I've already mentioned how glad I've been to have the Bahama Sennas I put in last spring (Senna mexicana var. chapmanii). They've attracted my "everyday" sulphur, Cloudless (Phoebis sennae), a nice Sleepy Orange (Eurema nicippe), and now a new butterfly for the yard (one of the only new insects discovered in this windy, windy November), the Orange-barred Sulphur (Phoebis philea):As soon as I saw it, I knew it was a different butterfly than any of the ones I'd seen before. Its size alone made it stand out; this is Florida's largest sulphur butterfly, even larger than the appropriately named Giant Orange Sulphur (P. agarithe). The cloudless sulphurs I see every day, while not exactly shrimpy, look small compared to this hulking giant. The color also made it stand out. The entire underside (that is, what's visible when it has its wings closed) was "rusty" orange, and the orange was particularly prominent when it was flying. I managed to capture a moderately nonhorrible image of the hindwing orange area, although it's nothing to write
home an entire blog post about:
The orange at the base of the female's hindwing is not the "bar" referred to in the name, though. The orange-barred part of the name comes from the male, which has a thick orange "bar" on the forewing (In case you didn't know, in describing an animal, stripes run vertically, while bars run horizontally.):
According to almost all of my books, the orange-barred sulphur colonized Florida from the West Indies in the late 1920s.1 According to Cech and Tudor, it is less migratory than our other sulphurs (Cloudless being the "typical"—or perhaps extreme, rather than typical—migratory sulphur, occurring over a wide range at various times of the year.)
Like most sulphurs, its larval host plant family (what the caterpillars eat) is the sennas in the genus Cassia (as opposed to the sennas in the genus Senna—plants are awesome!).
The caterpillars of the Orange-barred are highly variable green or yellow, but no matter what basal color they have, they have bold markings that make them quite a bit more colorful than the green-with-a-yellow-racing-stripe Cloudless cats:
However, I have yet to find one on my property; all of the candidate caterpillars I've found have turned out to be early instar cloudless sulphurs; as they grow, they get greener and greener.
Caterpillars of all the sulphurs appear to prefer to eat the flowers, although the leaves will do when there are no flowers present. (And there are rarely flowers present, since there are so many generations of caterpillars, and they all prefer the blossoms, or if those are absent, the buds.)
After leading my annual Audubon Society of the Everglades birding field trip to Green Cay this November 28, I made my annual stop at Native Choice Nursery. They weren't yet open for the day, but they'd left out exactly what I wanted: Climbing Aster (Aster carolinianus). I paid in the main office (a bargain at $5 each) and put them in the ground in the morning, watered them in, and left for the beach. They're basically a wetland plant in the wild, but one of my books tells me that they're pretty adaptable, so I put them in along a fence (to give them something to climb) next to another climbing vine-type plant, Coral Honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens), which is another plant that starts to sulk when I neglect to hit it with the hose every few days. Here's a photo from Craig Huegel's excellent blog, hawthornhillwildflowers.blogspot.com (he's also written several recent books on various types of Florida native plants): Here's hoping mine do half as well. The more photogenic of the two I picked up is below: Neither of the plants I bought had lovely blooms on them. I did this deliberately, because those typically drop off very soon after planting, leaving me disappointed. And the blooming season of these plants is very late, so I'm hoping that by putting it next to the summer-blooming Coral Honeysuckle I'll have blooms even in the dead of "winter" here. Plus, asters are the larval host plant family for the Pearl Crescent, so I'm hoping this planting will take off and provide some food for those lovely little guys.
One gray and overcast morning near the end of October I saw a large moth nectaring from the porterweed and petunia patch out front. I took a terrible video with my phone, then ran inside for my real camera with its real macro lens and ran off thirty shots in hopes of getting something useful for ID purposes. And sure enough, shot number thirty (thank goodness!) was enough to ID it, although it certainly wasn't an aesthetically pleasing portrait of this actually quite lovely moth:The wings in the picture above are blurry with motion; that's because they have to beat very fast to keep this rather fat moth airborne. The large size and the strong wingbeats have given this moth another common name, in addition to the rather "technical" white-lined sphinx: the hummingbird moth. That's not a specific name, though; several other large moths are also known as hummingbird moths. However, if you take the trouble to do an image search, you'll find that this is probably the prettiest of the hummingbird moths. It's fairly widespread, too. The page at BAMONA (that's Butterflies and Moths of North America) mentions that it's found on at least three continents:
Range: Central America north through Mexico and the West Indies to most of the United States and southern Canada. Also occurs in Eurasia and Africa.The reason for that large home range is that it's a generalist: its larvae can feed on many different plants:
Caterpillar Hosts: A great diversity of plants including willow weed (Epilobium), four o'clock (Mirabilis), apple (Malus), evening primrose (Oenothera), elm (Ulmus), grape (Vitis), tomato (Lycopersicon), purslane (Portulaca), and Fuschia [sic].This is the fifth "sphinx" I've found on the property (the previous four being Xylophanes pluto, Erinnyis ello, Manduca sexta, and Enyo lugubris). All of these moths are quite large and very interesting to look at. Actually, this is the sixth sphinx moth I've found, but I don't have a solid ID on the fifth one yet. One of the commenters at bug guide.net thought it was probably Aellopos sp., probably Aellopos tantalus, but the jury's still out: Still and all, large day-flying moths, while nowhere near as common in my yard as their cousins the butterflies, do provide some interest. And these particular moths, the white-lined sphinx, since one of their larval host plants is purslane, give me a reason not to pull up the rather large patches of purslane "weeds" in my beds of golden creeper: The yellow-flowering purslane is probably Portulaca oleracea; I also have a pink-flowering version, Portulaca pilosa, that's quite pretty as well: And I haven't felt the need to get rid of these low-growing "weeds." That really is one of the best parts of gardening for wildlife: you can tolerate weedy species that have redeeming qualities. Cheers! PS—I have no idea where the genus name comes from. In Greek mythology, Hylas was a companion of Herakles, but I haven't been able to find any info about any Hyles. In medieval Latin, hyle was used as a transliteration of the Greek húlē, wood, matter; in another sense, the first matter of the cosmos, from which the four elements arose, according to the doctrines of Empedocles and Aristotle. It isn't immediately apparent why it was applied to this particular genus.
This October, just in time for Halloween, I've had sightings of two different orange and black butterflies known as crescents: Pearl Crescent (Phyciodes tharos) and Phaon Crescent (Phyciodes phaon). I've written about the Pearl Crescent before, but here are this month's pictures: The upper side, at least, is orange and black. The under side is more brown and cream than black: The Phaon Crescent looks remarkably similar; the main difference is that one of the bands of orange in the upper wings in Pearl is cream-colored in Phaon: There are plenty of orange-and-black butterflies in this part of the world, of course (Monarch, Queen, Gulf Fritillary), but these two are kind of fun, and they've been underrepresented on this website for the past few years. Both Pearl Crescent and Phaon Crescent are "weedy" butterflies. By this I don't mean that they are as common as weeds. They're actually, at least in my yard, somewhat rare. By "weedy" I mean that their larvae eat weeds. Phaon caterpillars eat the leaves of a ground cover known variously as carpetweed, turkey tangle fog fruit, frog fruit, mat grass. Its taxonomic name is Phyla nodiflora. It's fairly pretty: There's a decent-sized patch of it in the weedy front lawn of the house across the street from me (the one vacant house on the block). For an amazing life-cycle write-up of the Phaon Crescent, check out this page from MOSI outside. The look-alike butterfly, Pearl Crescent, eats the leaves of flowers in one of the largest families of flowering plants, the Asteraceae. The most common weed in south Florida? Bidens alba, in the Asteraceae. What I'm trying to say is both butterflies have their larval host plants in my neighborhood, so I can't decide which butterfly I'm looking at by simple probability. I have to look closely at each one to be sure I know which is which. Hopefully the little lesson above will help you figure yours out as well. Oh, did I mention? These are rather small butterflies; their wingspan is at most 1-1/4 inches. Yes, you do have to look rather closely. Etymology Phyciodes presumably comes from the Greek phykos, meaning (in a somewhat convoluted way) painted. The word actually means seaweed, but it also referred to the products made from it, among which one of the principal ones was cosmetics, rouge. (Seaweeds can be brown and red, right?) Tharos might be related to the Greek tharsos, courage, or it might be a reference to the ancient Sardinian city of Tharros, but it's not clear that's what Drury had in mind when he named this species back in 1773 (he called it Papilio tharos). Phaon, of course, was the handsomest man in the world, although he didn't start out that way. One day this old and unhandsome boatman from Mytilene had the good fortune to ferry the goddess of love, Aphrodite herself, from Lesbos to somewhere in Asia Minor. She was disguised as an old crone. Phaon, it is said, would accept no money for the fare. As recompense, Aphrodite gave him an ointment (it's supposed to have contained myrrh—those of you who remember Monty Python's Life of Brian know how some people feel about myrrh) to use that turned him young and handsome. After his transformation, he captured the heart of Sappho, it is said (no mean feat, that), but apparently grew weary of her charms, prompting her to drown herself. His end was no less predictable: Aelian reports (in Varia Historia) that he was slain by a husband he was cuckolding. As you can imagine, the story of Phaon was rather popular, being told by, among the ancients, Aelian, Ovid (Heroides xv, the epistle from Sappho to Phaon, translated by Alexander Pope), and Lucian. It was also illustrated on vases: I've always loved Greek vases, but the 7500-pound offering price on that one is a bit rich for my blood. The story was also depicted in paintings (this one by the unofficial semi-official painter of Napoleonic France, Jacques-Louis David): So the Pearl Crescent might translate as courageous painted butterfly, while the Phaon Crescent would be the beautiful painted ferryman. Go figure!
The senna plants I put in this spring have been paying dividends for the last couple of months already. A nearly constant population of Cloudless Sulphur (Phoebis sennae) butterflies has been present, both adults and caterpillars, although the former are quite a bit more difficult to photograph than the latter. Still, I've managed a few decent shots. This month (October, for those of you who aren't reading this the instant I post it) these plants brought in a new species to the yard: Sleepy Orange, Eurema nicippe. I knew it wasn't a Cloudless Sulphur right away, because it was quite a bit smaller, and the upper side (visible only in flight) was bright orange. It nearly always has its wings folded when it lands, though, so the only images I have are of the yellow undersides: The brown patches on the wings indicate that this is a female. A good clue to its being an orange and not another kind of yellow or sulphur is that there are only two orange butterflies in this butterfly family: tailed orange and sleepy orange. As long as you see the orange wings in flight, you've got a 50-50 chance of identifying it right away. And the tailed orange has a very different wing shape, so... About as easy an ID as they come. Here's the other side of this beautiful butterfly: The "sleepy" in the name comes from the marking that looks like a "closed eye" in the forewing. Very few internet commentators give an illustration of this, at least those who work from live insects, because it's very difficult to get a good photo of this butterfly with its wings open. But if you do manage it (and I haven't), or you just use specimen photos, you can see the two spots that do indeed suggest closed eyes, at least to those with a little imagination: And apparently John Henry Comstock, the godfather of entomology in America, gave this species the first part of its common name based on that character.Butterflies and Skippers of Ohio (1992).'>1 I'm not sure when the common name changed from Comstock's original Sleepy Yellow to the current Sleepy Orange, but it helps easily distinguish it from the other Eurema species: if you see orange, you know it's not one of the "yellow" yellows. Here's the picture of it from Comstock's How to Know the Butterflies: It's surprising how many different guides don't show winter and summer forms when they're different, or female and male; for Sleepy Orange, there's quite a difference, so you'd need to show all four forms to really help your reader. The yellow on the summer form is "clean," with the various black markings showing up in stark contrast to the brilliance of the ground color. Minno and Minno (1999) illustrate this species (and most other species) quite well, with two male and two female specimens, one for each form (click the picture if you'd like to see the caption at legible size): Like several of the oranges and sulphurs, Sleepy Oranges enjoy both the flowers and the leaves of many kinds of cassias; mine is Senna mexicana, var. chapmanii, native to Florida and the West Indies. When it blooms (when the caterpillars leave it alone long enough for it to do so!), it has a pretty yellow flower. I saw one the other day, but it was so windy I wasn't able to get a picture of it. Here's one from April instead: Enjoy! References Cech, R. and G. Tudor. 2005. Butterflies of the East Coast: an observing guide. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Comstock, J. and Comstock, A. 1904. How to Know the Butterflies. New York: Appleton. Minno, M. and Minno, M. 1999. Florida Butterfly Gardening: A complete guide to attracting, identifying, and enjoying butterflies of the lower South. Gainesville: U of Florida P.
Skippers are the little brown jobs of the butterfly world: small, fast, hard to see clearly, and hard to distinguish in the field. Fortunately, a good camera can overcome almost all of those problems, and it came in handy last month when I uncovered a new species visiting the yard: Three-spotted Skipper, Cymaenes tripunctus. Pelidnota punctata, the grapevine beetle that I saw back in 2013 and have yet to finish writing up... Like most butterflies in this family (the Grass Skippers), its larval host plant is various species of grasses. Listed in my manuals are bamboo, paragrass, crabgrass, thin paspalum, guineagrass, sugarcane, and eastern gamagrass. While I'd like to have that last species, which is nice and ornamental, I have thin paspalum (Paspalum setacea) instead. It's a bunch grass, but very low growing, not very attractive, and I rip it out whenever it gets too thick. I guess I'll have to start inspecting it for caterpillars before I do!In the photo above, the butterfly is sipping nectar from the Bahama Strongbark (Bourreria succulenta) tree in the front yard. That tree is a favorite of many nectar-drinkers and pollinators, from the common European Honeybee to the more specialized leafcutter bees in the family Megachilidae. Flower flies, also called hover flies, in the family Syrphidae also frequent the blossoms, as do my most common resident butterflies, Zebra Longwing and Gulf Fritillary. Last month I also noticed a huge spike in the population of Monk Skippers (Asbolis capucinus); on a good day I'd see 8 or 9 of them hanging out between the dwarf strongbark (I have a hedge of it out front) and the regular-sized tree. And one day I noticed another lightly marked brown butterfly, about half the size of the hulking Monk, and was able to get a couple of reasonable shots of it. Good enough, at least, to secure the ID. Since that first sighting (September 23), these have been fairly regular visitors to the yard. Here's another shot from a week later: Now it's near the middle of October, and I'm still seeing them on a regular basis (and still waiting for the light to be just right, so I can get a pretty, instead of just a decent, shot of one). But I can't wait any longer to post the "New Backyard Bug" post or I'll forget about it, as I've done with poor
Here's a somewhat complete list of the insects and spiders seen around the yard last month (those that I've noticed, those that I've taken pictures of, and those that I've been able to ID). Some of them are linked to ID pages on bugguide.net. Others aren't. If it was a new species for the yard, I've indicated it as such, along with a link to the write-up on the blog. (Some of which I still haven't even caught up with yet...) Butterflies
- Swallowtails (Papilionidae)
- Giant Swallowtail (Papilio cresphontes)
- Polydamas Swallowtail (Battus polydamas)
- Whites and Yellows (Pierids)
- Cloudless Sulphur (Phoebis sennae)
- Barred Yellow (Eurema daira)
- Blues, Coppers, and Hairstreaks (Lycaenidae)
- Cassius Blue (Leptotes cassius)
- Martial's Scrub-Hairstreak (Strymon martialis)
- Mallow Scrub-Hairstreak (Strymon istapa)
- Brushfoots (Nymphalidae)
- Queen (Danaus gillipus)
- Monarch (Danaus plexippus)
- Gulf Fritillary (Agraulis vanillae)
- Zebra Heliconian (Heliconius charithonia)
- Skippers (Hesperiidae)
- Fiery Skipper (Hylephila philaeus)
- Three-spotted Skipper (Cymaenes tripunctus) (New yard bug, no write-up yet)
- White Checkered-Skipper (Pyrgus albescent) (New yard bug!):
- Long-tailed Skipper (Urbanus proteus)
- Monk Skipper (Asbolis capucinus); very high numbers this month (8–9 individuals at once)
- Horace's Duskywing (Erynnis horatius)
- Red-waisted Florella Moth - Hodges#5284 (Syngamia florella)
- Hellula sp. (Budworm moth)
- Samea ecclesialis (Assembly Moth)
- Pilocrocis ramentalis
- Diaphania sp.
- Sisyracera contortilinealis
- Damselflies (Zygoptera)
- Citrine Forktail (Ischnura hastata)
- Rambur's Forktail (Ischnura ramburii)
- Everglades Sprite (Nehalennia integricollis)
- Dragonflies (Anisoptera)
- Band-winged Dragonlet (Erythrodiplax umbrata)
- Blue Dasher (Erythrodiplax longipennis)
- Honeybee (Apis mellifera)
- Leafcutter bee (Megachile petulans)
- Leafcutter bee (Megachile albitarsis) (new to the yard!)
- Sweat Bee (Agapostemon splendens)
- Sweat Bee (Halictus poeyi)
- Sweat Bee (Lasioglossum lepidii)
- Chalcid wasp, Conura sp.
- Chalcid wasp, Eurytoma sp. ("new" to the yard!)
- Chalcid wasp, Brachymeria sp. ("new" to the yard!)
- Myzinum wasp (Campsomeris dorsata)
- Metallic Blue Ladybeetle (Curinus coeruleus)
- Asian Multicolored Ladybeetle (Harmonia axyridis)
- Click beetle, perhaps Diplostethus carolinensis
- Milkweed assassin bug (Zelus longipes)
- Leafhoppers (various Cicadellidae species, including Brazilian Leafhopper (Protalebrella brasiliensis))
- Condylostylus mundus
- Palpada vinetorum
- Plagioneurus univittatus
- Toxomerus geminatus
- Sarcophagidae sp.
- Phytomizinae sp.
- Hentzia palmarum
- Gasteracantha cancriformis
- Menemerus bivittatus
- Argiope trifasciata
- Leucauge venusta
That's right: Ocola, not Ocala. No one seems to know the origin of that name. I assume, although I don't know, that the "common" name comes from the species name, Panoquina ocola. (I'm having trouble writing this post; the autocorrect keeps trying to change it to either "Ocala" or "cool"; apparently "Ocola" isn't a word!) My own personal guess is that it's a corruption of either Ocala or Osceola, both of which are Florida place names that might have flummoxed a young industrialist coal miner from New York. The coal mine owner who gave the species its name was William Henry Edwards, who named it Hesperia ocola in the Proceedings of the Entomological Society of Philadelphia back in 1863; the range is given as Florida, Georgia, Texas. (In that same article he also described the "Mandan Skipper," with range given as Lake Winnipeg, just a few miles north of North Dakota, in which state is located the town of Mandan, of Lewis and Clark fame.) He, together with (and separately from) Samuel Scudder, established American lepidoptera studies in the latter half of the nineteenth century. They were the first to go beyond simple cataloging and taxonomy of the North American butterflies, to include their life histories:
every stage, what the insect ate, its courting and mating behavior, its "parenting" practices, how it dealt with the surrounding world, how it kept going in the face of a grisly army of enemies, and what finally killed it. (Leach 7)For more on Edwards and his stormy relationship with other nineteenth-century American butterfly enthusiasts, read William Leach's recent history of American lepidopterists, Butterfly People. Edwards wrote the first comprehensive illustrated guide to North American butterflies by an American, and he spared no expense on the plates; he considered that "nothing is more discouraging to the beginner than dry, unillustrated descriptions" (Leach 18). With that in mind, I'll wait no longer to bring you a picture of this migrant to my yard, first time seen after over four years here: Unlike with most skippers, identification of this one isn't terribly hard, as long as you get a clear view of the distinctive chevron-shaped mark in the wing. Still, I was reluctant to post this until I got the ID confirmed over at bugguide.net. Randy Emmitt has made an excellent identification page at Butterflies of the Carolinas and Virginias. While this is a fairly common butterfly, it's a bit of a local phenomenon. The caterpillars feed on aquatic and semi-aquatic grasses, which I don't have in abundance anywhere near me. Bugguide lists the following species: Rice (Oryza sativa), Sugarcane (Saccharum officinarum), and Trompetilla Grass (Hymenachne amplexicaulis). So I imagine this is a much more common butterfly out in the western parts of Palm Beach County, where more sugarcane is grown than anywhere else in the continental United States, thanks to a byzantine arrangement of USDA and other government subsidies that allow corporate farmers to sell their product at a price that would be unsustainable on any kind of open market. But that's a different story. Me, I'm just writing about a little butterfly that just recently decided to visit my little part of the world. And now I'm done writing about it. [UPDATE: In my reading about this species in Minno and Minno, I discovered that this grass skipper also uses torpedograss (Panicum repens), which is a very weedy grass that I have growing out front near my lantanas and gumbo limbo; I keep ripping it up, but it has an extremely tenacious and energy-filled rhizome that basically means it's ineradicable. So maybe there's a corner of my yard where these Ocola skippers are just enjoying themselves to no end, and I just haven't found it yet!] References Edwards, W. H. 1863. Description of certain species of DIURNAL LEPIDOPTERAN found within the limits of the United States and British America. No. 1. Proceedings of the Entomological Society of Philadelphia, vol. 2, no.1: 14–22. Leach, W. 2013. Butterfly People: An American encounter with the beauty of the world. New York: Pantheon. Minno, M.C. & Minno, M. 1999. Florida Butterfly Gardening. Gainesville: UP of Florida.
The more I get to know my little patch of ground, the more exciting it is to find something new in it. In early October this year I found a species of moth called a Bella Moth (or Ornate Bella Moth), Utetheisa ornatrix. It's a pretty little moth, with orange wings that bear white stripes with black dots in them. On its "shoulders" it bears a pretty white "shawl" with black polka dots: I wrote a bit about that book a few years back in discussion of another new backyard insect) if a plant creates a defense, an insect can find a way around it. And that's what these beautiful moths do. Eisner devotes almost an entire chapter (chapter 10, "The Sweet Smell of Success") of his book to the work he and his graduate students did on these moths at the Archibald Biological Station in Venus. Apparently it was a chance observation of this species of moth being freed from a spiderweb by the spider that "changed forever the way we [think] about insect survival" (349). This moth is distasteful to predators, which confers a huge survival advantage on it. Their distastefulness derives from their diet: eating these crotalarias (in the pea family, but toxic enough to kill cows) enables them to absorb their defensive chemicals (in this case, pyrrolizidine alkaloids) and saturate their bodies with them, to the point where most predators, even naive1 ones, will leave them alone. Interestingly, Eisner and colleagues discovered that the uptake of this chemical in the moth caterpillars is variable, and if a growing larva doesn't have enough of it, it will resort to cannibalism to acquire it! Alkaloid-hungry caterpillars will leave alone their brethren who also don't have the chemical, but should they encounter one that has it, they'll do their best to eat it up! The bella moth is a tiger moth, in the large and diverse subfamily Arctiinae. My etymological research has come up empty; the Century Dictionary is my fallback etymological source for insect names, and as you can see from the pictures in the post above, it didn't bother to give an etymology, although it did source the name to Hübner, 1816. Here's Wikipedia's summary of the taxonomy:It looks quite a bit more pink than orange in flight, because, like many moths, its underwings are of a different color than its upper wings. Unfortunately, since I didn't have a dead moth, I was unable to get a shot of them, but here's a screenshot of what they look like, from the UF/IFAS Featured Creatures website, photo by Don Hall (clicking the photo will take you to the UF/IFAS page about this moth; scroll down the page to Figure 6): I was surprised to find this moth in my yard because I don't have the host plant for it, which is any number of species of wildflower in the genus Crotalaria, called rattlebox for the way the seeds rattle in the seed pod. Here's a bad picture from my files of one species I saw back in 2008 at Fern Forest; you can see that it will bear yellow flowers and it has abundant seed pods (making this a rather weedy species): It tends to grow in scrubby sites, and the closest scrub areas that I know about are several miles away. But it's a weedy genus, and there must be some growing nearby that I don't know about. An alternative explanation for the presence of this moth in my yard comes from the Century Dictionary online, which defines this genus and uses U. bella (an older name for this same species) as the prototype: Plants in the genus Myrica include the common Wax Myrtle, which I have in my back yard! So I'll have to inspect my two shrubs for evidence of these larvae. Just for fun, here's the beginning of the definition from the Century Dictionary: Assuming this moth to be a stray, rather than one who grew up on the wax myrtle in my back yard, it probably had a formidable array of chemical defenses to protect itself from predators. It gets these chemicals from its most common host plants, the crotalarias. They have some very poisonous chemicals in their tissues to repel plant-eating critters. But, as Thomas Eisner wrote about in his book For Love of Insects, (
In 1758, Carol Linnaeus first characterized two species of the genus Phalaena. Phalaena ornatrix was used to describe the paler moth specimens, and Utetheisa bella, described the bright pink moth specimens. In 1819, Hübner moved these species to a new genus, Utetheisa. For nearly a century, it was difficult to determine this moth’s evolutionary history as researchers focused on external similarities (color, shape, patterns, size), rather than determining features specific to the species. This led to great confusion when trying to categorize the different subspecies. In 1960, Forbes combined both species, Utetheisa ornatrix and Utetheisa bella,into the species now known as Utetheisa ornatrix. His conclusion was also supported by Pease Jr. who, in 1966, used genetic testing and determined that any phenotypic differences were based on interspecific variation due to geographic differences (rather than intraspecific variation).And here's a beautiful picture of a slightly different color form of this moth from the island of Tobago: For more on this moth, I highly recommend Donald Hall's write-up on Featured Creatures (see References, below); his bibliography is stuffed with more technical references if you're curious. References Century Dictionary online. Eisner, T. 2003. For Love of Insects. Cambridge, MA: Belknap/Harvard. Hall, D. 2005. common name: bella moth, rattlebox moth, inornate moth or calico moth scientific name: Utetheisa ornatrix (Linnaeus) (Insecta: Lepidoptera: Erebidae: Arctiinae). From the Featured Creatures website, http://entnemdept.ufl.edu/creatures/beneficial/leps/bella_moth.htm The dread Wikipedia. Utetheisa ornatrix. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Utetheisa_ornatrix
I've been reviewing the photos on my old Mac mini, since supplanted as my workhorse computer by the laptop. But I haven't transferred the nearly 2TB of photos from it, and inevitably I missed a few. Here are a couple from last November that begin with the letter A.As usual, click the photos for a larger image.