Posts Tagged: Sweat bee
The photo just begs for a caption.
The praying mantis, with a female sweat bee grasped in its spiked forelegs, suddenly turns its head to look at the photographer.
Actually, three photographers: Davis insect photographers/bee enthusiasts Allan Jones and Gary Zamzow and I. We were shooting images in the Häagen-Dazs Honey Bee Haven, the half-acre bee friendly garden located next to the Harry H. Laidlaw Jr. Honey Bee Research Facility on Bee Biology Road, UC Davis.
Jones, admiring the first image (below), commented "I love the way the mantis has set breakfast aside to stare directly at you." With that, Jones served up three captions:
"Oh, is that your bee?"
"What are you looking at?"
"Threat or prey?"
Meanwhile, we were obviously interrupting the praying mantid's bee breakfast.
"The female sweat bee is carrying some pollen she toiled to provide for her young," said native pollinator specialist Robbin Thorp, emeritus professor of entomology at the UC Davis Department of Entomology. "The mantid is also ducking under a spider webline, and needs to be careful that it does not become the meal of another sit and wait predator. It's a real jungle out there!"
Thorp, who has been monitoring the garden since October 2009, a year before it was planted, has so far discovered 75 different species of bees--and counting.
Yes, sometimes amid the predators and the prey, it's definitely a "real jungle out there."
What are you looking at? A praying mantis, with a female sweat bee grasped in its spiked forelegs, looks at the camera. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Praying mantis continues to eat the sweat bee. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Beekeepers describe their honey bees as "my girls" or "my beautiful girls."
It's a term of endearment.
Now take the green metallic sweat bee, Agapostemon texanus. If honey bees are beautiful (and they are) then these bees are spectacular.
Sometimes called ultra green sweat bees, the females are metallic green from head to thorax to abdomen. The males, however, are metallic green from head to thorax. Their abdomens are striped.
This is one of the bees that native pollinator specialist Robbin Thorp, emeritus professor of entomology at the University of California, Davis, studies. When he monitors the Häagen-Dazs Honey Bee Haven, the half-acre bee friendly garden next to the Harry H. Laidlaw Jr. Honey Bee Research Facility on Bee Biology Road, UC Davis, he finds these periodically.
The Agapostemon are members of the Halictinae family, described in the book, Bees of the World, by Christopher O'Toole and Christopher Raw, as a world-wide group of bees. They are "often called sweat bees because in hot weather they are attracted to human perspiration, which they lap up, probably for the salt it contains," they write.
Some of the family's many genera, including Agapostemon, are restricted to the New World. Halictus and Lasioglossum "are common to the Old and New Worlds," according to O'Toole and Raw.
We captured these images below at the Mostly Natives Nursery in Tomales, Marin County./span>/span>
Male sweat bee, Agapostemon texanus, on purple coneflower. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Note the metallic green head and thorax of a male sweat bee, Agapostemon texanus. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Spotted cucumber beetle (a pest) and male sweat bee, Agapostemon texanus, sharing a purple coneflower. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Jumping spiders have to eat, but do they have to snag the bees?
Last weekend as we were checking the lavender patch in our yard, we noticed something partially hidden--and moving--on a post.
It was a jumping spider eating a honey bee. Later in the afternoon, the same jumping spider snared a sweat bee.
If you have flower patches in your yard--and you should, to attract the pollinators--you will also attract the predators.
Fortunately, they don't eat as much as Joey "Jaws" Chestnut of San Jose, the hot-dog eating champion of the world.
Jumping spider eating a honey bee. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Jumping spider eating a sweat bee. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Moving fast, a spider heads for prey. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Today's the Fourth of July and folks are splashing in their pools.
So, what happens when a bee falls in?
Sometimes they get lucky--if there's a human around to rescue them. And sometimes their luck extends to a floating leaf.
This tiny female sweat bee, genus Halictus (probably H. tripartitus, as identified by native polinator specialist Robbin Thorp, emeritus professor of entomology at the University of California, Davis, fell into our pool and then managed to save herself by climbing onto a cherry laurel leaf.
If you look closely, you'll see another sweat bee, an even smaller one, trying to climb onboard, too.
The scenario ended well. The bee coasting along the leaf dried her wings and then flew off.
Luck be a lady...
Summertime...and the living is easy...A female sweat bee, genus Halictus, floats on a leaf in a swimming pool. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
In the blink of an eye, they visit the rockpurslane (Calandrinia grandiflora).
Now you see them, now you don't.
They're a sweat bee, a little larger than most sweat bees, but a little smaller than a honey bee.
Halictus farinosus (family Halictidae) are often see pollinating blueberry fields, foraging among California golden poppies, and visiting members of the sunflower family, to name a few.
They're commonly called "sweat bees" because they're attracted to perspiration.
This one below is a female, as identified by native pollinator specialist Robbin Thorp, emeritus professor of entomology at UC Davis. Note the apical whitish abdominal bands that distinguish this genus from the related genus Lasioglossum (its bands are located basally, not apically).
Halictus has been around for millions of years, paleontologists tell us. In fact, known fossil records date back to the Eocene epoch, which took place 58 to 34 million years ago.
They definitely have persevered.
Sweat bee, Halictus farinosus, prepares to leave one flower for another. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)
Sweat bee, Halictus farinosus, foraging in rock purslane. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey)