Tag Archives: eastern cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus)

Flogging myself, and other fecund reflections

Induced to blog as often as possible by nothing less mundane than excuses heaped upon excuses slathered atop yet more excuses, I considered more often than not of late the immediate demise of this journal and its offspring.

Instead, like so many times before—but this time with far more fervency than previous considerations, I am committing myself to certain rules that must be adhered to if I am to finish Dreamdarkers, End of the Warm Season, the other novels I wish to write, and all while addressing my relocation away from Dallas to the Piney Woods of East Texas.

xenogere will be first and foremost a less frequent destination, fare being proffered every two or three days at most, more frequently from time to time if circumstances warrant.  This begins immediately.  (Keep in mind that I will be apt to post more often while on call for work since that task makes it impossible to focus on any serious writing efforts.)

With push technology (RSS) now defining the blogosphere and all other corners of Web 2.0, I doubt the change will impact many.

xenogere unseen will continue in the same spirit with which it began: I will post there when I have something to share.  That determination rests entirely on how much time I think is needed to tender something.

Another piece of this is a further reduction in the number of blogs I read.  I hate to leave behind any of them; doing so is necessary though, and will take place.  Basically, this is a subjective endeavor and cannot be defined by any set rules.  What goes will go and what stays will stay.

— — — — — — — — — —

The cicada killer numbers are greatly reduced this year.  I suspect this has much to do with the monsoon season we experienced last year.  So much rain for so many months diminished the number of cicadas, and that in turn reduced the number of wasp offspring buried for this summer’s spell.

They still swarm with great presence, just not as great as so many summers before.  Likewise, the song of cicadas appears drastically lessened now, a sign that the annual species suffered under the constant deluges that besieged our state throughout most of their usual period in 2007.

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on a leaf (20080615_06805)

Climactic decreases notwithstanding, the wasp colony fully stretches around three sides of the house, from the north corner of the garage on the east side to the north corner of the patio on the west side, consuming three full quarters of the perimeter.  I intend to enjoy this marvel of nature as much as possible since I fear I may never wallow in their company again, what with my relocation taking me to places where I have never seen their kind.

— — — — — — — — — —

I don’t feel well again.  Or still.  It doesn’t help that I worked until three this morning and am so tired that I can barely stand.

What’s up with that?

— — — — — — — — — —

I shall miss this place, this magical realm wherein I lose myself all too easily, this fantastic oasis of nature so neatly contained by urban sprawl and city landscapes.

The confluence in Sunset Bay at White Rock Lock as the sun rises to the east and lush greenery surrounds the placid waters (20080614_06545)

Memories immemorial surround it, memories new and old.  Too long have I dwelt here.  And too little time have I spent amongst the beauty that defines this space.

Yet right there, just beyond a stone’s throw rests that which I hope to escape.

Downtown Dallas viewed from the east shore of White Rock Lake (20080518_05579)

Ah, how I shall miss this place.

— — — — — — — — — —

Many things must be left behind, like relatively short commutes to visit loved ones, quick jaunts to see those who care for The Kids, all a metropolitan area provides for those in need…  The list goes on.

— — — — — — — — — —

Can one truly survive when the nearest liquor store is 30 minutes away?

— — — — — — — — — —

No matter how many times I tell myself it pays the bills, I hate my job.  Too many times have I considered giving notice—or no notice—just to get out of there.

It won’t be missed.  At all.

The people?  Yes, at least some of them, but not the environment, not the work, not the hours, not the pay, not the callous disregard, not the token gestures, not any of it.

I despise it.  I intend to make that clear in my closing remarks.

— — — — — — — — — —

How will they deal with this?  The Kids, I mean.

How do I move then almost 200 miles?  How do I ensure their continued well-being given so many health concerns?  How do I provide the kind of home they deserve and need whilst tossing away the comforts of a now-life for the promise of a then-life?

Stingers

Given how quickly I can kick the bucket from just one sting given by an ant or wasp, or a bee, let alone more than one of any of these, it leads me to think I have a mental incapacitation that prohibits me from seeing the dangers right in front of me as I stand there trying to snap photos of these creatures.

A mason wasp (Pseudodynerus quadrisectus), the very species whose lone member attempted to invade the carpenter bee nest outside my patio.  That individual undoubtedly was looking for a place to start a home and family as they nest in places similar to that of carpenter bees.

A mason wasp (Pseudodynerus quadrisectus) pausing briefly on wet sand (20080601_05996)

A different kind of mason wasp (Monobia quadridens) enjoying a bit to eat from this wild carrot bloom (a.k.a. bishop’s lace or Queen Anne’s lace; Daucus carota).

A mason wasp (Monobia quadridens) enjoying a bit to eat from a wild carrot bloom (a.k.a. bishop's lace or Queen Anne's lace; Daucus carota) (20080422_04441)

A metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis metallica)[1] who chanced into the purview of my camera even before I realized it had landed on the Engelmann daisy (Engelmannia pinnatifida) I was photographing from some distance away.

A metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis metallica) digging around in an Engelmann daisy (Engelmannia pinnatifida) (20080422_04399)

Small and stunning, it remained on that flower only briefly.

A metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis metallica) digging around in an Engelmann daisy (Engelmannia pinnatifida) (20080422_04400)

The ubiquitous western honey bee (a.k.a. European honey bee; Apis mellifera) also enjoying some wild carrot.

A western honey bee (a.k.a. European honey bee; Apis mellifera) enjoying some wild carrot bloom (a.k.a. bishop’s lace or Queen Anne’s lace; Daucus carota) (20080518_05555)

A cuckoo wasp (Chrysis coerulans)[2].  It parasitizes the nests of the common potter wasp (a.k.a. dirt dauber; Eumenes fraternus).  The potter wasp never built more pots and never returned, undoubtedly because the cuckoo wasp had already discovered the burgeoning nest.

A cuckoo wasp (Chrysis coerulans) parasitizing the nest of a common potter wasp (a.k.a. dirt dauber; Eumenes fraternus) on my patio (20080526_05834)

A sweat bee (Halictus farinosus) covered with pollen as it scrounges around the bloom of a musk thistle (a.k.a. nodding thistle; Carduus nutans).

A sweat bee (Halictus farinosus) covered with pollen as it scrounges around the bloom of a musk thistle (a.k.a. nodding thistle; Carduus nutans) (20080601_06091)

And finally, my favorite: a male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on the edge of the sidewalk leading from my front door.[3]  Although technically he has a false stinger that is nothing more dangerous than a sex organ, it’s an impressive stinger nonetheless (albeit much smaller than the real stinger his female counterparts wield).

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on the edge of the sidewalk leading from my front door (20080609_06323)

Let me finish with this:

As I knelt in the dirt and leaned in close to capture this image, my father asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture of this katydid,” I responded, then I added, “I absolutely love insects!”

“I know,” he remarked.

Most of my love of insects comes from my mother.  She lacks the usual fear of them and taught us kids—or at least me—to appreciate their diversity, their beauty, their lives.

Mud daubers dance around her ankles at the family farm (they nest under one set of outside steps), yet she barely notices, doesn’t flinch, assures others they’re not a danger.  She catches grasshoppers and katydids and other goodies to feed to the chickens (a treat the fowl thoroughly enjoy!).  When a massive dragonfly perches atop a fence post, she gets in close until she’s able to pet it—Yes!  Pet it, I said!—and she’s tickled pink at the opportunity to share that kind of moment with something too many fear.  Like me, she grabs her camera and gets in close to photograph the marvelous diversity and exquisite displays these creatures offer—a treat the family farm amplifies with its location in the middle of the Piney Woods of East Texas.

When the central light pole at the family farm comes alive with a skin of giant moths, she’s there to witness the event and appreciate its majesty.  When massive yellow garden spiders build webs and egg sacks a few steps outside the door, she watches with the enjoyment of a tourist on safari.  When cicadas recklessly crash into her or assassin bugs prance across the table where she’s working or a caterpillar inches its way around her feet, she stops to take notice and displays the truest, most profound spirit of a naturalist: “Would you look at that!  I wonder what that is…”

Thank you, Mom.

— — — — — — — — — —

[1] I originally thought this might be an orchid bee.  Only one has ever been seen in Texas, however, so it seemed far more likely to be a metallic sweat bee.  The photos don’t make identification simple as I wasn’t trying to take a picture of the insect (I barely realized it was there before it was gone); nevertheless, it seems more likely to be a sweat bee than the rarer tropical species.

[2] Most cuckoo wasp species are too similar to identify from such a poor photo (taken from across the patio with the camera on the wrong settings as I barely realized the wasp was there before it vanished; I swung around, snapped two pictures [the second of which was even worse], then it was gone…).  Despite that, the dark wings and its incessant visits to the potter wasp nest—then and later—makes it clear which species this is.  I also believe I might have additional photos of this species from an unfortunate individual who made it inside the house…and didn’t live to tell about it due to feline predators who found the darting prey and relentlessly pursued and attacked it.

[3] I continue to fight with my neighbors about these wasps.  If this is to be my last year in the middle of this enormous colony, the last summer during which I might enjoy the brief appearance of these giants, then let it be a year without interference, a year without the deadly machinations of uninformed humans bent on destroying that which they do not understand (and we all know people fear what they do not understand…).

My beloved

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) standing firm to protect his territory (20080607_06233)

My favorite insect.  Anywhere.  In any way.  At any time.

Sphecius speciosus, the cicada-killer wasp.

Today I stepped outside for a few moments between pages and conference calls and projects so that I might capture a photo or two of this magnificent, endearing, beguiling, intimidating, captivating leviathan of the insect world.

One of the largest wasp species on the planet, these gentle giants have been my friends and neighbors for many years.  Their colony thrives outside my front door, from the garage to the patio.

A close-up of the head of a male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) as he rests on the ground (20080607_06243)

Yet even as I stood near this male taking his picture, one of my neighbors walked by and mentioned she was terrified of them.  This appears to be her first experience with this species.

I offered assurances that they posed no threat to her, that they were docile and easily shooed away, that most of them had no ability to sting her while those who did had no interest in doing so, yet I fear my explanations found no harbor in ears deafened by ignorance and dread.

Besides, if you didn’t know better, wouldn’t you consider this a threat:

A close-up of the abdomen, a false stinger, of a male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) as he rests on the ground (20080607_06242)

At least 30 mm long, this male, who has no stinger, still seems a formidable enemy, especially given his tendency to be aggressive.  And the females with their massive size well over 40 mm…  Well, one can understand the trepidation people might feel.

But what will they do about it?  Will they take action to destroy that which they do not understand?  That much I believe possible, if not probable.

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) facing me as he protects his territory (20080607_06226)

Yet these beautiful creatures have shared many years with me, and all without any aggression betwixt our two species.

I warned my neighbor of the impending swarm of these wasps even as I spoke of their equable nature.  I assured her that these winged behemoths felt more fright of her than she could ever feel toward them, that a single motion from her would send them into retreat.

Nevertheless, I believe I now face the end of this colony, the destruction of my beloved wasps.

Only time will tell.

Until I move or until I can no longer protect these marvelous monsters, I shall endeavor to capture more photos of them, enjoy their benevolent company and wallow in the antics of this insect that holds such a dear place in my heart.

And now the predator

Yesterday I shared some photos of a cicada.  In my neck of the woods, they are prey for a great many things, but most importantly they represent the entire foundation of survival for the colony of cicada-killer wasps (Sphecius speciosus) that lives and dies each year right outside my front door.  And this year is no different.

A few weeks ago I spoke of the returning of these behemoths.  I said then “I suspect I will see the pinnacle of their numbers within the next few weeks.”  It has been a few weeks and there are now dozens of them buzzing around from the front door to the back patio, flying fortresses in the wasp world who easily overshadow their cousins by leaps and bounds when it comes to size.

I will endeavor to capture more photos and videos of these gentle giants (or, at least in the case of the males, harmless yet aggressive giants).  However, the crunch on my time has greatly hindered my usual jaunts through nature’s splendor.

Nevertheless, yesterday I was surprised to get at least a small glimpse of something I’d never seen before.

Morning sunlight hurried to pour over me on what already was a warm and muggy day.  Even in shorts and a light tank top, sweat beaded upon my brow and threatened to blind me as I stood in the midst of aerial bombardment and acrobatics.  My favorite insects were everywhere.  Males gave chase to anything that moved, including me and some of the neighborhood cats, not to mention cottonwood seeds floating by on lazy breezes, while females whizzed by with only breaths between us as they hurried about the hunting of cicadas.

Let me mention the women folk of this brood are enormous, as I’ve mentioned before, and their strength undoubtedly is many times that of more common wasps such as hornets, dirt and mud daubers, paper wasps, and yellow jackets.  Despite their mass of predatory power, I can only imagine the serious business involved with towing a paralyzed cicada back to the nest.  If I don’t get out of their way as they approach, they have no choice but to run right into me.  Relatively speaking, the cicada probably weighs more than the wasp because of its bulky body, so she has her work cut out for her already with ensuring its safe transport.  That leaves little time or energy to focus on quick maneuvers to get around dumb humans who don’t know any better.

But this story is not about getting hit by the males on several occasions yesterday, or even about the one instance where I didn’t move quickly enough as a female approached and subsequently got thwacked on the left shoulder as be rebounded off me (and yes, she still managed to get her prize to the nest that was behind me, although I can’t imagine I helped much by standing there like a dumb rock).

Nay, poppets, this post is about passion.  Or at least procreation.

And it’s also about comparison.

With the sun almost ready to spring over the trees and blanket me, where it no doubt would certainly burn me to a cinder, my attention suddenly became diverted with some buzzing hoopla taking place near my feet.  I glanced down and at first thought I was witnessing a real tussle between two males whose encounter had gone from aerial fisticuffs to an all-out brawl.

But closer inspection revealed only one was a male.  He was holding tightly to the back of a female, a creature that dwarfed even his large frame.  And she did not appear to be happy about it.

I could not for the life of me determine why he would be so violently attacking her, especially with his prodding her as though trying to sting despite not having a stinger.  Then it hit me.

This rough-and-tumble scene could be nothing less than a mating encounter.  So I set about trying to capture some images.

Which was not easy at all.  They rolled about, curled up in a ball that never remained still, she buzzed across the grass and concrete with him in tow, and I found myself amazed to see her dragging the two of them more than a yard (a meter) across the ground as she struggled with his constant badgering advances.

Yet perhaps that is precisely how they copulate.  Perhaps it is with them as it is with most spiders: a dangerous proposition, but one necessary to keep the species alive.

So I knelt on the ground and attempted to take some pictures of the event.  Not an easy task, I’ll tell you.  On that scale, macro is really the best way to go, yet macro is not the easiest photography method when dealing with a rapidly moving object.  Each time I got focused on them, they moved.  So I’d follow and do it over again, only to have them move some more.

Out of almost four dozen images captured, I walked away with fewer than a handful that offered anything other than a blur of motion or an out-of-focus mass of something or other.

And having to be within inches of this violent scene frightened me, what with my severe allergy to wasp stings and all.  Keep in mind I already was in the middle of their nesting ground, the one place where females will be aggressive on a regular basis if interfered with, and there I was on all fours invading the personal space of one female who was quite busy with her mate—whether voluntarily or otherwise.  And all the while, the entire space around me remained filled with the comings and goings of other females, and the bombing and strafing runs of significantly more males—dozens of them, in fact.  I was hit many times by these masculine attackers, and several times I had to duck or weave to avoid being the point of impact for an inbound queen buzzing through with a cicada weighing her down.

All of these photos were captured in sequence as the wasps happened to have just fallen off the concrete onto the ground cover.  It was the only spot where they remained in one place long enough for me to get close, get focused, and snap some pictures.  As you’ll see from the last one in the sequence, they began to move again by that point, and she dragged the two of them a few feet away (slightly less than a meter) until finally they disappeared under a bush—where I wasn’t going to follow as it was in the middle of Wasp Avenue.  Besides, digging around under there during their private moment seemed the best way to get stung.

A mating pair of cicada-killer wasps (Sphecius speciosus) (201_0114)

You can see he’s on her back.  You can also see the significant size difference, especially evident with their wings, not to mention their abdomens (although his is slightly obscured by his wings).

A mating pair of cicada-killer wasps (Sphecius speciosus) (201_0115)

That’s an even better comparison of scale as you can more clearly see his length and overall size compared to her.  No wonder he wants to be on top.  If she ever got him into a submissive position, he’d be in real trouble.  And don’t forget she’s armed while he is not.

A mating pair of cicada-killer wasps (Sphecius speciosus) (201_0117)

Although I realize that one is blurry because they had already started their forward motion toward the bush, movement heavily punctuated with quite a bit of buzzing and rolling about, I think that image provides the best comparison of their size difference.  Just look at her head compared to his, let alone her entire body.  Remember she was more than two inches (5 centimeters) long and at least half an inch (1.25 centimeters) wide, although I’m only estimating since I didn’t exactly pull out a ruler and ask her for her measurements.  For comparison, keep in mind the queens are as long as North America’s largest cicadas from tip of head to tip of wing, although they do not sport the same body girth as their prey.

And lest you think me a pervert for focusing solely on a sexual series of images, let me share one more taken a bit later.

I saw a queen loitering about the patio and stepped outside to take some pictures if an opportunity arose.  I believe she was busy looking for a nest site as she buzzed around the edges of the concrete, investigated every little nook and cranny, and dug around in the undergrowth and ground cover.  She never stayed still for more than a second or two.  Don’t think I didn’t try for some macro close-ups, though, for I did.  She didn’t cooperate with that quest.

Finally, when I thought I’d never get her to sit still long enough for even one shot, she flew through the fence and landed in the corner.  She sat on the ground for a smidgen of time longer than she had elsewhere, so I was able to get a high-speed image of her.

A female cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) (201_0165)

The moment the flash went off, she leaped into the air, flew around me for a moment, then vanished over the fence and around the corner.

Dying alone redux

[I’m such an idiot; I wrote the original Dying alone intending to post it with the photos seen in this post; now more than four months later, I’ve only just realized I never posted the photos; oops; the text below is a minor rewrite of the original post; all photos are of the same male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) taken over the course of two days; I couldn’t find him on the third day or any day that followed it and could only assume his time had ended]

Male cicada-killer wasp resting on a leaf (147_4785)

He is the last of his kind.  I wonder if he at all realizes that in the vastness of his universe that encompasses such a small part of my own, he is utterly and completely without a clan.  It is a wretched curse for one so small.

He stands guard ready to challenge other males of his species.  There will be no such challenges for there are no other males.  He is the sole remaining example of these gargantuans.  Diligent in his resolve to protect his space from enemies, those enemies will never come.  He is the lone sentry from a generation of sentries that already perished.

He hopes to propagate his species, to continue the family line with available females.  There are no such females.  The last one died earlier today.  If he did not mate before then, he will never have another opportunity.  His lifetime is now one of aloneness.

He protects the now sleeping children, the last traces of his generation, and the offspring of his colony.  They are children he will never know and will never see.  Safely entombed in the ground, they will sleep for a year before taking up the dance he alone dances.  These children will never know their parents as these parents will never know their children, and yet he does not waver in his resolve.

Male cicada-killer wasp resting on a leaf (148_4801)

He is the last bastion of a dying race whose hopes rest solely in the ground he surveys from time to time as he answers his own genetic programming by still giving chase to anything that floats or flies by him.  Because there are no others, he wrestles only with time as he awaits his own end.

There are no witnesses save himself who know of the life and death struggle of his kin, the members of this vast settlement who have already expended what little time they had on this planet.  With so many burrows scattered about, one can only hope he shared in the brief tumult that is their existence.  He will never have another chance.

He is heartbreakingly alone now.  There will be no others before he dies.  The purpose of his life can no longer be fulfilled, so he stands on his own waiting for death to embrace him.  He will die alone much unlike the rest of his kind; instead, they faced death in the company of others, something he can only dream of.

Watching him patrol a territory now devoid of his species, I wonder if he is lonely.  Perhaps I am projecting human emotions onto this creature.  Perhaps.  One cannot help but feel isolation and solitude when looking at him.  I sit and watch him as we both bake in the simmering heat and unending sunshine of a Texas summer.  Part of me wishes I could help him in some way, make him feel that his final days are not unnoticed, help him see the promise of progeny tucked away all around us.

But I cannot tell him such things just as I cannot make him comprehend the magnitude of the situation.  He must face this on his own.

Male cicada-killer wasp resting on a leaf (147_4781)

Seeing his last days in the barren landscape that once gave rise to a great many of his siblings causes me to feel for him insomuch as his last moments will be solitary.  I do not know how much longer he can survive, but I do know he will spend these final days waiting for death, and the wait will stand upon its emptiness, and when death finally comes, he will face it here in this place where so many have already come and gone before, this place where he must already understand to some small degree that he is by himself.

He watches me as I watch him.  I am now able to get close enough that I can see his head moving to follow my actions.  A part of me weeps for him.  It was only a few weeks ago that the air and ground all about me were filled with these goliaths.  It was only a few days ago that others of his kind still came and went.  It was just yesterday that the last remaining female arrived to finalize her nest, her hope for future generations, before she finally left never again to return alive but instead to be discovered by me near her burrow with all the life drained from her body.

And now he is alone.  Alone waiting for his own death.  It is the same unstoppable end responsible for wiping out everyone he ever knew.  He is alone.  Just alone.  And that is how he will die.

He is the last of his kind.

Male cicada-killer wasp resting on a leaf (148_4802)