Monday 28 October 2024

Just in time for Halloween, insect zombies! Mind-altered crickets, ants, beetles, flies, and cicadas

 

Massospora fungi will zombiefy periodical cicadas, taking control of their minds and behaviors while turning their abdomens into buff-colored fungus gardens.

 

For a variety of reasons, Halloween is one of Bug of the Week’s favorite holidays. In years past we have visited many bugs dressed in orange and black including monarch and Gulf fritillary butterflies, milkweed bugs, assassin bugs, and milkweed tiger moths not to mention several scary spiders like black widows, wolf spiders, and tarantulas.  But what could be more fun and in sync in the Halloween season than a visit with some zombie insects? These are not the kind of Haitian voodoo zombies where a corpse is reanimated by a bokor to conduct some dastardly deeds. Nor are these the ilk of George Romero’s zombies intent on consuming flesh of other insects as in the Night of the Living Dead Insect. Nah, insect zombies are more akin to zombie apocalypse creatures, hapless victims of a mind-altering pathogen or parasite directing deadly actions to further the spread of their own kind. In a delightfully ghoulish paper, D. Donald Steinkraus and colleagues define zombie insects as “… insects infected with an entomopathogen or parasite that alters their behaviors and morphology in ways that benefit the pathogen or parasite.” Boom, insect zombie apocalypse!

Crickets become “suicidal” after being infected by horsehair nematode worms. Click here to see images of horsehair worms.

Crickets committing suicide. One amazing case of an insect zombie involves a European cricket called Nemobius and a horsehair worm called Paragordius. To breed, the horsehair worm must encounter its mate in water. However, the nematode’s eggs are laid near riverbanks where they are often ingested by arthropod hosts in which they will develop, including Nemobius. Inside the cricket the parasitic nematode grows to its full extent, which may be more than 5 inches. To complete its life cycle, the parasite must return to water and here is where the zombification part of the story happens. By a mechanism not yet fully understood, the nematode takes control of the cricket’s mind and alters its behavior forcing the cricket to wander from its usual dank habitat into open, brighter areas until itencounters a body of water. The water body could be natural such as a stream or pond, or human-made such as a swimming pool. The latter is where scientists documented a second bizarre behavior. Upon encountering the swimming pool, infected crickets took a “suicidal” leap into the water. By making the cricket take a plunge, the nematode can escape from its cricket host and seek a water-bound mate to complete its life cycle.

Ready to release their spores, parasol-like fruiting bodies of Ophiocordyceps rise from the corpse of their zombie ant host. Photo courtesy of David P. Hughes

Ants take a drive from treetops and lock-jaws on leaves. Several species of fungi also play mind games with their insect hosts. Zombie ants often make splashes in the news. These unfortunate creatures were first described by famed naturalist Alfred Wallace more than a century and a half ago. Zombie ants are found in tropical forests on many continents and in temperate forests in South Carolina and Florida. Zombie ants are members of genus Camponotus, commonly known as carpenter ants. The carpenter ant destined to be a zombie is arboreal, spending most of its time high in the canopy of a tree. Occasionally, to get from one tree to the next it must descend to the earth, where spores of the dastardly fungus Ophiocordyceps lie in wait. Upon contacting the surface of the ant, these spores awaken and bore into their host. As the ant ascends back into the treetop the fungus spreads until it reaches the brain, where it causes the ant to spasm and tumble to the ground. Like the slow moving, foot dragging ghouls in Romero’s films, the fungus causes the zombie ant to seek a microhabitat with just the right conditions of temperature and humidity for the fungus to survive. Once the location is found, zombie ants ascend a plant and use their powerful jaws to lock onto the midvein of a leaf in a “death grip.” Some 4 – 10 days later a fungal fruiting body erupts from the body of the dead ant and releases infective spores into the environment to await the next victim. Widespread infections by Ophiocordyceps sometimes produce massive graveyards of zombie ants.  

A soldier beetle’s last salute. Other species of fungi gain mind control over other insects including flies, beetles, and cicadas. Soldier beetles, a.k.a. leatherwings, are cousins of fireflies. Like other members of this clan, soldier beetles are natural born killers in both adult and juvenile stages and are highly beneficial insects to have around the garden. But it is not all fun and games for soldier beetles in the garden during cool moist seasons. A fungal pathogen called Eryniopsis lampyridarum lurks in the landscape waiting to infect soldier beetles. Once the beetle unwittingly picks up a spore from the landscape, the spore germinates and penetrates the exoskeleton of the hapless beetle. Inside the beetle it multiples and takes control of the beetle’s nervous and muscular system turning it into a zombie. The fungus causes the soldier beetle to march to the upper leaves of a plant in a behavior called summiting. There the beetle clamps onto a leaf with its jaws and dies. Spore producing structures within the cadaver cause the beetle’s abdomen to swell and in a grisly final act, the wings of the beetles open to expose the swollen abdomen, a final postmortem salute. This allows fruiting bodies to erupt from the upper surface of the beetle and spew their spores into the environment, where they disperse and infect other victims.

When normally active soldier beetles become infected with Eryniopsis, they do a zombie walk to the tips of leaves, grab onto leaves with their jaws, and die. After death, the fungus within causes their wings to spread facilitating the release of spores into the environment.

Seedcorn flies infected with Entomophthora climb high on plants. Their grotesquely swollen abdomens are attractive to male flies that will attempt to mate with them, thereby becoming infected and furthering the spread of Entomophthora.

Dead flies deceiving hapless suitors. Cool, wet springs also spawn legions of seedcorn maggots, a pest of many horticultural and food crops including soybeans, corn, peas, onions, potatoes and beans. As temperatures warm, peril awaits adult seedcorn maggot flies. Hiding on the springtime vegetation are infective spores of a fungus called Entomophthora muscae. When the fly alights on vegetation, unseen spores attach to the surface of its exoskeleton. When the right combination of temperature and humidity conspire, spores hatch and fungal hyphae penetrate the skin of the fly, establishing a lethal infection. Once inside its host, the fungus invades the fly’s tiny mind and body transforming it into a fly zombie. By taking control of the fly’s nervous system, Entomophthora causes the doomed, but inherently fidgety fly to move ever more slowly upward and outward on a plant until it creeps to its final resting spot at the tip of a leaf or branch. From this elevated perch, the fungus erupts from the skin of the fly and spews spores into the air, all the better to distribute its spawn on vegetation where other flies will inadvertently become infected. In a related species of fly, the common house fly, Musca domestica, another strange twist happens in this zombie insect tale. The fungus infection causes the abdomen of a fly to swell dramatically. This large abdomen is highly attractive to male houseflies seeking a mate. Large abdomens may be an indicator of higher fecundity in a potential mate and, yes, just like Sir Mix-a-Lot, male houseflies like big butts. Causing the abdomen to swell may increase the chances of attracting a randy suitor that will become infected, further helping the fungus to multiply and disperse.     

Male cicadas get in touch with their feminine side. One of the strangest twists in the zombie insect genre takes place in millions of backyards with the emergence of periodical cicadas. Beneath trees where cicadas spend their youth sipping sap, spores of the fungal pathogen Massospora cicadina have been waiting for 17 years. During April and May as cicada nymphs escape from the earth, resting spores of Massospora adhere to their exoskeletons. Compounds on the surface of the cicada send a signal to the spores that dinner is served and it is time to germinate. The fungus penetrates the skin of the cicada and multiplies, turning the cicada into a fungus garden. Spores of Massospora are then released into the environment where a second, more sinister wave of infection takes place. At this stage of their cycle, thousands of newly molted adult cicadas populate the landscape to begin their courtship rituals. Ubiquitous spores of the fungus spewed from the nymphs adhere to the skin of adult cicadas, germinate, and begin to infect the airborne legions. The infection sterilizes both male and female cicadas, but does nothing to quell the libido of sex-crazed male cicadas. Infected males continue to seek and attempt to mate with females despite their contagious infection. In a game of tit for tat, female cicadas infected with Massospora remain attractive to healthy males that soon become infected and then mate with other cicadas.

As cicada nymphs emerge from their galleries in spring, Massospora spores lurking in the soil for 17 years will germinate on their exoskeleton, bore their way in, and multiply within the cicadas. Soon the cicada’s abdomen will disintegrate enabling fungal fruiting bodies to disperse spores. Sterile but still randy males spread Massospora to other cicadas in futile mating attempts. In a mind control coup, infected male cicadas mimic female courtship behaviors that entice uninfected males to mate with them, further accelerating the active transmission of Massospora in the cicada population.

If this was not weird enough, Massospora twists the minds of infected male cicadas. Male cicadas adopt female courtship behaviors including a coy wing flick, the female’s signal that she is ready to accept a mate. This results in hyper-sexed uninfected males attempting to mate with infected drag queen males, further enhancing the spread of Massospora. Massospora becomes a cicada STD as it moves from one cicada to another by the behavior modifying process called Active Host Transmission or AHT. As the fungus develops within its host, the abdomen of the cicada disintegrates, leaving behind a buff-colored mass of fungus. Infected cicadas are flight capable and their peregrinations carry the fungus to new habitats as they fly about. A second wave of infections produce resting spores that inoculate the soil with Massospora that will await the return of the cicadas in 17 years. While the loss of an abdomen spells instant death for a human, this is not the case for a cicada. Throughout cicada-land male and female Massospora zombies walk and fly about without their abdomens, macabre reminders of a very clever fungus.

Bug of the Week hopes you have a happy and safe Halloween without any worms or fungi trying to make you a zombie - unless, of course, you wish to be one!

 
 

 Acknowledgements

Bug of the Week thanks Bronwyn Mitchell-Strong for providing the inspiration for this episode and for affording the opportunity to share insect zombie stories with the Natural History Society of Maryland. Many thanks to Dr. David P. Hughes for sharing his gruesome image of an ant infected with Ophiocordyceps. The following fascinating studies were consulted in preparation for this episode: “Do hairworms (Nematomorpha) manipulate the water seeking behaviour of their terrestrial hosts?” by F. Thomas, A. Schmidt-Rhaesa, G. Martin, C. Manu, P. Durand & F. Renaud; “Water-seeking behavior in worm-infected crickets and reversibility of parasitic manipulation.” By Fleur Ponton, Fernando Otálora-Luna, Thierry Lefèvre, Patrick M. Guerin, Camille Lebarbenchon, David Duneau, David G. Biron, and Frédéric Thomas; “Zombie soldier beetles: Epizootics in the goldenrod soldier beetle, Chauliognathus pensylvanicus (Coleoptera: Cantharidae) caused by Eryniopsis lampyridarum (Entomophthoromycotina: Entomophthoraceae)” by Donald C. Steinkraus,  Ann E. Hajek, and Jim K. Liebherr; “A fungus infecting domestic flies manipulates of its host.” by Anders Pape Moiler; “Behavioral betrayal: How select fungal parasites enlist living insects to do their bidding” by Brian Lovett, Angie Macias, Jason E. Stajich, John Cooley, Jørgen Eilenberg, Henrik H. de Fine Licht, and Matt T. Kasson; and “A specialized fungal parasite (Massospora cicadina) hijacks the sexual signals of periodical cicadas (Hemiptera: Cicadidae: Magicicada)” by John R. Cooley, David C. Marshall, and Kathy B. R. Hill.



Monday 21 October 2024

Bugs in orange and black: A spooky Halloween trick for predators, Small and large milkweed bugs, Lygaeus kalmii and Oncopeltus fasciatus

 

Small milkweed bugs are members of the cabal of milkweed feeders that sequester noxious cardiac glycosides from their host plant, a nasty trick on would-be predators.

 

In keeping with our Halloween tradition of meeting bugs dressed in orange and black, this week we visit two beautiful and perhaps deadly denizens of milkweed, small and large milkweed bugs. These harlequin rascals were super abundant on my butterfly weed, Asclepias tuberosa, throughout summer and fall. Many insects that consume milkweed, such as monarch butterfly and milkweed tussock moth caterpillars, milkweed leaf beetles, and milkweed longhorned beetles we met in previous episodes, display vivid patterns of orange or red and black. Some, like monarch and tussock moth caterpillars, obtain noxious plant chemicals called cardiac glycosides, heart poisons that are sequestered in their bodies after consuming milkweed leaves. These poisons are distasteful to a wide range of predators and thwart attempted acts of predation by visually gifted hunters, including birds and praying mantises. The phenomenon of developing an easily recognizable color pattern by two or more nasty-tasting insects that share one or more common predators, is called Müllerian mimicry, so named for the visionary German naturalist Fritz Müller.

However, the milkweed leaf beetle (not to be confused with today’s subject, the milkweed bug) does not store noxious chemicals from the milkweed. Its scam is to wear orange and black, thereby dissuading enlightened predators from an attack once they have learned that “orange and black” spells “nasty meal.”  This type of mimicry, in which warning colors of a distasteful species like the monarch butterfly are copied by a tasty mimic like the milkweed leaf beetle, is called Batesian mimicry. The great English naturalist Henry Bates first described this form of mimicry while studying butterflies in Brazilian rainforests.

Whether dashing about on the ground or hiding within a curled seedpod, this mating pair of small milkweed bugs are inseparable despite some impatient foot tapping by the female.

Two other charter members of the Müllerian mimicry gang are small and large milkweed bugs, for they too store nocent cardiac glycosides after consuming the milkweed plants that serve as their source of food. This year was spectacular for milkweed bugs and my butterfly weeds generated hundreds. In spring and early summer, milkweeds thrived and produced early clusters of seeds mostly devoid of hungry milkweed bugs. Early in summer, only a few small milkweed bugs could be seen sneaking around the developing seed heads. However, by late summer and early autumn my milkweeds were colonized by teeming legions of beautiful large milkweed bugs. Where did the bugs come from and why did they suddenly appear well into the growing season?

Watch as recently hatched milkweed bug nymphs hiding in a seedpod develop into nymphs with ever-expanding wing buds, which finally transform into wings fit to power milkweed bugs to their southern wintering grounds.

Predators beware of an unpleasant dining experience if you ignore the spooky Halloween colors displayed by large milkweed bug nymphs.

Most people don’t realize that large milkweed bugs, like monarch butterflies, undergo annual migrations throughout much of the range of milkweeds, from southern states and Mexico where they spend the winter, to northern states and southern Canada where they spend the summer. Large milkweed bugs cannot survive winter’s chill in northern climes. Their annual migration south is triggered by shortening day length, cooling temperatures, and declining quality of milkweed plants as food. Titers of a glandular product called juvenile hormone signal the milkweed bug’s ovaries to take a “time-out”, and trigger flight behavior that transports the milkweed bug to warm southern lands where milkweeds grow. Once the southward migration is complete, juvenile hormone levels rise, ovaries are switched on, and reproduction resumes. In spring, the migratory pattern reverses and generations of large milkweed bugs leap-frog their way northward to colonize milkweeds as far north as Canada. Small milkweed bugs are more of the ‘we don’t like to travel much’ kind of an insect, and as such they eschew annual long distance migrations and stick around near home.  

As members of the seed bug clan, milkweed bugs insert a long slender beak into the ripening seeds within the developing pod. After injecting digestive enzymes into the seed, they suck liquefied food through the straw-like beak into their gut where nutrients will be used for growth, development, and reproduction. During her lifetime, the female large milkweed bug may lay up to 2,000 eggs. Small reddish-orange and black nymphs hatch from the eggs and eat seeds of milkweed. As nymphs grow and develop, small black wing buds become clearly visible on the body segments just behind the head. These wing buds enlarge as the insect feeds and molts, until the final transformation to the adult stage when wings are fully formed and ready for flight. With a killing frost on the pumpkins just around the corner, the last few nymphs remaining on my milkweed better hurry and earn their wings to begin their trek south before winter’s chill brings an end to their milkweed revelry.

A large milkweed bug grooms its antenna with its forelegs. The business end of the milkweed bug is its tubular beak. At rest it is stored beneath the body. To access nutrients, the needle-like mouthparts probe through the husk of the seed head to reach nutrient rich seeds within.

Bug of the Week hopes you are getting ready for a spooky and fun-filled Halloween!

Acknowledgements

The wonderful reference “The Pleasures of Entomology” by Howard Ensign Evans was used as a resource for this episode. “Secret weapons” by Thomas Eisner, Maria Eisner, and Melody Siegler; “Mantids and milkweed bugs: efficacy of aposematic coloration against invertebrate predators” by May Berenbaum and E. Miliczky; and “The Small Milkweed Bug, Lygaeus kalmii (Hemiptera: Lygaeidae): Milkweed Specialist or Opportunist?” by Al Wheeler, Jr., provided valuable insights into the mysterious ways of this week’s stars.



Monday 14 October 2024

From the Bug of the Week mailbag a rainbow arrives to preserve our air from “The Infection of Dungs”: Rainbow dung beetle, Phanaeus vindex

 

A gorgeous male rainbow dung beetle bears an amazing horn. Image: Paula Shrewsbury, PhD

 

A couple of weeks ago, I received an interesting picture, short video, and inquiry from a naturalist of a beautiful large beetle cavorting on her backyard deck in Sparks, Maryland. My friend, Stephanie, wondered if I knew the identity of this gorgeous female beetle. Indeed, I do know and hold in high esteem the rainbow dung beetle, the loveliest creature on earth to repurpose dung. Here’s a throwback to a story about Phanaeus vindex I did a few years ago.

Who’s that beetle strolling on the deck? None other than the beautiful rainbow dung beetle, recycler of dung. Video by Stephanie Dudek

Large mammals generate large amounts of waste.

While sitting in traffic on the Washington Beltway amidst the noise and pollution of rush hour traffic, I sometimes wonder about sights, sounds, and smells back in the day when horses and buggies transported folks through bucolic landscapes near the nation’s capitol. On a recent adventure to the great Kissimmee prairie in central Florida, I had the good fortune to witness a truly remarkable event that opened a window to times past when horses, mules, and oxen were the primary sources of transportation. While walking along a well-used bridle path and gingerly dodging piles of horse manure, I was delighted to see a beautiful beetle emerge from the soil, grapple with a clod of dung, and disappear with its prize beneath the earth. This creature, the rainbow dung beetle, is a relative of other scarabs such as the Hercules beetle we met in previous episodes. However, this species specializes in using dung as the source of food for its young. Shortly after a horse or other large animal relieves itself, male and female dung beetles arrive at the scene and cooperate in excavating burrows in the earth near the deposit. Portions of the dung are pushed and pulled into subterranean chambers were the female deposits eggs. After a few days, eggs hatch and the small larvae consume the nutrient rich dung. When their development is complete, the larvae form pupal chambers and later emerge from their galleries to seek fresh patties of dung for babes of their own.

On a bridal trail in central Florida, horses make a lot of dung. Watch as a male rainbow dung beetle emerges from a subterranean burrow where his mate awaits. After finding a pile of horse dung nearby, he sizes it up, gets in position, and uses his powerful legs and super strong horn to drive the dung back to the burrow. After entering the burrow, he pulls the dung underground where his bride will deposit eggs on the dung. Beetle grubs that hatch from these eggs will devour the dung as they grow into rather large larvae. After pupating, newly minted adult beetles will emerge and continue their work ridding the world of dung.

Dung beetle larvae will turn a pile of horse manure into remarkable beetles.

Dung beetles are generally considered highly beneficial by virtue of their ability to clean up after messy mammals. This highly desirable ecosystem service was clearly demonstrated in Australia. During colonial times, cattle were imported down under and after decades thousands of tons of dung accumulated, despoiling vast acreages of pasture and providing breeding sites for flies and parasitic worms. In a series of carefully designed programs, dung beetles were collected from several countries in Europe and Africa and raised in Australian quarantine facilities to ensure that no harmful hitch-hikers accompanied them.  After passing muster, the dung beetles were raised and released into the landscape to do what they do best - recycle dung. More than a million beetles representing some 20 species have been released for clean-up duty and the program is considered a resounding success.

Some good news, you do not need to visit Florida or Australia to discover dung beetles. They are relatively common in Maryland and were well known even in colonial times. One fascinating story of dung beetles in Maryland and their antics comes from the Callister papers written during the 1600’s. An excerpt from this account follows.

“A sort of Beetle; Their place of Rendezvous is always where fresh dung drops, and hundreds or two of them. One can hardly ease himself & turn about but he may see a hundred or more of ‘em roll themselves in the midst of it, & before tho there was not one to be seen before, & by the time he has button’d his breeches, turn again & is all gone; they join by pairs one lays an egg in the Dung & rolls it up into a ball the size of a marble & then another joins & sets to rolling it away like two sailors rolling a [Lhd.] of Tobacco one always before pulling along the other behind shoving with his hind feet, & thus they roll & scatter the dung about till they find a proper place where they dig a hole 2 or 3 foot in the Ground, which  may serve to manure the Ground, from whence the young one is produced in its proper time. Thus, our Air is preserved sweet in the summer, from the Infection of Dungs.”  

So, Stephanie and all the others whose air has been preserved by dung beetles, enjoy your good fortune, fresh air, and the opportunity to enjoy this beautiful creature.  

 Acknowledgements

 We thank Stephanie Dudek for images and video that provided the inspiration for this episode and Dr. Ellen Lawler for sharing the remarkable story of colonial dung beetles. Dr. Paula Shrewsbury took a great shot of a male rainbow dung beetle. The wonderful reference “Introduced Dung Beetles in Australia 1967-2007: current status and future directions” by Penny Edwards was also use in preparation of this week’s episode.



Monday 7 October 2024

Watch out Tree of Heaven, native and invasive insects are ready to wage war on you: Ailanthus webworm, Atteva aurea, and spotted lanternfly, Lycorma delicatula

 

Many moths are nighttime feeders but beautiful ermine moths, the adult stage of ailanthus webworms, feed during the day.

 

With the arrival of pumpkin patches and the Halloween season, it’s time to feature one pretty moth dressed in Halloween colors and one beautiful but dastardly invader, both with a fondness for Tree of Heaven (TOH).  First, let’s meet the ermine moth, Atteva aurea, and its larva known as ailanthus webworm. This southern moth made its way north with the arrival of a host plant, TOH from Asia. Many of you may be familiar with Betty Smith’s wonderful tale “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” This novel chronicles a young girl’s triumph over childhood hardships and poverty in a Brooklyn neighborhood. The tree that grows in Brooklyn is the irrepressible TOH, Ailanthus altissima, a stalwart thriving in the most dismal of urban environments. In Smith’s novel it serves as metaphor for the girl’s resilience in the face of adversity as she survives the tribulations of childhood. Tree of Heaven hails from Asia but was introduced in 1784 to a garden in Philadelphia. In the United States it now ranges from coast to coast and border to border. Several Canadian provinces have also been invaded by TOH. TOH is reviled as an invasive species throughout much of its range due to its ability to thrive in the worst of sites and to displace native vegetation. In addition to being the host of a drop-dead gorgeous giant silk moth, the Cynthia moth, its woody tissues, leaves, and seeds serve as food for nefarious invasive species including spotted lanternfly and brown marmorated stink bugs we met in previous episodes.

After years of infestation by hordes of spotted lanternflies, Tree of Heaven like these two may succumb to their ancient nemesis from Asia.

What does this segue have to do with ailanthus webworm? Here’s the story. Ranging from the rainforests in Central America to states in the southern US are trees in the plant family known as Simaroubaceae. In the wilds of Florida, glossy leaves of beautiful native Paradise trees, Simarouba glauca, serve as a food source for ailanthus webworm caterpillars. It just so happens that TOH is also a member of the Simaroubaceae. When TOH gained its Philadelphia freedom and moved south and west, it came into contact with other members of the Simaroubaceae. Ailanthus webworm took a liking to TOH and added ailanthus to its carte du jour. TOH now serves as fine dining for these snaky caterpillars that build silken webs on leaves of ailanthus in late summer and early autumn here in the DMV. In several northern states, ailanthus webworms appear late in the temperate growing season. Apparently, ailanthus webworm favors a southern climate. Winters in northern states are just a bit too chilly to support its survival. Like monarch butterflies, milkweed bugs, and fritillary butterflies we met before, the adult stage of ailanthus webworms, magnificent ermine moths, are vagabonds. Each year they migrate from winter redoubts in the south to reach TOH in northern states on which to lay eggs. In a warming world, some experts predict that ailanthus webworm will be able to survive in more northerly states, thereby expanding its range.

Small Tree of Heaven saplings can be shredded and killed by ailanthus webworm caterpillars. These snaky rascals writhe inside their webs. Ah, but the adult stage, a pretty ermine moth, pollinates wildflowers in summer and autumn. Although a bane to grape growers and a nuisance to others, prolonged, high-density infestations of lanternflies drain nutrients from Tree of Heaven. Some like these may be killed by spotted lanternflies, or from lethal teamwork by one native and one non-native herbivore.

Spotted lanternflies often reach huge densities and rob vital nutrients from Tree of Heaven.

In addition to ailanthus webworm, TOH is assaulted by its ancient acquaintance from Asia, the spotted lanternfly. Back in China, spotted lanternflies spent millions of years “learning” how to cope with TOH’s defenses and exploit nutritious phloem sap as a source of food. In late summer and autumn, hundreds, maybe even thousands of spotted lanternfly nymphs and adults can be found draining nutrients from the branches and trunks of TOH. With persistent infestations and vast numbers, lanternflies can be lethal to invasive TOH according to scientists at Penn State.  

With young TOH under siege from ailanthus webworm and established TOH assaulted by sap-sucking lanternflies, we might hold hope that these two herbivores may kill some or many TOH and help thwart the ecological impacts of TOH in our natural and managed ecosystems.

Acknowledgements

The interesting articles, “A review of the New World Atteva Walker moths (Yponomeutidae, Attevinae)” by Vitor O. Becker, “Spotted Lanternfly Frequently Asked Questions” by Heather Leach, and “Michigan insects in the garden – Season 2 Week 8: Ermine moths” by David Lowenstein were used as references for this episode.