An Orchid With Body Odor

Photo by Ryan LeBlanc licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Aside from ourselves, mosquitoes may be humanity's largest threat. For many species of mosquito, females require blood to produce eggs. As such, they voraciously seek out animals and in doing so can spread deadly diseases. They do this by homing in on the chemicals such as CO2 and other compounds given off by animals. What is less commonly known about mosquitoes is that blood isn't their only food source. Males and females alike seek out nectar as source of carbohydrates.

Though mosquitoes visit flowers on a regular basis, they are pretty poor pollinators. However, some plants have managed to hone in on the mosquito as a pollinator. It should be no surprise that some orchids utilize this strategy. Despite knowledge of this relationship, it has been largely unknown exactly how these plants lure mosquitoes to their flowers. Recent work on one orchid, Platanthera obtusata, has revealed a very intriguing strategy to attract their mosquito pollinators.

This orchid produces human body odor. Though it is undetectable to the human nose, it seems to work for mosquitoes. Researchers at the University of Washington were able to isolate the scent compounds and found that they elicited electrical activity in the mosquitoes antennae. Though more work needs to be done to verify that these compounds do indeed attract mosquitoes in the wild, it nonetheless hints at one of the most unique ruses in the floral world.

Photo Credit: Kiley Riffell and Jacob W. Frank

Further Reading:

http://bit.ly/1JXP2jk

American Witch Hazel

With October nearly over, temperatures are starting to dip. The asters and goldenrods have traded their floral displays for their wind-dispersed seeds that take advantage of the fall breeze. Alas, floral displays in the northern hemisphere are nearly over. There is one major show left for those living in eastern North America. From October through November (and even into December in some regions) one species of understory shrub puts forth a display reminiscent of a firework extravaganza if the fireworks only came in yellow.

I am, of course, talking about American witch hazel (Hamamelis virginiana). This wonderful shade-loving shrub goes largely unnoticed throughout the summer. Come fall, however, it makes up for its subtle appearance by offering up some of the last flowers of the season. Seemingly overnight their branches become adorned with unique little flowers whose petals shoot out like four little party streamers. They somehow manage to look both modest and showy all at once.

It may seem strange for any plant to be flowering so late. What possible advantage could this entail? Some experts believe that late flowering evolved as a way for American witch hazel to avoid competition with other flowering plants. Indeed, it certainly attracts its fair share of pollinators in desperate search of a late season meal. Flies and bees make up a majority of pollinator visits. It could also be possible that American witch hazel flowers so late to avoid hybridizing with its spring-flowering cousin, the Ozark witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis). Regardless of its "intentions," this fall flowering strategy comes at a cost.

Despite garnishing a fair amount of pollinator attention, American witch hazel doesn't have enough time following pollination to produce fruit before winter hits. As such, fertilization of the ovaries is delayed until May the following year. The fruits, which are contained in woody capsules, spend the entire growing season maturing into viable propagules. Once mature, the seed capsules begin to dry until they become so taught that the capsule bursts. If you are lucky and attentive enough, you may be able to hear a small snap as the seeds are forcibly ejected from the capsule.

What's more, fruit set in this species is rather low. Analyses of over 40,000 witch hazel flowers showed that less than 1% produced viable seeds. Despite all of this, American witch hazel is nonetheless a successful species in eastern North American forests. It is proof that evolution need not be all or nothing. Any slight advantage is still an advantage. This hardy shrub is, at the end of the day, a survivor.

Further Reading:
http://www.amjbot.org/content/89/1/67.abstract

Is it a Fungus? Is it a Forb? No, it's a Tree!

Botanical gardens are winter sanctuaries for a northerner like myself. Winter tree ID can only do so much for me during these times. As such, I try my best to make regular trips to tropical houses wherever and whenever I can. On a recent excursion to the Missouri Botanical Garden, I came across something completely unexpected.

I was perusing their tropical house aptly named "The Climatron." As I rounded a corner I happened to look down and saw what looked like something only a member of the birthwort family (Aristolochiaceae) could produce. There, lying near the ground were a cluster of some of the coolest flowers I have personally laid eyes on.

Photo by Cymothoa exigua licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

I began searching for the plant that produced them. Up until this point, I have only encountered members of this family in the form of low-lying understory herbs and scrambling vines dangling from the canopy. There were no apparent leaves associated with these flowers and the part of my brain responsible for search images became confused. I traced the flower stems to their place of origin and realized they were attached to the nearest trunk. I followed the trunk upwards and realized that what I had found was in fact a small tree!

The species I was looking at was none other than Aristolochia arborea, a small tree native to the tropical forests of Central America. Needless to say I was floored. There is something to be said about any plant family than can vary this much in size and habit. The coolest aspect about this tree is that, similar to the more herbaceous members of this family, the flowers are produced close to or directly on the forest floor.

A closer inspection of these strange blooms reveals an interesting morphology. It would appear that they are mimicking fungi in the genus Marasimus. Now this could simply be a manifestation of apophenia. Was I seeing patterns where there are none? Of course, this was a job for scientific literature.

It seems I may have been on to something. Botanists agree that in the wild this plant is pollinated by fungus gnats and flies. However, no direct observations of this have ever been made. That being said, the flowers do emit a rather musty smell that could very well be described as "fungal." Regardless, this is an excellent choice of tree to showcase in a botanical garden because stumbling into it like I did led me down an curious path of discovery.

Tree photo credit: Cymothoa exigua (Wikimedia Commons)

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Mighty Mighty Squash Bees

Photo by MJI Photos (Mary J. I.) licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

It's decorative gourd season, ladies and gentlemen. If you are anything like me then you should be reveling in the tastes, smells, and overall pleasing aesthetics of the fruit of the family Cucurbitaceae. If so, then you must pay your respects to a hard working bee that is responsible for the sexual efforts of these vining plants. I'm not talking about the honeybee, no no. I am talking about the squash bees. 

If we're being technical, the squash bees are comprised of two genera, Peponapis and Xenoglossa. They are not the hive forming bees we generally think of. Instead, these bees are solitary in nature. After mating (which usually occurs inside squash flowers) the females will dig a tunnel into the ground. Inside that tunnel she places balls of squash pollen upon which she will lay an egg. The larvae consume the protein-rich pollen as they develop. 

The story of squash bees and Cucurbitaceae is a North American story. Long before squash was domesticated, these bees were busy pollinating their wild relatives. As a result, this bee/plant relationship is quite strong. Female squash bees absolutely rely on squash flowers for the pollen and nectar needs of their offspring. In fact, they often dig their brood tunnels directly beneath the plants. 

Because of this long standing evolutionary relationship, squash bees are the best pollinators of this plant family. The flowers open in the morning just as the squash bees are at their most active. Also, because they are so specific to squash, the squash bees ensure that pollen from one squash flower will make it to another squash flower instead of an unrelated plant species. Honeybees can't hold a candle to these native bees. What's more, crowds of eager honeybees may even chase off the solitary squash bees. For these reasons, it is often recommended that squash farmers forgo purchasing honeybee hives for their crops. If left up to nature, the squash bees will do what they are evolutionarily made to do. 

Photo Credit: MJI Photos (https://www.flickr.com/photos/capturingwonder/4962652272/)

Further Reading:
http://www.researchgate.net/profile/Victor_Parra-Tabla2/publication/226134213_Importance_of_Conserving_Alternative_Pollinators_Assessing_the_Pollination_Efficiency_of_the_Squash_Bee_Peponapis_limitaris_in_Cucurbita_moschata_(Cucurbitaceae)/links/549471010cf20f487d2a95b8.pdf

http://www.jstor.org/stable/25084168?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

http://extension.psu.edu/plants/sustainable/news/2011/jan-2011/1-squash-bees

Blue

Blue is a strange color. This may seem like an odd statement yet, when you think about it, so few things in nature are truly blue. It is estimated that, of all the colors plants utilize to attract pollinators, blue occurs in less than 10% of species. This isn't a pattern restricted to plants either. Blue is an infrequent occurrence throughout the biological world.

When it does appear, the color blue is usually the result of structure rather than pigment. The feathers of a bluejay, the wings of a morpho butterfly, and the sheen of a beetles elytra - these blues owe their vibrancy to refracted light, not pigment. Without light, the crystalline cells responsible for the blue hue would appear dull brown. As light enters their structure, it is bent in a way that gives off blue wavelengths.

The metalic blue hue of these Pollia condensata are the result of refracted light, not pigment. Photo by Juliano Costa licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Plants have adopted this strategy as well. The berries of Pollia condensata use a similar crystalline structure that results in blue. However, there are true blue flowers out there. How have species with blue flowers managed to overcome the rarity of blue pigments?

The simple answer is that they haven't. There are no blue pigments in the floral world. Instead, plants utilize what can only be described as an evolutionary hack. Blue flowers obtain their color by doing something we all did in art class, blending pigments (similar to the one true black flower). By producing varying amounts of anthocyanins (the pigments responsible for reds) floral cells are able to make blue flowers.

The anthocyanins can also be tweaked to appear blue. One way of doing this is through changes in pH. The famous blue poppies (Meconopsis grandis), for example, have a defect in the proton pumps found inside their flower cells. This causes the cells to become more basic than acidic, which manifests in blue, rather than purple, flowers. Blue petunias do this as well.

Despite the lack of blue in the floral world, it nonetheless seems to work well when it comes to pollinators. I watched multiple different species of bee visit the flowers of this downy gentian (Gentiana puberulenta). Hummingbirds often visit the amazing floral display produced by the great blue lobelias (Lobelia siphilitica) in my garden. Anyone that has looked over a patch of blue lupine or delphiniums can attest to the success of this color.

Photo Credits: [1]

Further Reading: [1] [2]