain a balance between the two habitats.

*To make things even more complicated, while tree invasion is a real problem, cottonwoods are actually failing to reproduce in Nebraska. To germinate, cottonwoods need floods to scour vegetation and deposit sediment. Now that Nebraska’s rivers are regulated by dams, these floods happen much less often. As a result, we’re seeing very few young cottonwoods taking their parents’ place.

Hubbard Fellowship Blog – Mummy Wasp!

The following post was written by Evan Barrientos, of our two Hubbard Fellows for this year.  Evan is a talented writer and photographer, and while you’ll get the chance to see some of his work here during the next year, I also encourage you to check out his personal blog.

How many naturalists does it take to spot a parasitoid? In this case, two. While we were harvesting seeds in a wet prairie, Chris spotted this caterpillar. He noted that it seemed to be mimicking horsetail (Equisteum sp.), a very common wetland plant, for camouflage. That was a really interesting idea, but it turns out be far from the truth, and you’ll soon see why.

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At first it seemed that this caterpillar was mimicking horsetail (Equisteum sp.), but can you spot the real culprit of this caterpillar’s odd appearance?

Upon a closer look, I noticed that the caterpillar was honeycombed with holes. This  caterpillar wasn’t using camouflage; it had been parasitized! Did you know that there are forty to fifty thousand species of wasps so small that they are almost invisible to the naked eye? They are called Braconid wasps, and they have a fascinating life cycle. Nearly all Braconids lay their eggs on or inside another insect (called a host), which are often caterpillars. After the eggs hatch, the wasp larvae eat the host’s insides, pupate (turn into adults) inside the body, and chew their way out as full grown wasps! Insects that do this are called parasitoids. While I was taking photos of the dead caterpillar, Chris made an even better observation: there was one last wasp still emerging from it!!!

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A Braconid wasp emerges from its caterpillar host. Keep reading to learn exactly what species they are.

It was awesome to witness and document a Brachonid wasp in action, but I wanted to go further: I wanted to know what species these two insects were. As a naturalist, I love learning about tiny and obscure organisms like this wasp. It just blows my mind that so much information exists about such unappreciated species if you can only identify them. When you learn a species’s name, it goes from a speck to an encyclopedia. So I posted this photo to Bugguide.net and an incredible entomologist (insect scientist) suggested that this might be a Stigmata Mummy Wasp (Aleiodes stigmator) feeding on a Cattail Caterpillar (Simyra insularis). I did a little more research and found this publication on Aleiodes wasps. I learned that as Aleiodes larva go about eating their host, they line the caterpillar’s insides with a light silk. Eventually, the caterpillar dies and shrivels up, which is why the wasps are called “mummy wasps.” Aleiodes larvae chew a hole through their host and secrete a substance that glues it in place while they finish eating and pupating. Eventually, they chew their way out of the host and emerge as adult wasps.  If this all sounds gross to you, at least consider that mummy wasps and countless other Brachonids are important pest predators. Mummy wasps help keep gypsy moth and tent caterpillars in check, and several species of parasitoid wasps are sold to protect crops ranging from corn to tomatoes.

It turns out that each Aleiodes species makes a unique mummy. I went through the pictures in the publication I was reading and found one mummy that closely resembled my specimen (described as “appearing as though pelted evenly by shotgun pellets”). Sure enough, the guide listed the wasp as Aleiodes stigmator and the caterpillar as Simyra insularis! From there I learned that A. stigmator is the oldest known Aleiodes in North America and was discovered by the first American entomologist, Thomas Say, in 1824. Say thought the wasps’ exit holes looked like stigmata in the hands and feet of Christ, and so named the species “stigmator.” Despite having been discovered long ago, this species has never been carefully studied and many basic facts about it are still unknown.

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When you look at the holes in this caterpillar, do you think of the stigmata on the hands and feet of Christ? I sure didn’t, but the entomologist who discovered this wasp somehow did.

I don’t know what’s more amazing, wasps that eat their way out of caterpillars or people who can identify them from a single photo.  It never ceases to astound me how every living speck of an organism has such an interesting story behind it. This process of stumbling upon mysteries and discovering their secrets is a large part of what drives me to spend so much time exploring nature. There’s just so much coolness out there!