Ecology and Evolutionary Biology

Scholars apply economic analysis to ecological research

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 20 May 2026 21:25:35 +0000

Scholars apply economic analysis to ecological research Rachel Sauer Wed, 05/20/2026 - 15:25

Rachel Sauer

In research published today, recent PhD graduate Asia Kaiser details how synthetic control methods estimated significant declines in bee observations when traditional analyses didn’t

Since it launched in 2008 as a UC Berkeley student’s master's project, the iNaturalist platform has been a source of both fascination and frustration for researchers.

The hundreds of millions of observations about the natural world logged by both professional and citizen scientists around the globe are a treasure trove of information about biodiversity. But is that data usable in research? The prevailing sentiment has veered toward doubt, skepticism or an outright “no.”

“I think the feeling has been, ‘Oh, because this data is just being collected opportunistically by nature enthusiasts and not in a standardized, rigorous way, it can’t be used in scientific research,’” says Asia Kaiser, who earlier this month earned her PhD in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology. “If you haven’t planned out data collection in advance, a lot of researchers hesitate to use it.”

Recent PhD graduate Asia Kaiser studied how synthetic control methods estimated significant declines in bee observations when traditional analyses didn’t.

There had to be a way, Kaiser thought, to tap into the vast cache of information logged into iNaturalist without sacrificing scientific rigor, especially data collected in urban environments. The answer, it turned out, lay in economics.

In research published today, Kaiser and co-authors Julian Resasco and Laura Dee, both associate professors of ecology and evolutionary biology, detail how combining iNaturalist records with synthetic control methods, originally used in economics, estimated a significant decline in bee observations in Philadelphia during the two years following Hurricane Ida in 2021, while conventional ecological analyses didn’t detect the decline.

“Basically, the inspiration for this project was thinking about causal inference in ecology,” Kaiser explains. “When we have observational data, can we actually use that to ask questions about drivers of biodiversity?”

‘You can’t just go into people’s backyards’

These questions dovetailed neatly with Kaiser’s research focus, which is bees—specifically, how human land use affects different insect groups and, consequently, the ecosystem services they provide in coupled human-natural systems. Among her research aims is understanding biodiversity in urban environments, improving the resilience of urban agroecosystems, increasing equitable access to fresh produce and promoting environmental justice in cities.

However, monitoring biodiversity and evaluating drivers of change in urban environments is confounded by several issues: “Cities are mosaics of land-use types, including parks, private properties, buildings, roads and industrial zones,” Kaiser writes in the paper. “As a result, sampling efforts can be complicated by permission and safety issues, and leaving unattended sampling equipment in the field brings a higher risk of theft, tampering and vandalism in cities.

“Given these challenges, measuring biodiversity in cities requires different tools and data streams than those used in natural ecosystems. Participatory science data is a promising solution for monitoring biodiversity in cities; cities are the land use type with some of the highest upload volumes of data to participatory science platforms, largely because upload frequency is strongly influenced by population density.”

Despite the abundance of participatory science data in platforms like iNaturalist, researchers have hesitated to draw from it, relying instead on randomized, controlled and replicable experiments to identify and estimate causal relationships. That kind of science, Kaiser says, becomes more difficult in urban environments due to sampling challenges and historical legacies that shape different neighborhoods, among other reasons.

“If you’re studying a natural area, you could get a permit and go sample all over, but you can’t do that in a city,” Kaiser says. “Even if you get a permit, you can’t just go into people’s backyards.”

The idea of how to bridge the gap between the abundance of iNaturalist data logged in urban areas and the rigor expected in scientific research came to Kaiser when she was assigned to watch a lecture given by a Nobel laureate in economics. The lecture topic was synthetic control methods, which originated in economics as a way to create a nonexistent control group that allows for comparisons between real-world groups before and after an event or intervention.

One of the most famous uses of synthetic control methods in economics was in estimating the impact of Germany’s reunification after the fall of the Berlin Wall on the gross domestic product (GDP) of western Germany. Economists created a “synthetic” Germany from economic data to study GDP with and without reunification.

Though synthetic control methods hadn’t been widely used in ecology research, “I thought it could be adopted with iNaturalist data,” Kaiser explains. She was further interested in studying the effects of Hurricane Ida on her home city of Philadelphia, which included significant flooding.

“If you’re studying a natural area, you could get a permit and go sample all over, but you can’t do that in a city. Even if you get a permit, you can’t just go into people’s backyards,” explains ��ӽ紫ý scientist Asia Kaiser about the challenges of ecological research in urban areas. (Photo: Sandy Millar/Unsplash)

“Even though it didn’t have a huge impact on people per se, the effects of the hurricane were really dramatic. Looking at the water levels, the stream gauges had their highest values ever in the 100 years that they’ve been measuring. My feeling was that would have a pretty big impact on bees, because if you look at bee biodiversity, bees are pretty sensitive to precipitation and water. The ones that nest in the ground are really affected by huge flooding events.”

Declines following a hurricane

To apply synthetic control methods to ecological research, Kaiser and her colleagues drew data from the Global Biodiversity Information Facility, which collects research-grade iNaturalist data—that which includes, among other points, latitude and longitude, collection date and time and correct identification—as a proxy for bee abundance in Philadelphia.

They analyzed for bee population declines and, in addition to synthetic control methods, also performed the more traditional methods of interrupted time series regression, before-after control impact regression and before-after regression.

Kaiser and her colleagues found that synthetic control estimated a 15.5%—20.9% decline in bee observations in the two years following Hurricane Ida. In contrast, the three more common ecological analyses didn’t detect this decline.

“That was an amazing moment, seeing this decline in the data and better understanding how iNaturalist data may be able to help us look at the impact of unusual climate events—things that are happening more and more these days, like huge fires, huge floods, abnormally warm winters,” Kaiser says. “Unless you were already collecting data in a region before, you can’t really see the impact before the event, but synthetic control methods might be able to help us in those situations.”

Kaiser adds that this method also might be useful for looking at the effect of policy interventions. For example, the city of Boulder is establishing pollinator corridors, and Kaiser sees potential in using this method to draw from iNaturalist data in studying the outcomes of these corridors.

Scientists who reviewed the paper expressed excitement and skepticism about using synthetic control methods in ecological research, Kaiser says: “They asked questions about whether or not the decline I’m seeing is a true thing that’s happening or an artifact of the way data has been collected. iNaturalist is very sensitive to observers—wealthy neighborhoods have higher uploads, areas around research universities have higher uploads—but this statistical method can help control for those things.”

Thanks to the professional and citizen scientists gathering data and sharing it on iNaturalist, Kaiser says she sees potential to apply synthetic control methods to a range of ecological research. For example, “using the bee biodiversity that’s collected on iNaturalist, does that correlate with how well flowers are being pollinated? I think that’s something we’ll be able to study.”

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In research published today, recent PhD graduate Asia Kaiser details how synthetic control methods estimated significant declines in bee observations when traditional analyses didn’t.

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Top photo: Aaron Burden/Unsplash

Fly agaric has a long association with fairies and humans

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 20 May 2026 19:01:01 +0000

Fly agaric has a long association with fairies and humans Rachel Sauer Wed, 05/20/2026 - 13:01

Jeff Mitton

Since the Renaissance, fly agaric has appeared in art and literature, frequently associated with fairies, trolls, wizards, witches and other mystical creatures

The most iconic and easily identified mushroom in the world is Amanita muscaria, or fly agaric. It grows around the world at northern latitudes in association with spruces, pines, birches and aspens, with its roots forming mutually beneficial mycorrhizal associations to exchange water and nutrients. It is easy to recognize, for it has a bright red cap, and all else white: stipe (stem), gills (underside of cap) and crumbles of the egg sac on the cap. These bright, contrasting colors make it easy to find and identify in a forest.

Fly agaric's bright, contrasting colors evolved to advertise their molecular defenses, muscimol and ibotenic acid. Unless an herbivore has evolved a way to combat activities of these compounds, these defenses are toxic and hallucinogenic, triggering severe and prolonged vomiting and loss of coordination and balance.

These colorful mushrooms and their psychoactive compounds have been associated with mankind for about 10,000 years. The association started with shamans in northern Europe and Siberia, who used the mushrooms during religious ceremonies to imagine communication with gods, ancestors and spirits. Similarly, they could be an ecstatic inebriant to enliven celebrations of winter solstice and the return of sunlight.

From the 13th through the 19th centuries, fly agaric was commonly used to kill flies in European homes and buildings. Flies were abundant before the invention of screens on windows and doors, and they were dreaded, thanks to a rumor that they get into the head and cause insanity. The practice came about after it was discovered that dried crumbs of fly agaric dropped into milk attracted flies, and when the flies sipped the milk, the ibotenic acid paralyzed and ultimately killed them. The common name fly agaric stems from this practice—agaric is the name for the familiar toadstool-shaped mushroom. Its formal name is Amanita muscaria: Amanita is the genus of mushrooms, and muscaria is a reference to the common housefly, Musca domestica.

Since the Renaissance, fly agaric has appeared in art and literature, frequently associated with fairies, trolls, wizards, witches and other mystical creatures in fairy tales and books for children. Recent examples will be most familiar. Dancing red-and-white mushrooms appear in Fantasia. In Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Alice converses with a hookah-smoking caterpillar sitting on a gigantic red-and-white mushroom. Fly agaric also appears in Snow White and the Seven Dwarf. Smurfs are small, blue, humanoid creatures living in red-and-white, hollowed-out mushrooms.

Laplanders, who use reindeer as work animals, saw their reindeer eat fly agaric and subsequently romp and stagger. Laplander herdsmen believed that reindeer sought fly agaric for its psychoactive reward. The Laplanders also used fly agaric to achieve an ecstatic and imaginative state, and it is possible that they were at the root of the Christmas story of flying reindeer led by a jolly man dressed in the colors of the mushroom who enters a dwelling via its chimney. Perhaps this entry recalled shamans who would enter a dwelling through the smoke hole in the roof, delivering sacks of colorful mushrooms to fuel a celebration. The Christmas Story appeared in 1823 in a poem referred to as "A Visit from St. Nicholas” by Clement Clarke Moore.

A red cap dotted with the dried crumbles of the egg sac make fly agaric easy to find and identify. (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

More than 600 described species in the genus Amanita occupy the full range from deadly (death cap, A. phalloides; destroying angel, A. bisporigera) to delicious (blusher, A. rubescens; Caesar's mushroom, A. caesarea). With so many species and such dire consequences for a mistaken identification, you should be trained before collecting fly agarics from the forest for personal use.

While hiking at the University of Colorado's Mountain Research Station, I came across a cluster of fly agaric mushrooms. I was surprised to find several divots in the cap—something small, the size of a bird or chipmunk, had taken bites. Who was eating fly agaric?

Reindeer have four chambered stomachs with microbial fermentation, which allows them to digest the cellulose in plant cell walls. All ruminants—including cattle, sheep, goats and bison, eat fly agaric without discomfort.

Another group of animals that can enjoy fly agaric with impunity is squirrels (family Sciuridae), and every squirrel species that I checked (pine, grey, fox, golden mantled ground squirrel, rocks squirrels, chipmunks) eat fly agaric and use a unique method to safely pass the toxin. Squirrels have a novel glycoprotein lining in their intestines that immediately binds the toxins, inactivating them, and escorting them the rest of the way through the digestive tract.

Photographers have amply documented foxes gulping down hunks of fly agaric, but they suffer the agony of severe, prolonged vomiting and staggering that omnivores generally experience. Foxes may be sly, but not when it comes to choosing ingredients for a salad.

Meanwhile, turkeys, grouse, crows, ravens and jays eat fly agaric without distress, but many birds suffer both gastrointestinal distress and severe neurological symptoms.

It is thought provoking to discover an area here in Colorado where the bright mushrooms are popping up, for the association of humans and fly agaric has multiple facets and reaches far back into time. Aposematic coloration reliably warns of the defensive substances (muscimol and ibotenic acid), foreshadowing gastrointestinal misery and eruption for some species. Like all other molecular defenses, one or more species have evolved a way around the defenses and evolved to use them either as food or as an intoxicant.

Ten thousand years ago shamans used the same molecules to produce altered states in their followers for ceremonies and celebrations. Artists and writers brought back inspiration from altered states, and today we have enchanting fairy tales and numerous imaginary creatures to entertain and stimulate imaginations. Each year, families drape festive lights and children listen for the sound of hooves on the roof and a cheerful voice encouraging his reindeer.

For scientists, the chemistries of muscimol and ibotenic acid provide insight into chemical ecology of natural populations and enhance the pleasures of a walk in the woods.

Jeff Mitton is a professor emeritus in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at the University of Colorado Boulder. His column, "Natural Selections," is also printed in the Boulder Daily Camera.

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Since the Renaissance, fly agaric has appeared in art and literature, frequently associated with fairies, trolls, wizards, witches and other mystical creatures.

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Top photo: A cluster of fly agaric mushrooms show variation of size, shape and color (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

Hot ponds can help amphibians fight infection—or make things worse

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 07 May 2026 16:35:45 +0000

Hot ponds can help amphibians fight infection—or make things worse Rachel Sauer Thu, 05/07/2026 - 10:35

Blake Puscher

New research from ��ӽ紫ý finds that temperature differences between ponds can influence the severity of chytridiomycosis, a deadly fungal disease linked to global amphibian declines

Amphibian populations, including frogs, toads, salamanders and newts, have been declining globally since the 1980s. Many species have even gone extinct.

There are several potential causes for this decline, but one contributor is disease. For example, infection by parasitic flatworms can cause frogs to grow extra limbs, making it harder for them to evade predators. Another prominent amphibian disease called chytridiomycosis has been specifically linked to amphibian declines. It is caused by the fungus Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis, or Bd.

In a study comparing the temperatures of ponds to their level of infection over time, researchers Brendan Hobart and Valerie McKenzie, a University of Colorado Boulder professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, discovered that Bd thrives on hosts within a specific range of temperatures and level of temperature variability, above or below which infections are not as severe. This relationship was found to be driven primarily by differences between ponds rather than seasonal differences.

Valerie McKenzie, a University of Colorado Boulder professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, worked with PhD graduate Brendan Hobart and other research colleagues to study how temperature affects amphibians' susceptibility to fungal infections.

Hobart worked on the study as a PhD student at ��ӽ紫ý and has since completed his PhD and moved on to a research scientist position at the University of Wisconsin. Another CU PhD student, Timothy Korpita, was also involved, along with several people from the National Wildlife Health Center. McKenzie is the principal investigator of the McKenzie Lab.

What makes Bd unique?

Fungi grow on substrates, which are surfaces that provide them with the nutrients they need to develop their reproductive structures and release spores. Some of these spores will end up in new substrates, beginning the next generation. Instead of growing on decaying biological material or living plants like many other species of fungi, Bd’s substrate is the skin of a living animal, specifically an amphibian. Additionally, rather than releasing spores that float through the air, Bd propagates using zoospores, which can swim short distances through the water using their whip-like tails.

“They are microscopic,” McKenzie says, “and they will attach themselves to a skin cell, then penetrate and go inside. They use amphibian skin cells as a place to replicate themselves, rupture that skin cell and let out more zoospores that can go on to infect nearby skin cells or go in the water and infect other individuals.”

Bd’s ability to spread from one pond to another is still something of a mystery, however.

“We still do not understand all the mechanisms by which it is getting spread,” McKenzie says. “People have made guesses that it could be birds that land in the pond water picking up some of these zoospores in their feathers and then fly off and land in another pond.” Even their ability to infect different hosts is surprising, considering that the zoospores can swim only one or two centimeters, but they are able to chemically target molecules found on amphibian skin to make the most of this short range.

Regardless of how the fungus gets around, its strategy is clearly effective, as it has infected a large number of diverse amphibians. According to McKenzie, there are something like 8,000 species of amphibians, which is only slightly fewer than the number of mammalian species.

“This one fungal pathogen is causing declines, or is predicted to cause declines, in maybe a third of amphibians. Imagine if COVID, for example, was causing massive die-offs of not only humans, but all kinds of mammals, like squirrels, whales, wolves, cats, dogs. That is sort of what is happening to amphibians with this fungus. It is unprecedented for what one pathogen can do.”

Bd is dangerous for amphibians because it targets their skin, which they rely on for many purposes, like balancing hydration. According to McKenzie, disruption to the skin can result in secondary organ failure. The disease can be more or less severe for different species, but there are many species that have been seriously affected worldwide. Bd is currently most prominent in the Americas—particularly the Central and South American tropics—eastern Australia and east Africa, but may spread to other parts of the world over time.

How temperature influences infections

Previous research into Bd has singled out thermal conditions, meaning the temperature of the habitats that hosts live in, as key drivers of host outcomes. Particularly, the variability of temperatures and the mean (average) temperature are important variables. “Temperature is the ultimate determinant of most or all biological processes,” Hobart says.

“It is especially relevant to ectotherms”—cold-blooded animals do not produce their own heat—"and their pathogens because their body temperature largely fluctuates with the environment,” Hobart says.

Salamander populations, along with other amphibian populations, have been in decline since the 1980s. Among the causes for these declines is the fungus Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis, or Bd. (Photo: Iuliu Illes/Unsplash)

This study is directed toward exploring the relationship between temperature and infections further, particularly by separating changes in temperature into seasonal and among-site components. To do this, the researchers measured temperatures and Bd infections of eastern newt populations across 20 ponds in Wisconsin over the course of two years.

“All of these ponds were within a few miles,” Hobart says. “From a broad scale perspective, they all have the same climate. If you were to look up a weather forecast on an app, it would be the same for all the ponds, but the actual conditions are very different depending on things like how much tree cover there is over the pond, how clear the water is, how much stuff is floating on the surface, all these different biotic and abiotic factors.”

These differences lead to significant variation in pond-to-pond water temperature, and they are what the study covered rather than gradients in temperature within a given pond.

When the researchers looked at the temperature variability and average temperature, they found that both changed at the same time, or in other words, covaried. According to Hobart, this is because the ponds with the most variable temperature also tended to be the warmest. For this reason, the two variables were combined into a thermal mean and variability index (MVI), which ranged from cool and stable to hot and variable temperatures. When combined with infection data obtained by capturing, swabbing and releasing newts, this index was shown to have a non-linear relationship with infection load (meaning not only whether the fungal disease was present but also how much was on the animals’ skin).

Considering thermal variation both over time and between ponds, infection load was highest at middling MVI values, declining similarly when the index either increased or decreased from there.

“It is this primary hump-shaped relationship,” Hobart says. When the variations over time and space were separated out, the spatial variation resembled the overall relationship very closely, while the temporal variation looked different. “That is what produced this finding that variation from site to site was driving the overall pattern.”

“This one fungal pathogen is causing declines, or is predicted to cause declines, in maybe a third of amphibians ... It is unprecedented for what one pathogen can do.”

Implications for conservation

Considering how severe the effect of Bd has been on amphibian populations, anything people can do to reduce infections is of interest. The results from this study suggest that changing the temperature of a pond could be an effective way of doing this, but it is not as simple as it sounds.

Like many fungi, Bd does best within a limited range of temperatures, which is about 23–28 degrees Celsius or 73–82 Fahrenheit, according to the researchers. At middling MVI values, the temperature is right for Bd, and there is even some evidence that Bd handles temperature variability better than its hosts, giving it an additional advantage.

However, once the temperature increases out of Bd’s ideal range, the benefits of variability cannot counteract the unfavorable heat, especially because amphibian immune responses often increase in strength at these temperatures. On the other hand, when the temperature is low, Bd does not get any advantage from variability and is also outside of its ideal temperature range.

This means that, depending on the starting conditions, the severity of Bd infections in a pond might be diminished by either increasing or decreasing the temperature, but in some cases, changing the temperature would only make things worse.

“It has been suggested,” Hobart says, “that one could cut down trees around a pond to let more light in and make that pond hot. In principle, that seems like a fine idea.” However, “if you did not know where you were on that index, and you cut down a bunch of trees, you could inadvertently increase infection.”

In other words, if a pond’s temperature is middling, increasing it could help with infections, but if the pond is cooler to begin with, it could bring the thermal MVI into the range where Bd thrives.

“There have been a lot of studies looking at the relationship between temperature and this amphibian pathogen,” McKenzie says. For example, there was recently a study that involved building masonry brick “saunas” that frogs can crawl into to heat up and kill off the Bd. “I think what this study shows is that what works for one site may not be applicable for another site, even if that site is relatively close and similar.”

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New research from ��ӽ紫ý finds that temperature differences between ponds can influence the severity of chytridiomycosis, a deadly fungal disease linked to global amphibian declines.

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A new (and not extinct) moth emerges from the Florida Scrub

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 14:20:20 +0000

A new (and not extinct) moth emerges from the Florida Scrub Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/24/2026 - 08:20

Rachel Sauer

After publishing about a moth he’d only seen in collections, ��ӽ紫ý researcher Ryan St Laurent travels to Florida and spots the elusive—and previously thought extinct—Cicinnus albarenicolus

On the second of two nights he spent deep in central Florida forests last week—dripping sweat, shrouded in swarms of flying ants and June beetles, well into the 20 kilometers he’d eventually walk monitoring his four traps—Ryan St Laurent saw the thing he’d come, but didn’t really expect, to see.

To anyone who hadn’t spent a dozen years studying it, the sandy brown wisp might have looked like a fragment of autumn leaf or a shred of bark, but St Laurent immediately recognized Cicinnus albarenicolus. He’d just never seen the moth alive before, let alone in the wild.

In fact, until November, St Laurent thought this new species of Mimallonidae, or sack-bearer moth, might be extinct (DNA barcoding of moth specimens in collections had identified it as a new species). Before November, it hadn’t been seen in its extremely limited Florida habitat since the 1960s.

Ryan St Laurent, a ��ӽ紫ý assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology and CU Museum curator of entomology, traveled to Florida last week to try finding the elusive Cicinnus albarenicolus moth.

When news came that a collector had found one of the presumed-extinct moths in a sliver of white sand scrub in the Florida peninsula, St Laurent, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology and CU Museum curator of entomology, had just finished writing a recently published paper describing the new C. albarenicolus, comparing it with other Mimallonidae species.

“I had written that it might be extinct, so I had to revise the paper and bring in some additional co-authors,” St Laurent says. Then he learned about an upcoming scheduled burn in one of the very few areas where C. albarenicolus conceivably could be found, so he booked a flight to Florida.

“I don’t think this is the only population in existence, and I don’t think it’s going to get burned up and go extinct,” St Laurent said several days before flying to Florida. “But I want to go out there and at least try to get a couple of tissue samples in the event we can’t find it again.”

Needles and haystacks don’t adequately encompass his aim; he was trying to find a small brown moth in a 450,000-acre forest.

‘These look really cool’

But how does a scientist first steer his scholarship to a little-known and barely studied family of moths, a member of which may or may not have been extinct? For St Laurent, the path began during undergrad at Cornell, where he studied entomology and worked with museum insect collections. The collections manager encouraged him to find something that nobody else was working on, “but there was a lot of competition in butterflies and moths—it’s a popular group as far as insects go,” he explains.

“I remember going through the collection, asking, ‘What am I going to work on?’ when I came across this particular family (of moth). I was like, ‘Well, these look really cool,’ but when I went to try to curate them, I realized there were no resources, no books, no field guides, nothing.”

Perfect, he thought. If nobody was working on that family, he would. He wrote his undergraduate honors thesis then pursued his PhD in charting the phylogeny, or tree of life, of this small group of moths. “Once you have a tree of life, you can start talking about them and you can contextualize them as a member of bigger butterfly and moth groups,” he says.

It wasn’t until St Laurent got to the Smithsonian for his postdoc that he had a chance to order mitochondrial sequencing on one of the Mimallonidae specimens that he’d identified as different from its family members. That sequencing showed it was genetically different from anything else in its family, so when St Laurent came to ��ӽ紫ý, he continued the project of sequencing specimens from various collections.

The female Cicinnus albarenicolus moth (left) that flew out of the darkness of Seminole State Forest in Florida last week, and Ryan St Laurent (right) holding the twig on which it perched.

Most of the specimens were many decades old, compounding the challenges of genetic sequencing. St Laurent worked with a Canadian lab that specializes in barcode sequencing—a technique that focuses on short sequences of genes—sending them prepared samples for testing. In one instance, St Laurent sampled the leg of one of the few recent specimens, which he put on a sequencing plate and sent to Canada in January, looking for further evidence that this was, in fact, a new species of moth.

The genes didn’t lie: It was.

A moth flies out of the darkness

As if discovering a new species isn’t a big enough deal, discovering that it’s not extinct after all is enough to drive any researcher from the lab and straight into the Florida thickets.

Among the things that make Mimallonidae interesting, St Laurent says, is they belong to a superfamily with ancient lineage—more than 100 million years old—99% of which live in Central and South America. Only a handful of species in the family occur in North America, but the ones that do are (mostly) quite common.

Ryan St Laurent set up four insect traps with moth-attractant LED lights.

Except, of course, for C. albarenicolus—endemic to small patches of Florida Scrub, made rarer still by habitat loss. “Only 10% of Florida Scrub is left,” St Laurent said before leaving for Florida, “and the scrub that does still exist is super isolated. We don’t know if those little pockets can support this moth at all.”

Through some scientific sleuthing and mapping the locations where collection specimens had been found, St Laurent narrowed possible C. albarenicolus habitat to six sites in the Florida peninsula: eastern Ocala National Forest, Weeki Wachee north of Tampa, Cassia and Cassadaga northeast of Orlando, the Archbold Biological Station on the Lake Wales Ridge in Central Florida and coastal southeast Florida in Port Sewall. Each location has or had the rare Florida Scrub habitat—specifically white sand, open canopy scrub, which C. albarenicolus seemed to favor.

“This particular family of moths, there’s a reason nobody studies them,” St Laurent said before leaving for Florida. “They’re really hard to find and really hard to raise in captivity. I’ve done field work all over the Americas, and I’m lucky if I see one or two a night in Central or South America. I’m very used to not being able to find these things, which is why I do a lot of work in collections.”

Still, he had to try. He flew to Orlando and then drove to the township of Cassia. He had previously seen a specimen in the American Museum of Natural History in New York City that had been found near Cassia in 1964. “I knew about that specimen, I knew the scrub in that area because I went hiking there years ago in grad school and found caterpillars, but I didn’t rear them,” St Laurent says, so that’s where he started.

The first night, he set up four traps resembling tall, narrow tents with a specialized moth-attractive LED inside—the aim being to lure insects to the light. Other insects arrived in the thousands, but no C. albarenicolus.

The second night, he set up at a spot in the nearby Seminole State Forest where the trees open to an expanse of sandy soil and scrubby plants. At 8:49 p.m., “I’m standing there and this kind of pinkish moth comes out of the darkness, and it was very recognizable. Nothing else really looks like that, moth-wise.”

After that first moth, two more came. St Laurent knew he was seeing females, which fly right after sunset, so he collected them and raced them to his colleagues at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Collecting live females means collecting eggs, with the attendant potential of rearing them in the lab. If his colleagues are able to rear them, he says, he will receive progenitors and offspring.

As for seeing a moth that he’d only previously seen as a collection specimen, “I was just like, ‘Wow, I was right! It is here!’ My suspicion is the moth is all over the place in Ocala, but it’s rare and diffuse there. It’s a much more concentrated site in Seminole, surrounded by hardwood hammocks and the St. Johns and Wekiva rivers, so you have a better chance of finding something there.”

The site in the Ocala National Forest is scheduled for a controlled burn associated with Florida scrub jay management, “which is probably good in the overall grand scheme of things,” St Laurent says, “but since we don’t know what the moth eats or when it’s active or its annual lifecycle or habitat requirements, I don’t know if the burning regime is appropriate.

“(The moth is) part of Florida’s multimillion-year history, and Florida is the only place in the world where it occurs. It may not be some top-down species that’s controlling the habitat, but it’s still a very important representative of the one-sixth of its family that’s found in North America, and this one is the only species endemic to the U.S. in this family. It’s a part of Florida heritage and U.S. heritage, and we need to protect it.”

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After publishing about a moth he’d only seen in collections, ��ӽ紫ý researcher Ryan St Laurent travels to Florida and spots the elusive—and previously thought extinct—Cicinnus albarenicolus.

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Documentary shares secrets of the bees

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 03 Apr 2026 14:21:04 +0000

Documentary shares secrets of the bees Rachel Sauer Fri, 04/03/2026 - 08:21

Rachel Sauer

��ӽ紫ý researcher Samuel Ramsey served as science advisor and a producer, alongside executive producer James Cameron, for Secrets of the Bees, premiering this week on National Geographic, Disney+ and Hulu

Would you like to hear a secret about bees?

Not many people know this, but bees in Southeast Asia have figured out that water buffalo dung isn’t the only pungent substance that will keep hornets away.

See, Vespa mandarinia—more sensationally known as the murder hornet—can wreak havoc on a bee colony. One or two dozen hornets can wipe out an entire colony, although bees have developed some pretty awesome defenses. One of these involves vibrating their flight muscles to create a convection oven effect that essentially cooks invading hornets.

Samuel Ramsey, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology, served as science advisor and producer, alongside executive producer James Cameron, on the documentary Secrets of the Bees. (Photo: Shin Arunrugstichai)

However, sometimes a hornet can escape bees’ defenses and flee the hive—but not before leaving a figure-eight pattern of pheromones outside the hive that acts as a beacon to future hornet invasions. Bees deduced that they’d need something even more pungent to spread at the hive entrance to mask the hornet pheromones, “and for a long time we thought they were just relying on water buffalo dung for that purpose,” explains Samuel Ramsey, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology.

But bees are smart. They figured out they could chew the leaves of an extremely pungent plant to spread at the hive entrance, “which was something we’d never seen before,” Ramsey says.

He and his colleagues discovered this behavior in pursuit of Secrets of the Bees, the fifth installment of the Emmy Award-winning “Secrets of…” series premiering this week on National Geographic, Disney+ and Hulu.

Ramsey, a National Geographic Explorer, served not only as science advisor and featured expert, but as a producer alongside executive producer James Cameron.

Yes, that James Cameron.

“It’s always a pleasure to say I produced a documentary with James Cameron,” Ramsey says with a laugh. “It’s opened up a lot of opportunities to talk with people about bees and together making sure that there’s unity in concept—so we’re not talking in terms of ‘right’ bees and ‘wrong’ bees, but we’re talking about what we can do to support all bees’ survival.”

Communicating science (and bees)

This all came about, in part, because “bees really, really need our help,” Ramsey says, a fact he quickly realized as a lifelong, self-described “bug nerd” observing how human-caused changes to the natural world are affecting bee populations.

During his undergraduate and graduate studies, Ramsey focused on diseases and parasites affecting bees, particularly the Varroa mite, and began raising bees so that he could study them. When he came to ��ӽ紫ý, that move included installing a research and observation hive in his lab in the Jennie Smoly Caruthers Biotechnology Building.

Because his research interests also include symbiotic relationships, it’s perhaps no surprise that Ramsey the scientist is also Ramsey the science communicator: passionate about describing the beauty, wonder, fragility and resiliency of the natural world to broad and interested—although often non-scientific—audiences. He has been at the vanguard of using social media to tell the dynamic stories of science.

Thanks in part to this outreach, documentarians and filmmakers began requesting his expertise and consultation. He worked on the documentary My Garden of a Thousand Bees and has discussed insects on NPR, CBS and many other outlets, in addition to becoming a National Geographic Explorer. Still, he says, it’s a little surreal to get that call proposing a collaboration with the director of Titanic and Avatar.

“(Cameron) has 300 hives at his farm in New Zealand, so this really has been a labor of love for him,” Ramsey says.

Making a difference for bees

The framework of Secrets of the Bees is to show a hive of honeybees preparing for winter, but that simple concept took Ramsey and his collaborators around the world, exploring bee colonies as the dynamic cities they are and bees not as mindless automatons, but as intelligent, adaptive creatures that form complex societies.

The filmmakers used groundbreaking technologies, including cameras similar to those used in endoscopes, to peer inside hives for never-before-seen views of bees living, working and playing together. Yes, bees play, Ramsey says, and it’s a wonderful thing to see.

The cutting-edge filmmaking technology allows viewers to see close-up, time-lapse scenes of larva growing into adult bees, as well as the funerary process of pushing dead bees from the hive. “The advent of universal childcare is what allowed this to be one of the most successful species on the planet,” Ramsey says, “which you really see up-close in the film.”

He adds that it was important to him that the documentary not sugarcoat the peril in which Earth’s more than 20,000 bee species currently exist, including calamitous population declines associated with climate change, monoculture crops, parasites, chemical use and habitat loss, among other causes.

“But the film also emphasizes hope, because there are things every one of us can do to support bees,” Ramsey says. “Something as simple as planting a window box with flowers can make a big difference to a lot of bees.”

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��ӽ紫ý researcher Samuel Ramsey served as science advisor and a producer, alongside executive producer James Cameron, for Secrets of the Bees, premiering this week on National Geographic, Disney+ and Hulu.

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��ӽ紫ý scientists honored as AAAS fellows

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 26 Mar 2026 14:20:24 +0000

��ӽ紫ý scientists honored as AAAS fellows Rachel Sauer Thu, 03/26/2026 - 08:20

Scholars Rebecca Safran and Tin Tin Su recognized by the American Association for the Advancement of Science for excellence in research, teaching and interpreting science to the public

Rebecca Safran, a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology who has led groundbreaking research on the evolution of new species, and Tin Tin Su, professor and chair of molecular, cellular and developmental biology whose research is leading to novel cancer therapies, have been named fellows of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS).

The AAAS fellowship is among the highest honors in the scientific community, recognizing a distinguished cohort of scientists, engineers and innovators who “have been recognized for their achievements across disciplines, from research, teaching and technology to administration in academia, industry and government, to excellence in communicating and interpreting science to the public,” AAAS officials note.

“This year’s AAAS Fellows have demonstrated research excellence, made notable contributions to advance science and delivered important services to their communities,” says Sudip S. Parikh, AAAS chief executive officer and executive publisher of the Science family of journals. “These Fellows and their accomplishments validate the importance of investing in science and technology for the benefit of all.”

Rebecca Safran is a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology who has led groundbreaking research on the evolution of new species.

A study of swallows

Safran, whose passion for biology took root in a plant taxonomy class during her undergraduate studies at the University of Michigan, and her research team, study the evolution of new species, focusing on the causes and consequences of individual variation across different scales of time and space.

Because studying the formation of new species can be difficult—given that most species are millions of years old and what caused them to diverge from their ancestors often can’t be determined—Safran and her team study barn swallows, a very closely related group of populations of migratory birds that are currently diverging. This allows Safran and her team to study the process of speciation in real time.

Safran won a National Science Foundation Early Career Development award to study speciation in barn swallows across their entire, expansive breeding range throughout the Northern Hemisphere and Middle East. During the COVID-19 pandemic, when it wasn’t possible to conduct research in other countries, Safran and her research team began focusing on the rapid decline in the population of barn swallows and its implications. For their work, Safran and team study the birds using a highly integrative approach including behavioral, physiological and genetic perspectives.

Among other discoveries, Safran and her team found that sexual selection, or the process by which organisms choose mates based on traits they find attractive, drives the emergence of new species. Her team’s research has been published in more than 120 peer-reviewed journals, including Science, Nature and Current Biology. She also co-edited a recent book on speciation (2024, Cold Spring Harbor Press).

“None of this work is possible without the incredible collaboration with students, colleagues at CU and around the world, private landowers who allow us to study populations of barn swallows on their properties and continuous funding support by the National Science Foundation and other agencies,” Safran says. “I am especially honored to have worked with so many talented undergraduate, graduate and postdoctoral students."

Studying fruit flies to treat cancer

Su, who attended Woodstock School in Mussoorie, Uttarakhand, India, credits her experiences there, in part, with helping her understand that her ideal environment is one in which “you do respect the elders or people who have had more experience or authority. But at the same time, if it doesn't seem right, you question it.”

Tin Tin Su is a professor and chair of molecular, cellular and developmental biology whose research is leading to novel cancer therapies.

Throughout her career, Su and her research colleagues have sought to develop new ways of attacking cancer. Through research on how tissues and organs in fruit flies regenerate after being damaged by X-rays, they synthesized the chemical SVC112, which helps prevent cancer cells from regrowing following radiation exposure. Su and her colleagues focused on the fruit fly because this insect shares more than 70% of disease-relevant genes with humans.

SVC112 is based on the chemical bouvardin found in the firecracker bush (Bouvardia ternifolia) that grows in the Southwest United States and Mexico. Su and her colleagues discovered that bouvardin can prevent regeneration of tissues in fruit flies.

More recently, Su, who also is a member of the CU Cancer Center, and her colleague Antonio Jimeno, co-leader of the CU Cancer Center’s Developmental Therapeutics Program, used SVC112 to target cancer stem cells in head and neck cancers. They are in the process of applying to the FDA to test SVC112 in human trials.

Su also has participated in the ��ӽ紫ý Community Perspectives Program, conducting outreach in several rural Colorado communities that led to a research collaboration with Colorado State University Pueblo to assess the effect of heavy metals on the genome in fruit fly and human cells.

“I do what I do because I love science,” Su says. “The potential to help cancer patients in Colorado and beyond makes it even better. So, to be named a AAAS Fellow is really the cherry on top!”

About the AAAS Fellowship

The AAAS began naming fellows annually in 1874, people nominated by the AAAS Council to recognize those whose “efforts on behalf of the advancement of science or its applications are scientifically or socially distinguished.”

Safran and Su join a cohort of more than 80 ��ӽ紫ý faculty members who previously received the honor, as well as a broader cadre that includes Thomas Edison, W.E.B DuBois, Maria Mitchell, Steven Chu, Ellen Ochoa and Irwin M. Jacobs.

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Scholars Rebecca Safran and Tin Tin Su recognized by the American Association for the Advancement of Science for excellence in research, teaching and interpreting science to the public.

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Don’t just explain the science, dance it

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 16:14:04 +0000

Don’t just explain the science, dance it Rachel Sauer Thu, 03/12/2026 - 10:14

Rachel Sauer

Asia Kaiser, a bee researcher and ecology and evolutionary biology PhD candidate, is named social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science

There’s a lot going on with bees right now. Because it was an unseasonably warm winter, queens may be emerging from hibernation and beginning to lay the eggs of their first broods. And since queens can choose the sex of their offspring, they are now or soon will be producing daughters.

It’s fascinating information about one of the planet’s most complex and charismatic insects, but how to convey it in dance?

PhD candidate Asia Kaiser (in a scene from her Dance Your PhD entry), studies how human land use affects different insect groups and, consequently, the ecosystem services they provide in coupled human-natural systems.

Start with a shimmy—reminiscent, perhaps, of the movement of bees’ wings or the vibration of their flight muscles. Then weave undulating patterns with fellow dancers, gliding and twirling in a choreography of bees in motion. And bring it home with a question about what happens when we remove native flowers from urban environments or destroy bee habitat to build roads or houses (answer: nothing good).

In short, dance your PhD. So, that’s what Asia Kaiser did.

Kaiser, a PhD candidate in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology (EBIO) and researcher in the Resasco Lab, this week was announced the social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science and the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

Now in its 18th year, Dance Your PhD seeks, through a spirit of fun and of marrying art and science, to address a scenario that scientists commonly experience: “The party is just getting started when the dreaded question comes: ‘So, what’s your PhD research about?’ You launch into the explanation, trying to judge the level of interest as you go deeper. It takes about a minute before someone changes the subject,” contest organizers explain.

“At times like this, don’t you wish you lived in a world where you could just ask people to pull out their phones to watch an online video explaining your PhD research through interpretive dance?”

“I was a dancer all through college, so I have a background in belly dance and Latin dance,” Kaiser explains. “And I like to make music, so I thought this could be a really fun way to explain my research.”

Learning to dance

And what is that research? Bees. Specifically, how human land use affects different insect groups and, consequently, the ecosystem services they provide in coupled human-natural systems. Her research aims to improve the resilience of urban agroecosystems, increase equitable access to fresh produce and promote environmental justice in cities.

As for the dancing, Kaiser had wanted to take dance lessons while growing up in Philadelphia, but there wasn’t room in the budget for them. So, after graduating high school she took a gap year in Brazil to do service work and finally began learning dance. She started with belly dance, then branched into samba and other Latin styles.

When she began her ecology and evolutionary biology undergraduate studies at Princeton University, “I thought, ‘I’m going to invest in my secondary dream,’” Kaiser recalls, which meant stepping away from the books sometimes to immerse herself in the vibrant dance scene in Princeton and the broader New York City and Philadelphia area.

She also is a cellist, so when she came to ��ӽ紫ý to pursue her PhD she began making music with other people in her department.

When she heard about Dance Your PhD, it dovetailed with so many of the things she loves: dance and music and science. However, the deadline to submit entry videos was Feb. 20, and she decided to enter the contest a mere two weeks before then.

She started with the music, composing a piece to score the story in her mind: “I wanted to tell a story of bees emerging in early spring in your backyard and what they’re up to. People know a lot about honeybees, but not other bee species, so I wanted to highlight how important they are to urban ecosystems.”

Kaiser put out a call for dancers and fortunately, the response from her fellow PhD students and candidates was abundant and eager. Then she and Ella Henry, a violinist and EBIO PhD student, recorded the music.

Science as art

Because of the quick turnaround, the troupe had time for just two rehearsals before their afternoon of filming in front of the EBIO greenhouses on 30th Street in Boulder. It was an EBIO community collaboration. PhD students Manuela Mejía, Lincoln Taylor, Gladiana Spitz, Kaylee Rosenberger and Ella Henry danced Kaiser’s choreography alongside her. PhD student Luis de Pablo helped with sound engineering and Scott Taylor, EBIO associate professor and director of the Mountain Research Station, was cinematographer. Kaiser’s husband, John Russell, provided voiceover narration for the final video.

And despite the extremely short timeframe, it all came together, Kaiser says. For example, she happened to have a pair of gold Isis wings, a traditional belly dance prop, that Lincoln Taylor wore “to depict the fact that male bees spend their lives flying around,” she says.

The dance, music and costumes united in a science-as-art visualization of her PhD, which she uploaded to YouTube and clicked submit on her Dance Your PhD entry. She was up against scientists from around the world, so learning that she won her category was especially significant.

“Obviously, I love bees,” she says, “and I love to dance and make music, so it was a really cool experience to create this piece with my friends and find a different way to talk about my research.”

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Asia Kaiser, a bee researcher and ecology and evolutionary biology PhD candidate, is named social sciences category winner in the international Dance Your PhD contest sponsored by the journal Science.

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A slow drama in the red rock canyons of the San Rafael River

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Mar 2026 23:14:00 +0000

A slow drama in the red rock canyons of the San Rafael River Rachel Sauer Wed, 03/04/2026 - 16:14

Jeff Mitton

Intentionally introduced to the western United States in the 1800s, tamarisk is a bully of a neighbor that replaces native species with a dense monoculture that no native herbivores care to eat

The San Rafael River is only 90 miles long, originating at the confluence of three creeks emanating from the Green River in the Wasatch Plateau, two miles upstream of the Labyrinth Canyon Wilderness. This is red rock canyon country in Utah, rugged and sublimely scenic. It is a wonder that the San Rafael, which dwindles to a shallow creek during summer and fall, could have carved such deep canyons.

Approximately 15 miles downstream of the confluence is Little Grand Canyon, about 10 miles long, and at the Wedge Overlook, 1,000 to 1,200 feet deep. The overlook provides not only a fine view of the river below but also a panoramic view of Sid's Mountain Wilderness to the south and Mexican Mountain Wilderness to the east. The eastern end of the Little Grand Canyon opens to the Historic Swinging Bridge, built in 1937 to allow mining and cattle trucks to cross the San Rafael River at the Buckhorn Draw. Primitive campgrounds at Wedge overlook, Swinging Bridge and along Buckhorn Draw make this an adventurer’s destination.

The San Rafael River enters Mexican Mountain Wilderness at Swinging Bridge. From there, Mexican Mountain Road runs between the river and an escarpment of tall cliffs for 30 miles. This is a rough road, definitely 4WD-HC, but it is worth the time and jostling, for it leads to Mexican Mountain and three spectacular slot canyons: Lockhart, Upper Black Box and Lower Black Box. A slot canyon is particularly deep and narrow—for example, both Upper and Lower Black Box are miles long, and in some sections, each is 400 feet deep and other sections only 25 feet wide. In both slot canyons, the water is so deep that most of the passage is achieved by swimming or drifting in an inner tube. Upper Black Box is usually entered by rappelling vertical walls 60 or 80 feet tall. I don't do that. I have only peered into Lockhart and Upper Black Boxes—both provided awesome views and opportunities for photos of Mexican Mountain looming high above a deep and narrow slot canyon.

With all the pinnacles, canyons and cliffs to appreciate, it is easy to overlook the slow and silent drama gripping the plant community in the red rock canyons of the San Rafael River. In the early to mid 1800s, multiple species of tamarisk were introduced to the western United States, and today six species can be found on or around the Colorado Plateau. The most common tamarisk species is probably Tamarix chinensis (synonym ramosissima) from China. Tamarisk was purposely introduced to the southwest for its abilities to thrive in a dry climate and colonize and stabilize soils that no other plants could tolerate.

Tamarisk crowds both sides of an oxbow of the San Rafael River, strangling rabbitbrush. (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

The problem with tamarisk is that it is a bully of a neighbor, replacing native species, such as cottonwoods, willows and rabbitbrush, until the streams and rivers are lined with a dense and virtually impenetrable monoculture that no native herbivores care to eat. Although it has the growth form of a shrub, tamarisk is technically a tree, and dense stands turn into denser stands of deadwood, transforming the plant community and creating a fire hazard. Each plant can produce between 500,000 and 600,000 seeds per year, so when a fire comes, the dead branches spread the fire quickly, killing most plants. When the next rains come, an enormous bank of tamarisk seeds are waiting; tamarisk becomes more numerous with each fire.

Four or five decades ago I saw stretches of the Green River lined with stately cottonwoods that were inviting to campers, picknickers and fishers. Since then, tamarisk has moved in and changed that pleasantly shaded riverbank to a dense, sharp, scratchy thicket, profoundly unpleasant to fight through. In addition, tamarisk colonized the river's edge, trapping sediments and narrowing the channel. Some strands of cottonwoods, increasingly isolated from the water, have died. Narrowing the river channel changes its ecology for a variety of fish species. Tamarisk has many pretty flowers, but the only other civil thing that can be said for tamarisk is that it is very nearly the perfect weed: accumulates deadwood, is flammable and inedible, and has deep roots and high seed production.

When tamarisk invaded national parks and monuments and state parks, state and federally employed ecologists initiated control measures. Dinosaur National Monument, Arches National Park, Saguaro National Park, Mojave Trails National Park, Canyonlands National Park, Glen Canyon and Lake Mead National Recreation Areas all initiated programs to manage the perfect weed. They were joined by programs in the Colorado, Virgin, Dolores, Green and San Juan Rivers. It isn't easy to remove the perfect weed from a landscape. Fire, herbicides, chainsaws and bulldozers have all been tried, and although they can diminish the population of tamarisk, it always returns. Tamarisk is in the Little Grand Canyon and along the San Rafael River to Upper Black Box and below the Lower Black Box to the Green River. It is hard to find a stream or river in the southwest that is not being slowly claimed by tamarisk.

A new tool for the managers of public lands is being applied now. When tamarisk was introduced to North America, it escaped the herbivores that had evolved to eat its leaves and roots. But now, closely related species referred to as "tamarisk beetle" are being introduced to tamarisk thickets—including some in the downstream portions of the San Rafael River. Introductions by managers evoke both hope and dread.

Some introductions have been wonderful successes; others have been disastrous. So far, the managers have not seen any proclivity for the tamarisk beetle to eat anything other than tamarisk. Experienced managers do not use the word eradicate, but a realistic goal is to reduce tamarisk to a minor species in an otherwise healthy community of native species.

Jeff Mitton is a professor emeritus in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at the University of Colorado Boulder. His column, "Natural Selections," is also printed in the Boulder Daily Camera.

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Intentionally introduced to the western United States in the 1800s, tamarisk is a bully of a neighbor that replaces native species with a dense monoculture that no native herbivores care to eat.

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Top photo: Fremont's cottonwoods flourish along the San Rafael River in the Mexican Mountain Wilderness in Utah. (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

Researchers learn new lessons from old butterflies

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 06 Feb 2026 18:00:00 +0000

Researchers learn new lessons from old butterflies Rachel Sauer Fri, 02/06/2026 - 11:00

Alexandra Phelps

Research co-authored by ��ӽ紫ý PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers reveals how museum butterfly specimens, some almost a century old, can still offer insight into chemical defense of insects and plants

You’re sitting in a field, a garden or another outdoor space, basking in a beautiful summer day. Clouds drift across the sky when something catches your eye. You turn to see a butterfly, its delicate wings and vibrant coloring shifting as it moves from flower to flower. For a moment it’s there, but soon, it moves too far away for you to see.

At first glance, butterflies appear to be just simple, dainty creatures that fly around feeding on plants. For University of Colorado Boulder PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers, however, butterflies are anything but simple. Beneath their wings lies a complex system that plays an integral role in their survival.

In recently published research, ��ӽ紫ý PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski (left) and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers (right), emphasize the value that museum specimens have in current scientific research.

In a recently published study in the Journal of Chemical Ecology, Zabinski and Bowers researched how two Euphydrays butterfly species—E. phaeton and E. anicia—sequester certain chemical compounds, a process by which organisms capture and store substances from their host plants to defend themselves against their enemies. The researchers found that they were able to understand how these butterflies sequester substances using both historic specimens as well as fresh ones.

Their project points to the value museum specimens can have in scientific research. By comparing historic butterfly specimens from ��ӽ紫ý’s Museum of Natural History (CUMNH) with freshly collected and laboratory-reared butterflies, their research demonstrates the benefits, as well as the limitations, of using preserved insects to study chemical defenses decades after collection.

Hatching a plan

Although museum collections house billions of specimens, only a small fraction are used in research after they are acquired. Recognizing this gap inspired Zabinski to begin her research. While Zabinski was still a graduate student, an encounter with Bowers helped shape the trajectory of her academic career.

“Deane came up to me one day—I was in the EBIO club—and she told me she had a job for me. And I thought, ‘A job! You mean I can quit waiting tables at Applebee’s?’”

This opportunity allowed Zabinski to explore her interest in insects and plant-insect interactions within a laboratory setting.

“I absolutely loved being in the lab, doing the physical work with my hands, (whether it was) being able to be outside in the field or looking after the plants,” she says.

Working alongside Bowers—whose research also focuses on how insects interact with their environments—Zabinski began developing her own research questions. She specifically focused on how butterflies in different developmental stages consume and store defensive chemicals to use them later.

Zabinski became interested in whether museum butterfly specimens—which have rarely been investigated and examined for their chemical defenses—could still be helpful.

“We thought about how detecting sequestered defenses in museum specimens really has rarely been done,” she says. “The world of sequestration hadn’t really delved into museum collections. So, we were curious if there was utility there.”

The project was made possible in part by Bowers’ extensive research background and personal butterfly collection, which is housed at CUMNH. The collection includes the species used in the study. When combined with outside specimens, this collection, which includes the species used in the study, allowed Bowers and Zabinski to enrich their understanding of the butterflies.

The Euphydryas anicia butterfly is able to sequester compounds that plants create in defense against herbivores. (Photo: Robert Webster/Wikimedia Commons)

“There has been work done on detecting chemical compounds in plants,” Bowers says. “But there had been less done on insects, and Megan’s thesis had centered on looking at how this particular group of compounds in my lab has worked on particular compounds. We thought it would be really interesting to see if we could find them in old specimens.”

For Zabinski, the combination of Bowers’ expertise and insects available for research made this experiment uniquely valuable.

“It’s kind of the perfect storm for a good experiment. You have a colony in the lab; you also know where there is a field lab where you can get fresh specimens. You know that the museum also has them, but one of the species we had sequestered a high amount, so we thought that … even if there was some degradation, we would still be able to detect them,” she says.

Crawling toward a new understanding

Zabinski and Bowers analyzed specimens from two checkerspot butterfly species in the genus Euphydryas: Euphydryas anicia and Euphydryas phaeton. The species were selected because they are known for their high sequestration ability, abundance in the CUMNH entomology collection and the ease of obtaining live adult specimens. Their research aimed to better understand how the insects use and store these compounds after consuming them as larvae.

Both species sequester iridoid glycosides (IGs), which Zabinski explains are “compounds created by the plants in defense against the herbivores. They’re trying not to get eaten, but there are certain insects— including these butterflies—that capitalize off this process.” Bowers adds, “I’ve tasted (iridoid glycosides), and they’re really bitter. So they are a really good defense against predators and diseases.”

“They’ve been able to find a way to store these compounds in their own bodies and then they can confer some defense against predators,” Zabinski says.

In an initial pilot experiment, the researchers chemically extracted from only one set of wings—a forewing and a hindwing—from historic specimens to determine whether IGs could be detected from the wings alone. Previous experiments have determined that, because in butterfly wings there’s hemolymph (a circulatory fluid similar to blood), it’s possible to detect IGs there. Unfortunately, the results showed extremely low concentrations. To obtain detectable amounts, they found it necessary to analyze both the body and a pair of wings together. For documentation and future research, the set of right wings from each specimen was removed and preserved.

With their methodology established, they chose six E. phaeton specimens from the CUMNH that had been collected from 1936–1977. For comparison, E. phaeton larvae were collected from Burlington County, Vermont, brought back to Boulder and raised in the laboratory with their host plant, white turtlehead, Chelone glabra. Once the butterflies reached adulthood, they were freeze-killed and analyzed for their IG content.

Zabinski and Bowers also examined nine historic E. anicia specimens collected between 1933–1998. Fresh adult E. anicia were collected from Crescent Meadows in Eldorado Springs, Colorado, freeze-killed and immediately underwent extraction for chemical analysis. Although it’s almost impossible to tell what plant the freshly caught butterflies consumed as larvae, the field they were collected from is known to have four catalpol-containing host plants. Catalpol, an IG that is found in these plants, allowed the researchers to determine whether the butterflies were sequestering these compounds, even if they weren’t sure what specific plant was the butterflies’ food source.

“Raising butterflies is not easy,” Zabinski says. “Plants can’t just be alive and available—they have to be high quality, because it’s been shown in studies with these plants that if the plant is not happy, it will not allocate energy to create those compounds. Then your caterpillars are not going to want to eat it.”

Shifting predetermined perceptions

Despite being preserved for decades, the historic specimens still contained detectable traces of sequestered chemical defenses. While IG concentrations were significantly lower in museum specimens than in freshly collected butterflies, Zabinski’s results demonstrate that even after nearly a century, chemical traces of larval diets can still be detected in preserved specimens.

Euphydryas phaeton butterflies have "been able to find a way to store (plant defense) compounds in their own bodies and then they can confer some defense against predators,” says researcher Megan E. Zabinski. (Photo: Joshua Mayer/Wikimedia Commons)

By focusing on the detectability of chemical compounds in older specimens, Zabinski’s work contributes to a broader discussion about preservation methods. She notes that museums often have little control over how donated specimens were originally collected or preserved. She says that despite this, “If you’re a collections manager and you have a researcher that conducted a research experiment and would like to donate them to your collection, if you have the capacity to access them, you’re probably not going to say ‘no.’”

Zabinski explains that previous research demonstrating how preservation methods affect scientists’ ability to detect DNA in museum specimens really shifted how people preserve certain organisms.

“Most insects are preserved as dried specimens, although some are preserved in alcohol,” she says. “In other groups of organisms, like vertebrates and other invertebrates besides insects, they’re often preserved in alcohol or formaldehyde. We now know that using formaldehyde destroys DNA, and so I think the protocol for specimen preservation has changed, trying to preserve the DNA. That’s been one change that museums have been trying.”

Zabinski’s project and others like it are creating an incentive. “As more research comes out about the extended museum specimen and the utility of specimens—particularly with standardization—museums will find a draw to create some uniformity,” she says.

Soaring to new heights

On that summer day, someone who was watching the butterflies move was Bowers.

“I started collecting insects when I was a little kid,” she says. “In undergrad, I did some independent research on butterflies, [and later,] in graduate school, I had a really supportive advisor who told me to spend my first summer going out and looking at butterflies and seeing if I could find some interesting questions. That’s been the focus of my research since.”

Recognizing Zabinski’s curiosity and potential, Bowers recalls, “I brought Megan into the fold.”

“We hear a lot about climate change and we don’t really hear about these smaller interactions that are quite literally under our feet every day,” Zabinski reflects. She says this paper offers one example of how museum specimens are not just remnants of the past, but tools that can be used to better understand specimens today. As technology advances and more research is conducted into chemical defenses, Zabinski says museum specimens can prove to be even more valuable in understanding how organisms interact with their environments long after they’ve been collected.

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Top image: Euphydryas anicia butterfly (Photo: U.S. Fish and Wildlife)

Boxelder bugs and other insects are invading houses

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Feb 2026 17:31:39 +0000

Boxelder bugs and other insects are invading houses Rachel Sauer Wed, 02/04/2026 - 10:31

Jeff Mitton

The good news is none of them bite, sting or carry diseases that can be passed to humans

My house is being invaded. It happens to some extent in fall of most years, but this is the most intense invasion we have experienced, and on the first day of February we are still heaving cadavers and active insects into the backyard. One day I caught eight invaders. Most years, we have just one species trying to get in, but this year it is three.

Let me introduce the combatants: First is the small milkweed bug, Lygdaeus kalmi; next is the boxelder bug, Boisea trivitatti; and third is the western conifer seed bug, Leptogossus occidentalis. These three insects have much in common. For example, all of them are looking for a safe, warm place to spend the winter so they can reproduce in spring; more about this later. None of the three has cryptic coloration, they all have aposematic (or warning coloration) and each has a chemical defense. They all suck sap from green plants.

None of them bites or stings or carries diseases that can be passed to us.

The aposematic colorations advertise to predators that they are wielding chemical defenses. The colors and patterns of the three species make them easily identified, and the foul and poisonous fluids make any encounter poisonous and memorable.

Small milkweed bugs, like monarch butterflies, sequester cardiac glycosides that they take from the sap of the pods and seeds. Boxelder bugs have abdominal glands that release a foul smelling, disgusting-tasting liquid when they feel threatened. The western conifer seed bug has glands between its legs that release a repulsive, pungent smell taken from the seeds of Douglas fir, western white pine and lodgepole pine. Their bright colors, backed up by an awful taste with sickening effects, adequately protects these three bugs from predators.

Home-invading insects including (left to right) small milkweed bug, boxelder bug and western conifer seed bug. (Photos: Jeff Mitton)

I find it interesting that monarch butterflies, large milkweed bugs, milkweed leaf beetles and milkweed tiger moths, all feeding on milkweed, have adopted the orange and black aposematic coloration. They undoubtedly gain protection from the legions of herbivores, similarly colored, all carrying similar cardiac glycosides synthesized by milkweeds.

All three of these insects eat by sucking fluids sap or fluids inside green leaves and developing seeds. Their common names from their most common source of sap: small milkweed bug, boxelder bug and western conifer seed bug. Boxelder bugs favor the sap that they get from developing boxelder seeds, although they grow adequately by feeding from silver maples in Boulder.

By far the most common of these bugs that I encounter inside the house are the boxelder bugs. At first, it was puzzling that such a high proportion of them, approaching 50%, are lifeless chitinous sheaths lying on the floor. This observation reminded me of the reason that ladybugs, Hippodamia convergens, fly to the tops of mountains, such as Green Mountain and Bear Peak, as winter approaches. Ladybugs head to high elevation peaks for winter so that they can go into an undisturbed dormancy until spring. If they try to overwinter at lower elevations, they stir and fly about on warm sunny days in the winter. They fly about and search for food when none is available. They might die of starvation while searching for food, or they may exhaust lipid stores that they need to lay eggs in spring. Natural selection favors those that leave the most offspring, so ladybug genes that favor prolonged hibernation are most common. The insects trying to get inside houses should talk to ladybugs!

I asked a neighbor about boxelder bugs, and he responded that “all their lifeless bodies are scattered around the house.” Bugs that get inside have a comfortable environment, but they need more water and food to remain active inside, where familiar sources of water and food are not available. Natural selection needs more time to teach boxelder bugs the lesson that ladybugs have learned.

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The good news is none of them bite, sting or carry diseases that can be passed to humans.

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Top image: boxelder bugs attempting to get into Jeff Mitton's house (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

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