Bringing back the buzz

Post by Jen Berlinghof

All summer long, swaths of wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) quake in the presence of thousands of native bumble bee wings beating away. These pollination dynamos use a technique called buzz pollination, vibrating their bodies to trigger nearby flowers to release pollen. At the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois, a similar buzz of excitement arrived in summer 2020 when staff spotted the federally endangered rusty patched bumble bee (Bombus affinis) at Greenbelt in North Chicago.

Fast forward to summer 2021. The hum continues to reverberate after multiple sightings of this keystone species were documented across the county from Flint Creek to Wadsworth Savanna in Wadsworth. While summer’s the height of hive activity, the shoulder seasons—usually defined as May, June, September and October—might be key to the success of the rusty patched bumble bee. This is partly due to the timing, or phenology, of the species’ lifecycle. It’s one of the first bees to emerge in spring and the last to enter hibernation in fall.

A worker, or male, rusty patched bumble bee (Bombus affinis) sits atop mountain mint. Photo © Dan Mullen.
A rusty patched bumble bee (Bombus affinis) sits atop mountain mint. Photo © Dan Mullen.

While the rusty patched bumble bee became the first federally endangered pollinator in 2017, it’s not the only native bumble bee in peril. Of North America’s 4,000 native bees, many are declining rapidly due to habitat loss, increased pesticide use, disease, and climate change. A pollinator poster child, the rusty patched bumble bee’s populations have fallen more than 87% over the past 20 years. And according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, it flies the skies of fewer than 1% of its historic home range.

Native bees are critical to native wildflower pollination and the diversity of the food supply for wildlife and humans alike. Which is why there’s a vast conservation effort happening in natural areas, backyards and cities across North America to save the rusty patched bumble bee from extinction.

Wildlife biologists, restoration ecologists, and community scientists monitor and record sightings using crowd-sourcing sites such as BeeSpotter and Bumble Bee Watch to share data. The majority of information involves sightings during late summer and early fall. This is when female workers—their pollen-laden hind legs resembling yellow leg warmers—and male drones can be captured and put on ice, temporarily slowing them down to allow easier identification. After gathering data, bee researchers release the insects so they may continue on with food collection and sperm donation to the betterment of their hives.

In July 2020, Stewardship Ecologist Kelly Schultz spotted this rusty patched bumble bee at Greenbelt in North Chicago, causing a flurry of excitement among staff, residents and local ecologists. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.
In July 2020, Stewardship Ecologist Kelly Schultz spotted this rusty patched bumble bee at Greenbelt in North Chicago, causing a flurry of excitement among staff, residents and local ecologists. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.

And yet researchers struggle to learn more about how those hives actually function. They know the lifecycle of native bumble bees is unique—the entire colony dies out in late fall, leaving behind only a queen, who’s already been fertilized, to overwinter. It’s not totally clear where the vagabond queen hunkers down, but new research leads scientists to suspect she heads into forests to slumber in the crevices of trees. Come spring, she emerges to establish a colony in old mammal burrows or the cracks of tree trunks.

The rusty patched bumble bee is one of North America’s 4,000 native bee species. Photo © Dan Mullen.

The queen typically times her spring emergence to coincide with the blooming of ephemeral woodland wildflowers. These early-blooming plants provide a much-needed energy boost for the queen, necessary for her work setting up the hive after a long winter dormancy.

But a new study shows evidence of a decline in spring woodland wildflowers, along with an increase in prairie and grassland flowers the rusty patched bumble bee feeds from during summer and fall. Researchers hypothesize this drop in woodland spring blooms might contribute to the fall in bumble bee populations by limiting the queen’s ability to garner enough energy to start a colony. There’s also evidence of climate change implications as the flowering times of plants may start to shift, potentially misaligning the queen’s needs with the availability of nectar and pollen in early spring.

A rusty patched bumble bee feeds on nectar from a wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) plant. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.
A rusty patched bumble bee feeds on nectar from a wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) plant. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.

With its long colony life stretching from April through September, the endangered rusty patched bumble bee requires nectar and pollen from a variety of native flowers in prairies and grasslands over spring, summer and fall. Additionally, it needs the safe haven of a healthy woodland to support the overwintering queen. Habitat restoration of these vital ecosystems in the Forest Preserves and other natural areas is critical to help ensure this species survives and thrives in Lake County.

You can help, as well! Plant bee-friendly native plants, avoid the use of toxic pesticides and chemical fertilizers, and contribute to community science monitoring programs such as BeeSpotter or Bumble Bee Watch. Let’s all keep the buzz of native bumble bees going!

A thousand-mile journey on two-inch wings

Post by Jen Berlinghof

I’ve spent many days this summer living the “lake life,” from the sandy dunes of the Great Lakes to the cattail-studded coves of inland waters. The waterways found within the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois have been especially rewarding. Each shoreline has provided unique glimpses of wildlife, including an osprey (Pandion haliaetus) diving full throttle to catch a fish at dawn, and a red fox (Vulpes vulpes) pouncing on prey hidden among the beach grass at dusk.

Also present at every waterway this summer has been the jewel-hued, common green darner dragonfly (Anax junius). These ubiquitous insects effortlessly nab multitudes of mosquitoes on the wing. While the monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) reigns in our minds when it comes to insect migrations, recent research reveals the green darner takes a multi-generational, miles-long journey of its own each year.

Common green darner dragonflies (Anax junius) are found in the forest preserves. Stock photo.
Common green darner dragonflies (Anax junius) are found in the forest preserves. Stock photo.
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A native garden to call your own

Guest post by Eileen Davis

What is your earliest gardening memory? Was it planting a seed in a paper cup at school, and watching it sprout and grow on the classroom windowsill? Perhaps you gathered dandelion flowers and presented your mom with a beautiful, yellow bouquet. Or did you rake up a giant pile of leaves to jump in on a crisp fall day? You might even have visited the native garden at Independence Grove in Libertyville, part of the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois.

My earliest gardening memory is helping my aunt and uncle in their garden. I was only about four or five years old, but I clearly remember the prickly feeling of the cucumber vines scratching my forearm as I helped pull weeds. No matter the memory, we are all doing the same thing—tending to our little piece of the Earth. It’s something humans have done for thousands and thousands of years. We are and always have been dependent on our environment for survival.

The author's daughters playing in a backyard leaf pile. Photo © Eileen Davis.
The author’s daughters playing in a backyard leaf pile. Photo © Eileen Davis.
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Milkweed. It’s not just for the monarchs.

Post by Jen Berlinghof

Being home more these past months has allowed my family copious time to observe the common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) in our garden go through its life cycle day by day. We’ve witnessed the transformation from wily little sprouts in early summer to blooming beasts, with pompoms of eraser-pink flowers wafting perfume across the yard—even threatening to take over the footpath—by Fourth of July. Now in the sweet days of September, our milkweed is laden with swelling seed pods, ready to burst with floating seeds like so many little white parachutes scattered in the autumnal sky. The situation is similar in many of the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois.

The beautiful flowerhead of common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca). Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.
The beautiful flowerhead of common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca). Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.
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The moth and the moon

Post by Jen Berlinghof

A full moon rises, a screen door slams shut, a katydid’s creaking calls echo, and a Luna moth (Actias luna) flutters in circles around the back porch light. We’re captivated by this green ghost of summer, concealed by broad leaves and seen rarely during the day, emerging at night only to mate for its few fleeting days of adulthood. How lucky it is that Luna moths live in the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois.

The bright green wings of the Luna moth (Actias luna) are instantly recognizable. Stock photo.
The bright green wings of the Luna moth (Actias luna) are instantly recognizable. Stock photo.
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A different kind of autumn apple

Post by Jen Berlinghof

Fall is the time of harvest here in the Midwest. Golden stacks of hay bales, farmer’s markets teeming with end-of-season produce, and above all, apples. But step away from the orchard and into an oak woodland and you’ll find a different kind of autumn apple: an oak apple gall. What looks like a small, lime-green, spotted apple dangling from an oak leaf is not a fruit at all, but rather a secret abode for a tiny wasp.

There are more than 50 species of oak apple gall wasps in North America. Each one creates a unique fruit-like structure that protects and feeds its eggs and larvae as they develop. Lately, I’ve been finding many dried, spent brown husks created by the larger empty oak apple wasp (Amphibolips quercusinanis) around the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois.

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The din of the dog days

Post by Jen Berlinghof

The dog days of summer are a bounty for the senses. We see the lemon-yellow of whorled sunflower blooms, taste the ripe flavor of a homegrown tomato, smell the spicy sweetness of bee balm flowers, feel the heat of the day and the cool of the evening. Yet the most quintessential sensation of these end-of-summer days is hearing the overwhelming cacophony of cicada songs around the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois.

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Leopards and tigers and bears!

Post by Jen Berlinghof

Around the first frost is the best time for spotting bears in the Lake County Forest Preserves in northern Illinois…woolly bears, that is! These fuzzy caterpillars succumb to a late fall wanderlust and can often be found traversing trails and roads, as well as climbing vegetation and nibbling a last few bites before winter sets in. They belong to the subfamily Arctiinae, commonly known as tiger moths. Their scientific name stems from the ancient Greek word arktos (“bear”), for the appearance of their hairy larvae.

A woolly bear caterpillar (Pyrrharctia isabella) found along the Des Plaines River Trail. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.

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Summer “buzz kill”

Post by Jen Berlinghof

The sun had set, the campfire was doused, and the food was stashed away for the night as my sons and I tucked ourselves into our sleeping bag cocoons, thoroughly exhausted in a way one can only be from a day spent entirely outdoors. Still, sleep would not come easily. The whirling drone of thousands of annual cicadas buzzed through the nylon walls of our tent loud enough to overpower our fatigue. I lay awake, thinking it odd the cicadas would be calling after dark, when I caught a hint of the rising full moon through the ceiling screen and realized they were staying up late to party with the extra light. One of my boys groaned, “Isn’t there anything that can stop these CICADAS?” As a matter of fact, the next day we found just the thing: a cicada killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus).

The author holds a dead cicada killer wasp in her palm. Photo © Lake County Forest Preserves.

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“Submarine cottages”

Post by Jen Berlinghof

Late spring and early summer are busy seasons for children visiting the Lake County Forest Preserves for pond study programs. The shorelines of ponds pulse with the excitement of students, nets in hand, ready to discover the macroinvertebrates teeming under the water’s surface. The most delightful find this season by students has to be what Henry David Thoreau once called the “submarine cottages” of caddisfly larvae.

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