A poem for the new year, accompanied by a short video clip of a sunrise with tundra swans at the Pungo Unit of Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge last week. May we all find peace in the coming year.
The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
It’s never been easier to be a citizen scientist and it’s never been more important to be one.
~David Yarnold, President and CEO, National Audubon Society
Earlier this week, we participated in one of my favorite holiday traditions, the annual Audubon Society Christmas Bird Count at Pettigrew State Park. I helped start this particular count over 30 years ago when I was East District Naturalist for the NC State Parks System. My good friend, and naturalist extraordinaire, Paris Trail, was the count coordinator. The Pettigrew Count is centered on Lake Phelps and the standard 15-mile diameter count circle includes surrounding farmlands and forests as well as a portion of the Pungo Unit of Pocosin Lakes National Wildlife Refuge. It is that latter portion that I have counted in for all these many years. This year, it was officially just Melissa and I, although we did run into some of her museum co-workers and another excellent young birder that helped us with a couple of species we missed seeing (most notably the merlin and American bittern).
Tundra swans are very abundant again this year on the Pungo Unit (click photos to enlarge)Swans on the marsh impoundment on the Pungo Unit
The day began with clouds and warm temperatures, but the skies soon cleared, and we had another of those crazy “Christmas” counts with temperatures soaring to the low 70’s. Tundra swans were the bird of the day and we estimated about 14,000 on the lake, although I am guessing this may be an underestimate based on the tremendous flyovers at sunset.
Tundra swan flyover
Swans were literally everywhere – in the fields, on the lake, in the impoundments, and in the sky. And I must admit, I could watch and listen to them all day. In fact, I did on the day after the count (more on that in a future post).
Eastern box turtle out for stroll on the Christmas Bird Count
The warm temperatures made for some unusual companions for a Christmas Bird Count. There were plenty of aquatic turtles sunning themselves in the canals (which is not really all that unusual on sunny days in winter) plus an Eastern box turtle we helped off the road. There were also several buckeye butterflies, a Carolina anole, and Melissa spotted a very active bee hive high up in a tree.
Bee hive in a knothole
If you look closely, you can see where bears have clawed around the hole trying to get at the tasty treat inside. Not sure what these bees were foraging on, although I did see a few henbit weeds in bloom along the edge of the road.
Snow geese flying out of Pungo Lake
The snow geese continue their pattern of erratic and unpredictable behavior of the past few years, with a much reduced flock splitting up and flying off the refuge in different directions to feed. Perhaps when the remaining corn on refuge lands is knocked down, they will provide a brief display of massive flocks coming into feed as in past years.
A black-and-white warbler was one of our highlights for the day
We managed to spot quite a few species (76 in our portion of the count circle – see our complete list below) with a few that are not regularly seen, including a black-and-white warbler, an orange-crowned warbler, a pair of blue-gray gnatcatchers, and a peregrine falcon chasing a duck.
A trio of sandhill cranes closed out our day
My favorite species of the day came just as the sun was setting. I looked up and saw what I first thought were three great blue herons flying in tight formation. That unusual pattern caused me to take a second look and I could see the outstretched necks that indicated something other than herons – three sandhill cranes! This is the second Christmas count over the years where we have spotted these magnificent birds. A great way to close out another wonderful day spent in our favorite place.
Pair of tundra swans against an orange sky at sunset
December 27, 2016 data – Pungo Unit portion of annual Pettigrew State Park Christmas Bird Count (76 species for our team; 109 species for the total count circle with one team report still out):
To be standing together in a frosty field, looking up into the sky, marveling at birds and reveling in the natural world around us, was a simple miracle. And I wondered why we were so rarely able to appreciate it.
~Lynn Thomson
While visiting Melissa’s family in Richmond, I often take walks around a section of shoreline of Swift Creek Reservoir adjacent to where they live. I am always amazed at the abundance and diversity of birds in a relatively narrow natural shoreline designated as a Resource Protection Area in the Chesapeake Bay watershed. Below are some of the birds spotted on a few walks this week…
Eastern bluebird (click photos to enlarge)
There are at least 15 to 20 bluebirds foraging through the natural area, often returning to a few American holly trees to glean what must be the last few berries. They also spend a lot of time sitting and watching, then dropping down to the ground like small hawks, picking up unseen morsels (maybe some insects moving about in a sunny spot).
Yellow-rumped warbler preening
Numerous small birds move through the woods, often together in a mixed feeding flock. In addition to yellow-rumps, I saw ruby-crowned kinglets, Carolina chickadees, tufted titmice, song sparrows, dark-eyed juncos, and American goldfinches.
Northern flicker female
It was the woodpeckers that really had my attention in one particular patch of woods. There was a downy woodpecker, red-bellied woodpeckers, and several Northern flickers. I watched one female flicker (she lacks the black mustache of a male) repeatedly poking her bill into a small knothole on a tree. Others were doing what flickers often do, hopping around on the ground probing for one of their favorite foods – ants.
Northern flicker – back view
Flickers really are beautiful birds when you get a chance to study their varied plumage. The red heart-shaped patch on the back of the head is particularly pleasing. Many of the small black dots on the breast are also heart-shaped. Perhaps a bird better suited for Valentine’s Day than Christmas.
Red-headed woodpecker adult
The highlight of my walks was the chance to watch several red-headed woodpeckers forage, chatter, and chase one another. I don’t see them often where I live, as they seem to prefer places with lots of standing dead trees in relatively open habitat, like beaver swamps. They are one of noisier woodpeckers, chattering frequently, allowing me to find them easier than many other species. Adult males and females look alike, with bright red heads and a boldly patterned black and white body.
Immature red-headed woodpecker
Juveniles differ in having a brownish or splotchy red/brown head. This one had a small territory amounting to a couple of hundred feet of shoreline containing a narrow strip of trees. It kept going back to one dead snag, so I finally worked my way over to where I could see what it was doing…
Red-headed woodpecker preparing to fly off with acorn
It was digging out acorns that it presumably had stashed in the loose bark of the snag. Red-headed woodpeckers are one of the few species of woodpecker that regularly cache food. It is also considered our most omnivorous woodpecker with a diet that includes seeds and nuts, insects, berries and fruits, birds eggs and nestlings, and even mice.
Double-crested cormorant
The most noticeable birds along the reservoir were the hundreds of double-crested cormorants that flew in and out every afternoon and morning. I stood at the edge of the water and watched them fly by me, turn back into the wind and land, either on the lake, or in the trees on an island a few hundred yards away.
Cormorant roost
The cormorants have used this island as an evening roost for at least the past few years. They make a lot of noise at the roost – various squawks and grunts, plus a lot of splashing and washing in the water near the island. A fleet of ring-billed gulls swam nearby, as well as several species of waterfowl including pied-billed grebes, ruddy ducks, buffleheads, mallards, hooded mergansers, Canada geese, and a few ring-necked ducks.
Ring-necked duck drake
I always enjoy seeing ring-necked ducks with their distinctive ringed bill and bold color pattern (that head can be quite purplish in the right light). Surely, the bearer of one of the least descriptive common names for a bird, the ring-necked duck is known to hunters by the much more reasonable common name of ringbill. There has even been a recent attempt, perhaps tongue in beak, to rename this beautiful duck to more accurately reflect its appearance (see http://www.audubon.org/news/its-time-rename-ring-necked-duck). The actual ring on the neck is a narrow chestnut brown band separating the dark head color from the dark breast feathers in the males only. Not a very useful field mark at all.
All of these birds are all a delight to see on a cold winter morning (especially the two immature bald eagles that sailed by). So, this holiday season, be sure to get outside and give yourself the gift of “…marveling at birds and reveling in the natural world around us”.
Another of Melissa’s poems about birds (and one of the few rhyming ones she has written)…
Follow the Nuthatch by Melissa Dowland
When searching for a bird of prey
On a fall or winter’s day
Never trust the noisy titmice
Only the nuthatch will suffice.
The titmouse is a busy soul
Forever making a dreadful scold.
He flits about the whole day long,
Rarely pausing in singing his song.
The busy wren, he too will cry
So loud, he calls, though small in size.
But he is easily distracted by
The lonely squirrel who wanders nigh.
So would you like to spot a hawk
On your hike or winter walk?
Then heed the nuthatch’s nasal cry.
For when the hawk his eye does spy
Out rolls his nasal, cranky ‘yank’
Heard over hill and down the bank.
The nuthatch is a wise old bird
So listen closely to his words.
“There goes the hawk, warn one and all!
Oh forest, listen to our call!”
So look, oh wanderer, for the source of that sound
Up in the trees and on the ground.
If you’re lucky you might be blessed
If the nuthatch and hawk make you their guest.
I talk to trees and animals. We have interesting conversations about food, weather, and love. They sometimes can predict the future.
~Shan Sa, author
There is perhaps some truth in that sentiment, at least as far as the weather goes. Or so it seems based on the many tales and proverbs about how to predict the future weather based on some natural phenomenon.
Red sky at night near Pocosin Lakes NWR on 1-31-16 (click photos to enlarge)
Most of us have heard the saying, “Red sky at night sailor’s delight, red sky in morning, sailor’s warning”. Well, there does seem to be a scientific basis behind that particular weather lore. In the mid-latitudes, weather systems generally move from west to east. High pressure systems (good weather) tend to produce an atmosphere near the surface that is cloud-free, but that contains a lot of dust and other particles. As low-angle (dawn or dusk) sunlight passes through that type of air, it tends to scatter the longer wavelengths (the red colors) more efficiently, meaning we see reddish colors. If that happens at sunset (looking west toward incoming atmospheric conditions), that generally means a high pressure system is headed our way, bringing good weather. If we see it looking east at sunrise, it means the high pressure has passed and a low pressure system (bringing not-so-good weather) may be approaching. Above is a sunset image from earlier this year, an especially fiery red sky in Eastern North Carolina. I checked the weather history for that location and it was clear the next day, as you might expect from that “red sky at night”.
Ripe persimmon fruit
But what about other, perhaps less scientifically rigorous, folklore? I stumbled on an interesting one this year that I had not heard before – using split open persimmon seeds (Diospyros virginiana) to predict winter weather.
Persimmon seeds in coyote scat at Mason Farm
It all started with a walk at Mason Farm Biological Reserve a few weeks ago. I found some coyote scat containing numerous persimmon seeds. Over the years, I have seen evidence of many species of mammals that seem to really like persimmons (raccoon, opossum, foxes, and beer drinkers at Fullsteam brewery in Durham – their First Frost persimmon beer is quite tasty). It started me wondering about whether, like in some other types of seed, it is beneficial from the plant’s point of view for a critter to ingest the fruit, pass the seeds through its gut, and then deposit them in its scat. It certainly is in terms of seed dispersal, but what about germination success? For certain types of seeds with extremely hard coverings, it helps them germinate if they first pass through the physical abrasion in the crop of a bird, or the acidic intestines of a bird or mammal digestive system. I turned to Google and found a research paper stating that persimmon seeds do have enhanced germination rates when a raccoon eats them, but not-so-much when they are eaten by a coyote. Different degrees of acidity I suppose.
Shapes inside split persimmon seeds (left to right – spoon, spoon, knife, spoon, knife?)
But while looking that up, I also found a link about persimmon seeds and the weather, then another, and then even more. I was surprised how often this popped up as a topic. The lore states that if you split open the seeds from a ripe persimmon fruit (usually they ripen after cold weather starts in late October) you will see different shapes resembling our meal-time utensils – a knife, a fork, or a spoon. I collected a couple of persimmons still hanging on a tree and decided to check it out. First of all, it isn’t easy to split open a persimmon seed…you have to get the gooey (but tasty) pulp off or they are simply too slippery to hold. After finally splitting a few and looking at the shapes, it appears that my seeds contained either spoons or knives. Various references interpret these shapes as having a meaning for the upcoming winter season: a knife signifies the winter will be bitterly cold, with winter winds cutting through you like a knife; a fork means a winter with milder conditions, and snow will likely be light and fluffy; a spoon means cold, wet and heavy snow that requires shoveling. After splitting several seeds, I discovered it isn’t always that easy to tell which utensil is represented. And, unfortunately, there isn’t much data to suggest this type of prediction is particularly reliable anyway. But it is still fun. You also have to remember that before sophisticated computer models of weather patterns, and the other technology we now have at our disposal, people relied on things they could readily observe and interpret to try to predict important natural events like the severity of an upcoming winter.
A spoon inside a persimmon seed supposedly signifies a cold winter with some heavy snow
While searching online, I did find a local (NC) source for some of these predictions, a woman known as the Persimmon Lady (gotta love that moniker). She is all about appreciating persimmons in folklore (and in recipes) and she makes annual predictions (including predictions for the Farmer’s Almanac) on the winter weather based on persimmon seed cutlery. Based on seeds collected in Eastern and Central NC thus far this season, she predicts the following for the winter of 2016-2017:
“Eastern appears to be in for a nice mild winter (indicated by the forks) with a little bit of precipitation towards the end, however, Central is looking at a wet cold and snowy/icy winter (indicated by the knife and spoons)”.
So, there you have it…look what finding some poop on the trail can lead to…let the cold and snow begin!
Natural, ambient sounds give us a picture over time and define place…every landscape has a rhythm to it.
~Dr. Bryan C. Pijanowski
There is, indeed, a rhythm to paddling in a swamp, and the sounds help define it. Putting our canoes in at Gardner Creek a couple of weeks ago, we could hear the sounds of traffic on Hwy 64, the tones of people talking, the harshness of barking dogs and a lawn mower – all human sounds, or perhaps I should call them noises. But as we paddled, those noises started to fade and we soon had a rhythm of the place in our ears – water dripping from our paddles, the twitters of a mixed-species feeding flock moving through the trees, or the kerplunk of a turtle dropping off a log. We even heard the truncated calls of a few Southern leopard frogs, since the air was a bit warmer than the calendar date indicated. But, the true sounds of the swamp on this trip came in feathered form, one during the day, and one day and night (although certainly more forcefully after darkness enveloped our campsites on the platforms). Listen to the two audio segments below (recorded on my phone) and see if you recognize the makers of this music of the swamp (answers are below, play at full volume and don’t cheat)…
The first sound is one heard on several occasions as we paddled the waterways in this region, usually heard several times before we would catch a glimpse of the source, if at all.
This call-maker is one I will always associate with this place, and almost any swamp I have visited. These hunters call day or night, and have an amazing repertoire of vocalizations. This is a variation of their best known call.
Now, here are the sound-makers…
Red-shouldered hawk (click photos to enlarge)
A characteristic daytime call of the swamp is the harsh, Kee-aah, Kee-aah, made by the red-shouldered hawk, Buteo lineatus. The call is accented on the first syllable with a drawn-out second syllable having a downward inflection. It is considered a territorial call in the breeding season, and is also an alarm call. We generally heard it when one of these common swamp hawks took flight as we paddled nearby.
You can see the rusty red patches on the shoulder of this adult bird
Red-shouldered hawks are smaller than red-tailed hawks and tend to favor forested tracts, especially along streams and rivers. They are sit-and-wait hunters, whose diet includes many reptiles, amphibians, small mammals, and invertebrates such as earthworms.
Barred owl surveying for prey from a large wild grape vine perch
The barred owl, Strix varia, is the monarch of the swamp. Their best known call is often described as sounding like “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all”. The call presented here is a variation and is described as an Ascending Hoot. The audio has the back and forth calls of two owls on our first night in the swamp (at the aptly named Barred Owl Roost camping platform). One is right above our campsite, the other maybe 100 feet away in the darkness of the swamp.
Barred owls hunt, and call, day and night
This back and forth calling likely is between a mated pair. We also heard some of their other calls that night, including the Single Hoot (a throaty descending hoot), and the cacophony of sounds that is often described as a Raucous Hoot and Caterwauling. The latter calls can vary from a high-pitched scream to monkey-like sounds, and can carry on for a minute or two. Unfortunately, the owls engaging in the raucous calls that night were too far away to be picked up by the mic on my iPhone.
The soundscape of a wild place is something we often overlook, but it is one of the things that can really make an outdoor experience memorable. I am grateful for these swamps and the opportunities for the unique camping provided by the Roanoke River Partners. And I am thankful for the sounds that seem to stay with you after any time spent in these special habitats. Be sure to listen for the iconic sounds of your favorite places on your next outings.
Here’s another of Melissa’s poems that she read at the recent Poetry with Wings event at the NC Botanical Garden (paired with some of my images from our trips on the Roanoke River) …
Swamp’s Sentinels by Melissa Dowland
In the blackwater swamp The creeks are lined With cypress-sentinels Left whole by the loggers— Because they were too hard to reach? Or perhaps, intentionally left, with great foresight to remind us of what once was? The swollen bases are buttressed and surrounded by their subjects— Knees, barely poking above the dark surface.
These trees have seen decades, centuries— Wild times, when they were left alone They’ve seen the river become a highway They’ve seen bulldozers pavers fishermen and me, in my canoe.
They are not tall— Their crowns flattened by the wind of innumerable hurricanes. Their sprawling branches covered in resurrection fern— they who need no resurrection to live for centuries.
And everywhere— Holes. Cavities. Hollows. Crevices.
Some so large I could crawl inside Some just right for a chickadee, or a prothonotary warbler who brings such song to these solemn swamps!
What lurks inside these hollow Monarchs of the Swamp? Were I to knock, what might I see? The dark fur of the bear who could smell me from a mile away? The sharp face of the screech owl, ready to pull back and hide in a second? The secreted nest of the prothonotary, cloaking her bright yellow in the cavity’s darkness?
Or are these holes Simply the eyes of the trees? Windows into their ancient souls? Tired eyes that have gazed down the years, Longing to be left at peace for yet another hundred years?
…more different species of animals have been recorded at the Reserve than in any other comparably-sized area in the entire Piedmont.
~NC Botanical Garden web site regarding Mason Farm Biological Reserve
It is an idyllic place in an otherwise rapidly developing region of our state…it is Mason Farm Biological Reserve. Mason Farm is about 367 acres of forest, fields, and wetlands that is administered by the North Carolina Botanical Garden as both a natural area and biological field station. Visit the web site to learn about access and the history of the site, as well as details on visitation, current management, and the flora and fauna that call this place home.
Trail at Mason Farm Biological Reserve (click photos to enlarge)
I have been visiting for a number of years and almost always find something interesting to observe in addition to the beautiful setting, nice trail, and peace and quiet. My last visit was no different. A little over a week ago. I went over one afternoon to walk the two mile loop and see what I could see. It was cool and sunny, and for most of the walk, I was alone on the trail.
Boardwalk and benches along the trail
I sat on one of the benches for awhile, enjoying the movement of small birds (including a winter wren) and the call of one of the local barred owls back in the woods. As I continued along the trail, I decided to gently roll a log to see if anybody was home.
Beetle larvae are common under logs in these woods
My first find was a large beetle grub. There was a Bess beetle adult under that same log, so I am guessing that is what this one is (plus, when I examined the photo, it looks like one of the pair of legs is reduced in size, which is a hallmark of the larvae of Bess beetles).
Marbled salamander under a log
The next log had another treasure – a marbled salamander. This is one of the so-called mole salamanders, and they are frequently found in tunnels under logs in forested habitats. This one was about 4 inches in length and is probably a female, based on the silvery gray crossbands (males tend to have bright white crossbands).
Salamanders have such likeable faces
There is something very appealing about the mole salamander group (and, really, salamanders in general). I think it is their large eyes and a mouth that makes them look like they are perpetually smiling. I took a couple of quick photos and gently rolled the log back in place after the salamander disappeared down into a burrow.
This mud salamander was under the same log as two weeks ago
A couple of weeks ago, on another hike at Mason Farm, a group of us had found a mud salamander under a log in this same area. I wondered if it might still be around, so I walked over and rolled the log, and, to my surprise, it was still there.
Mud salamander looking at the camera
Mud salamanders are a species I don’t find very often so I definitely wanted a few pictures. These large reddish salamanders (this one was about 5 inches) have black spots scattered along the colorful body. Their dark eyes help distinguish them from the similar-looking red salamander, which has yellow irises. They feed on worms, small invertebrates, and, occasionally, smaller salamanders. After observing this beautiful creature for a couple of minutes, I rolled the log back, and tucked the salamander up against it so it could crawl back under to safety.
Cope’s gray treefrog showing bright yellow color on inside of hind legs
Satisfied at my two amphibian finds in such a small area, I continued walking. I soon spotted a splash of red against a sea of brown trunks and fallen leaves. It was a Virginia creeper vine on a tree trunk highlighted by the afternoon sun. I walked over for a closer look and as I approached the tree, I saw movement…a Cope’s gray treefrog clambered around the trunk trying to hide.
The perfect perch on an autumn day
I followed it around and as I moved in for another photo, the frog jumped, landing on the red leaves that had brought me over in the first place. Well done!
Last outing before winter?
I grabbed a few more images and left the frog in peace to enjoy the warmth of the sun. This may be the last chance at sunbathing this November amphibian will get for a few months. And I headed home, satisfied by another rewarding afternoon of woods-watching at Mason Farm.
There was a poetry reading yesterday at the North Carolina Botanical Garden in Chapel Hill entitled Poetry with Wings. As part of the Garden’s Saving Our Birds programming initiative this Fall, five local poets were invited to read poems that touch on birds in some way It was a wonderful event with a wide range of poetry and presentation. Melissa was one of the poets and presented ten of her works. From time to time, I will share one of her poems, along with some accompanying photos. Here is one of my favorites from yesterday’s reading…
The View From My Porch
by Melissa Dowland
When did we forget how to be kind to other another?
When did we stop listening
to all but our own voices
and those shouting the same things?
When did we start judging others so closely
that we forgot that we all learn
by making mistakes?
When did we allow fear to become the driving force
behind our decisions
as individuals, and as a culture?
The male woodpecker
just fluffed his black-and-white feathers
and, head down,
drove the female
from her perch.
Then the blue jay swooped in,
loud and raucous
with his threatening hawk-mimic call
and drove even the bossy woodpecker
away.
The wood-pewee sits still on a branch,
watching and waiting.
Then dashes to a flower
and seizes a brilliant yellow
butterfly
that was, a moment ago,
floating on a slow current of air.
With a quick shake and gulp
the butterfly is gone.
Four hummingbirds zip about
in constant motion, wings an emerald blur.
With a clatter, two collide,
then zoom apart, unhurt.
They are so keen on protecting
their spot at the feeder
that none can stop to drink.
A box turtle slowly moves
through the strawberry patch,
her nails shuffling the soil,
the soft leather of her legs and neck
contracting with each movement
her head outstretched,
seemingly unafraid
though the cleft in her shell,
just above the neck,
should give her cause to behave otherwise.
I often write about my deep desire
to step away from my humanity
and connect with the natural rhythms,
to live in tune with the natural world.
But maybe, it is our humanity
that we truly need.
Maybe our humanity allows us
to experience the joy
of watching a box turtle
and see the harsh beauty
in the instinctual behavior of a bird.
Maybe our humanity is what allows us to be kind.
I am looking for acorns these days, to sow on the Walden lot, but can find very few sound ones…I found by trial that the last or apparently sound acorns would always sink in water, while the rotten ones would float, and I have accordingly offered five cents a quart for such as will sink.
~Henry David Thoreau, 1859
In spite of this fact being around for over one hundred years (at least), I found out about it only after I started working at the museum 20+ years ago. But, first, let me explain my introduction to the creature that is often the cause of this phenomenon of the floating acorn. I was preparing a lesson for a class years ago and decided to do something on acorns (it was a very good mast year that year). I collected a batch of acorns from a couple of different oak species and was going to have students observe and sketch them. I placed the nuts in a pan and after a couple of days, I noticed some movement in my acorn stash…small, chubby little grubs. There were a lot of them…what the heck were these things?
Beetle grub from an acorn (click photos to enlarge)
I quickly learned they were the larvae of the acorn weevil, Curculiosp.
Acorn weevil adult
Weevils are one of the largest families of insects, with over 2500 species thought to inhabit North America (that’s over three times as many weevils as there are species of birds that breed on North America).
I photographed this adult, the only one I have ever found, in late August a few years ago
True weevils are generally small beetles (less than 1/4 inch) with a long snout (rostrum) that remind some of the trunk of an elephant. Their antennae are bent in the middle (geniculate) and are located about half-way down the rostrum. The basal portion fits into a groove in their snout when they are feeding. Their mouth parts are located at the tip of that long snout and are used to chew holes in plant material and, in the case of acorn weevils, through the shell of developing acorns. Females do this in summer and create chambers in the nut meat and then lays eggs into them. Eggs hatch in a few days and the larvae begin feeding on the acorn meat. From what I could decipher in various reports, it looks like larvae feed for a couple of weeks before emerging. I have found as many as three of the larvae in one acorn, although studies suggest those sharing an acorn may develop more slowly. The grubs usually emerge within a few days after the acorn drops to the ground.
Acorn weevil larva emerging from a nut
While on our recent camping trip at Grayson Highlands, we were lucky enough to witness one emerging. Melissa looked down and noticed something white on the side of an acorn. When we realized what it was, I ran and grabbed my camera.
Almost out
Luckily, it is not an easy process, so I was able to get back in time to grab a few images as it struggled out. The larva chews a small hole that looks just large enough for its head capsule. It then must squeeze its chubby little body through this tiny hole by means of a series of gyrations and contractions.
Amazing that this grub can fit through so small a hole
The grub finally pulled free and dropped to the ground. It immediately started crawling about, probing into the soil.
Acorn weevil larva digging into soil
I lingered and watched, hoping to see it disappear into the soil. But, it just couldn’t seem to make up its little grub mind as it would crawl, dig, crawl, and dig some more. I finally gave up and left it to its decision-making. I have since watched one dig rapidly into loose soil in a container I placed it in, so this burrowing behavior is likely influenced by soil characteristics. Online resources differ somewhat as to what happens next in the weevil’s life cycle. This may be because there are several species of weevil that lay eggs in the acorns of several different oak species, and they all may have somewhat different life cycle details. The grubs dig down into the ground and create an earthen chamber around them. They overwinter like this, pupate, and emerge the following summer, or, according to some sources, up to three years later. However long it may take this little guy to transform, we feel lucky to have witnessed this brief portion of an amazing creature’s life.
Floaters and sinkers
Now, back to Thoreau’s observations…gather some acorns and drop them in water, and you will find there are, indeed, floaters and sinkers. Turns out there are several things that can cause an acorn to float – a cracked shell, fungi that has spread through the meat of the nut, or one or more species of insects that feed on acorn meat. All probably introduce air pockets into the nut and make it less dense. This also leads to another, albeit not quite as clear, indicator of soundness in acorns. Good ones (the sinkers) bounce when dropped on a hard surface like a floor; those with weevils or other “impurities” (floaters) drop with a thud and hardly bounce at all.
A “good” acorn
“Sound” acorns contain dense white meat when opened.
Open up a floater and you may see thisLarvae usually make a quick get-away when exposed
The “unsound” acorns usually contain some dark areas in their meat (or may be totally dark). The two above show weevil larvae and their feeding tunnels, along with frass and some debris from feeding activity.
In researching for this post, I came across a recent blog on acorn weevils by Charley Eiseman, one of the authors of the excellent reference, Tracks and Signs of Insects and Other Invertebrates. This guy does some great work and he includes a wonderful video clip of a larva chewing its way out of an acorn…guess there is still more acorn watching in my future (and, I hope, in yours).
Roads End Naturalist 