Ms.Jerl.the.Science.Girl

Bizarre animal adaptations, biomimicry, and the necessity of biodiversity. Illustrated.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

It was never Owl’s

The stories always get it wrong. 

Owls, always owls, charismatic and powerful, holders of Wisdom, silent sentries. Owls, the guardians of night. Moon’s eyes. Star’s storyteller.  Minerva’s Owl. Owl, who can cut through the nebula’s glaze, revealing transparency and truth, birth and growth and decay.  

Mythology says so. So it is. Generations of her stories become belief, then truth. The Owl holds her wisdom. But, Mythology? She is a jealous lover. 

Owl does indeed fly by night, vision sharp and penetrating.  His feathers’ delicately divided edges, small sliced contours who beckon Sound. Sound tumbles in and is enveloped in softness, pillowy warmth.  She sinks into sumptuous feathers, into luxury.  In Owl’s respite, Sound is held instead of echoed. She calms, stays, stretches. Owl enchants Sound. Sound, who spirals into love and keeps her promise. No one shall hear you, dear owl. Hush, I’ll hold you, fill you, as you hold me. 

Mythology curls her many fists, incandescent with rage.  Spiteful and selfish, she protests: But from whom shall we get our wisdom if you soar on silent wings? Who will spread my stories? Who will keep them alive? Who? Who? And so, Mythology curses Owl, giving but one word as punishment for his betrayal. 

The delicate fringe of feathers romances Sound and fuels Mythology’s fury. Owl listens, whose side to choose? Whose love is stronger?

Mythology’s daughter, Story speaks. With lowered eyes, she whispers. You digest me, she says. You accept only pieces of me. You reject others. For you, I am never complete, but torn, reworked, spit out. Story glances at her mother, then to Owl’s talons. You gladly take me, then shred me, Story says. What is worthy? What is not? I am incomplete. You gift Listeners judgement, offered in fur and bone. They tell other futures with those bones, she whispers. But apart, they are not truth, they are no longer mine.  Who is nourished without flesh, by bone alone, she asks? Who? 

All along, the translation was wrong. It was never supposed to be Owl. The wisdom was not his to offer. Language sighs, seeing all of their beautiful, disparate parts. Language came first. They are the elder. Language sees all the pieces of what should be, what was, what could be again. Language knows that words have been lost, replaced, reformed. They caress Mythology. Dear child. Your pain need not be. Go back to the beginning, she says. Your word will blossom once again. Once you get the translation right. It was never Owl. Language lifts Story. Let me shine a light, Language says. Look. 

Another appears, sideways. Feeling first the edges of Story. A quick stroke, mapping her shape. Little by little. Learning her. A soft sigh. A murmur. The Stranger feels which pieces have been left behind and how they fit. Story’s not broken, she never was. How could she be? Story is universal. She may change, but she may never die. 

The Stranger speaks. Story, like me, you’ve changed over time. You’ve twisted and turned, banking on mistakes, enveloping them, absorbing the changing conditions. You are fast and slow. You are cadence and melody. You are full of color, frequency, and song. You’ve been pollinated, that’s all. 

Your golden pieces were meant to leave and learn, the Stranger says. But they always echo back. You can put yourself back together again, Story. Listen for them. Let Sound be your eyes. Breathe in, the Stranger says. Let Scent fill your soul. Your pieces fill the breeze, aromatic and sweet. Bring them all in. 

Yes. Yes. Here they are.

Story breathes in her pieces. Looks to Language. Smiles at Mythology. Thanks the Stranger. The Stranger who pollinated her pieces with love, all along. 

It was never the Owl, she smiles. 

The Knowledge. 

It is Light. It is Dark. It is Twilight. It is Dawning.

It is Vespertine. Cresting along the edges of light, acrobatic in its delight. Gliding, gossamer, and gifted with patagium, slicing with those silken membranes, held fast between fingers Darting, seeing, caressing, feeling all edges of Story.

No, it is not avian, this wisdom-holder. It is chiropteran. It is chiropteran.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

An old illustration I finally got around to finishing! I’m still trying to find cool information about this little dude. He's a collared lizard (Crotaphytus collaris), which is the official reptile of Oklahoma. Like many colorful birds, sexual selection is at play here along with dimorphism (females look different than males in terms of coloration, and tend to be much more bland). Like the frilled lizards of Australia (you know, the ones that look like the spitting Jurassic Park dinos?), they run bipedally, and are rumored to be pretty quick. Anyone know any other cool things about these beauties?

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

This is Equality Tamandua. She’s a lesser or collared anteater, arboreal in nature, and much smaller than her giant, land-based cousin. Equality Tamandua would love to march for science on Earth Day if she wasn’t a tree-based creature. As an animal, she doesn’t understand borders beyond, say, a patch of land that is on fire. So, Equality Tamandua loves immigrants of all kinds, and is curious about different people instead of judging them. She also thinks, however, that people should respect the animals that were in the land first-- invasive species, after all, can be quite problematic. 

Equality Tamandua is also aware that animals large and small have VERY different ways of being attracted to others, forming relationships, and caring for each other. She thinks it shouldn’t matter who you love because love is great! In all forms, for all bodies.

Equality Tamandua has been teased for thinking termites are delicious,  but she believes that everyone is entitled to believe whatever they want...as long as it doesn’t hurt others. She would never, say, force her more carnivorous or herbivorous friends to eat ants or termites, so she expects the same respect in return.

Equality Tamandua really just feels that if all creatures got to know each other better, and had more conversations, and learned that many things are never simple, or black and white, that the world would be better. 

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

WANTED: Anteater! Crime? Murder.

In 1969, Salvador Dali famously sauntered through the streets of Paris with his pet anteater. Though striking in appearance, the anteater likely makes a terrible pet. They can reach 7 feet long, and have velociraptor-like claws that can easily cut through denim and are used not only to destroy hardened termite mounds, but to slice a jaguar to shreds. You read that right. An anteater can demolish a jaguar.

A youngster may spend 6 months to 2 years attached to its mother’s back. If you were to get yourself a wee anteater, it would want to attach to you as well. Just ask author, adventurer, and conservationist Paul Rosolie. He acted as a surrogate mother for a baby anteater called Lulu, and spent many an hour with the furry little warrior physically attached to him. If the thought of a clawed monster attached to you constantly isn’t enough consider this: in 2007, while cleaning its enclosure, a caregiver named Melisa was attacked. The usually-docile anteater slashed at her legs and stomach, killing her.  

Some animals have been found in the jungle completely eviscerated, abdominal cavities completely emptied out. To keep its fearsome nails razor sharp, the anteater curls its front fingers back, and walks on its knuckles. This is how it got its misnomer of a name. Myrmecophaga tridactla means “Ant-eating. Walks on three fingers.” The first part is true, but the second isn’t--  they have five fingers-- we just don’t see them all due to their gorilla-like, knuckle-dragging shamble.   

Bizarre Biology Tongue can flicker 160 times a minute, which is about 2.5 times per SECOND. This allows the anteater to trap and consume 30,000+ insects per day/night. The anteater’s tongue needs so much power, that it is attached to its breastbone. (Ours are more or less suspended in our throats.) All the way from the sternum, the  tongue can stick out of its head by another two feet. The tongue traps insects as well as protects the tongue from their chemical warfare or attacks by being both sticky and covered like papillae-- little spines almost like a cat’s.

Like the aardvark, the anteater has a bizarre, gizzard-like stomach that grinds up their food since they have no teeth to speak of. But what’s even weirder is this: anteaters are incapable of making stomach acid. Most creatures have hydrochloric acid in their stomachs-- including us. The anteater doesn’t need it. Instead, as the stomach physically grinds down the insects, the insects release formic acid. This then, is what the anteater uses to chemically digest its food. Let me say that again, this time with horror: the anteater uses the ants’ own body acids to DIGEST ITSELF. That would be like if you were eaten by a tiger, and the tiger used YOUR inner juices to digest your own body. Freaky stuff.

Because it subsides on insects, the anteater doesn’t get the same preponderance of nutrients that other land-dwelling mammals get. This has an effect on its metabolism-- which is slow to get the most out of the bugs. This then, makes the anteater a generally slow and plodding animal, who needs to sleep 16 out of every 24 hours. It also means the anteater has an incredibly low body temperature for an endothermic or “warm-blooded” animal. We run 98.5 degrees Fahrenheit. Dogs are a bit warmer. Anteaters have the lowest body temp at 90-91 degrees. Thus, the tail comes into play.

To help thermoregulate, an anteater will use its tail as a blanket as it sleeps. (This behavior also helps hide the anteater. Unlike the aardvark, the anteater doesn’t create a burrow to sleep in, but rather a very shallow depression. So, it could easily be stumbled upon and devoured...especially with the shark contrast of its striping.) 

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

The wood frog is one of my favorite frogs. Aside from the incredible, tardigrade-like way it survives, it also has a few other features that make it enchanting. First, unlike most frogs, it is a diurnal, which means it spends its most active hours during daylight. Second, when it is time to mate, the male entices his female with quite the erogenous call. He croaks his melody....like a duck! Third, like grizzly bears, ladybugs, garter snakes and other organisms that go through torpor or experience hibernation, it creates a little hidey-hole for itself. This hidey-hole (for all organisms) is called a "hibernaculum." 

So, the next time you feel the urge to make a blanket fort or hide away from the world, channel your inner wood frog. Snuggle in. Grab your favorite book. And if someone tries to disrupt you, cry, "Leave me alone when I'm in my hibernaculum!" Or better yet-- quack it.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

When most people think about spring, they probably think about lengthening days, or the birds & the bees. The smell caught on the breeze. A reprieve from winter. The burst of color. Warmth of sun on finally-bare shoulders. 

I think about perspective. I wonder what springtime is like for pollinators. I wonder how birds, moths, bats, bees and other helpful critters experience spring differently than we do. 

Is it a mad dash? Is it a smorgasbord? Is it a nervous frenzy with climate change, as the rhythms of hatching and feeding and blooming are off-kilter? 

Which of the colors we see are different, and marked with landing strips? How do the plants communicate with each other or know when to bloom? How does chemical communication and pheromones play into this? Which plants would disappear if we weren’t there to plant them? 

I wonder what pieces of nature’s genius we don’t or can’t see due to our lifespans or senses. We are a blip compared to an oak, we are ancient compared to a bee. We don’t experience heliotropism. We can’t see UV. We can’t read the chemicals in the air as trails. We don’t interpretive dance to communicate the location of food. 

I wonder-- if we could spend a day, or a lifetime, as a hummingbird or a honey bee... what would we know? And what would we then do differently in our human bodies? What would we appreciate?  

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

When I was as kid, I ate copious amounts of the cereal, "Just Right." Because I was a weird kid, I called it, "Just Aardvark." Not to say that I was imagining I was eating aardvark, per se. I just thought it was a better name for a cereal. Or, maybe I just wanted to turn into one. Either way, I've always had a thing for these odd beasties. 

Aardvarks eat ants, but they're not "anteaters." They look like kangaroo-pig-rabbits, but their closest relatives include elephants, hyraxes, and elephant shrews. They look lumbering, but they can swim and sprint. They have teeth, but no enamel. They don't use these teeth to chew ants and termites; instead, their stomach acts as a gizzard to grind them up. They're full of mystery, aardvarks. (For a hypothesis of why they have teeth at all, see the illustration!*) 

 Aardvarks are found all over Africa, yet they are particular about where they create their homes (which can be 40 odd feet long and which they frequently change the floorplans of). Since they are burrowers, you won’t find an aardvark in a swamp, where the murk would quickly close the entrance. They also stay away from rocky outcrops. While an aardvark can easily tunnel through the hardest of dirt, rock is a no go. Which means, it is also dangerous if a predator appears. (Speaking of which, some aardvarks have been seen lying supine, flailing their vicious claws at predators if they can’t dig an escape route quickly enough.)

Aardvarks are nocturnal, and use their super sensitive and flexible noses to sniff out both predator and prey, while large ears swivel. Because they are creatures of the night, their eyes only have rods-- which means they can see great in low light, but no color. To catch their prey-- termites and ants-- aardvarks use 12" long, insanely sticky tongues. A ring of salivary glands embedded in their necks constantly replenish the stickiness. In addition, they can seal their fur-lined nostrils when they dig, and the hairs help filter dirt before it reaches their respiratory systems. 

One interesting habit of the aardvark is that they're resource savvy. If they visit a termite mound or two and eat 50,000 insects in a night (possible for an aardvark!), they will not go back to that same area until those mounds have had time to recover. Another fascinating thing? Like crocodiles, aardvarks haven't changed much in millennia, making them one of the most ancient and best adapted species on the planet. 

*(Fun note: According to my copy of “The Ghosts Of Evolution: Nonsensical Fruit, Missing Partners, and Other Ecological Anachronisms” by Connie Barlow, aardvark cucumber fruits start their growth process ABOVE the ground, on stalks. At some point in their development, the plants drag their fruiting bodies underground where only aardvarks can find them! The fruit aren’t always subterranean like, say, legumes or tubers! How the plant manages this, I have no idea. If anyone can provide me with an explanation-- you get a cookie!)

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

I was struck by a neighbor's oak tree as I was walking. This particular tree is, I'm guessing a juvenile-- it is relatively small, being less than two stories tall. None of the leaves have dropped! Even if you tug on them, they don't fall. Denver has some interesting abiotic factors-- namely, the high altitude (which I couldn't find any implications for), dry air, loads of sunlight, and our odd winters. In winter, we get a burst of snow and cold, followed by a 50-60 degree, mini-spring. This happens from maybe November through April before spring and summer come full force. Winter, spring, winter, spring, winter. Yet, I have only lived here for 5 years. Perhaps this is a new pattern, and if so, could be a new abiotic force on the plant-- maybe natural selection hasn't caught up yet? With climate change adding more fire, and more oscillating winters, I can't be sure what the most historical factors are, and I also don't know how quickly organisms can adapt. 

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

Here's another one of my favorite biomimicry examples. Spiders like orb weavers produce a special fiber for their webs that reflects UV light. Since birds see UV, they see the web as almost sparkling...and can swerve to avoid it. This saves the spider from having to spend loads of energy rebuilding the web unnecessarily-- especially since the spider can't eat the bird and recoup that energy. So, the implications for us? Read above!

*There is still some debate over the effectiveness of this glass. We may need to collect more data, and put glass in more buildings-- both tall and short-- in order to get a better sense of how well this design works. So, in theory, magnificent! In practice? Scientists are still figuring that out. 

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

People often ask me what biomimicry is, and often confuse it with bio-utilization. If you milk a cow, or gather silk from a spider, collect tomatoes from your patch, use yeast to make bread, use bacteria to ferment foods or make beer/wine/cheese, or another bacteria to make insulin.... that is using a living thing for your benefit. Hence, utilizing a living thing. Biomimicry doesn't "use up," wear out, or rely on the death of the organism to benefit us. Instead, we study the organisms (and ecosystems!) as they occur naturally, to best learn how they operate and how they collaborate in order to survive. Instead of asking, “What can you do for me, critter?” the question is something more like, “How are you such a badass, critter?” How are you able to survive under _________ conditions? Who are you in a symbiotic relationship with? And how do I borrow and take inspiration from your shapes, processes and relationships and do something similar? It is about the emulation of what makes a creature or ecosystem successful, which is why it takes not just biologists, but a whole host of people from different occupations to make it work. Shark skin, which is made up of toothy-little scales called “denticles” has been emulated in various ways, to make our products smarter, more sustainable, more fuel-efficient. It is one of my very favorite examples of biomimicry in action.... even if it only takes 3rd place....

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

In biomimicry, one of the most-used phrases is, “life creates conditions conducive to life.” It is a hearty phrase, but it boils down to this-- living things do things that keep the ecosystem going strong. Life changes and manages the land, the air, the pH, the temperature, the amount of wind, the amount of sunlight, the available nutrients, to make things better....for other living things. This should kind of blow your mind. 

Let me give you an example. Trees, with their branches, and moss and other epiphytes, slow down the wind. This creates a little microclimate, where there can be warmer temperatures and less evaporation. Thus, things that need a bit more warmth and moisture (like salamanders, and millions of plants and fungi) are more likely to thrive. 

In this image, a grizzly bear has left the body of a salmon in the forest of the temperate rainforest in the Pacific Northwest. The bear eats the brains and gonads of the fish-- because they are fatty and nutrient rich-- and leaves the rest to rot. The nitrogen feeds banana slugs, flies, and decomposers of all kinds. This then enriches the soil, so the nitrogen transfers from fish, to plant. The plants then feed the Douglas squirrel, the hummingbirds, the fungi. And so it goes. 

Everything is interconnected. Everything. The difference with nature, and our “post-nature” world, is that life looks out for life. Life enhances the ecosystem, makes it richer, shares and cycles the nutrients, and makes slight adjustments to keep the whole thing going. WE need to start doing the same thing. Imagine a world where factories created not toxic waste, but made the natural systems around them...even more beautiful. Imagine if the give and take was healthy and productive. That’s what biomimicry is all about. 

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

Belonging to the corvid family (ravens, crows, magpies, jays) the Steller's Jay is found in the Rockies, the Pacific Northwest (extending into Canada), and south into Mexico. Like the famous New Caledonian crows, the Steller's Jay also uses tools. One famous example took place in Flagstaff, Arizona. A crow was eating seeds from a platform, while a Steller’s jay waited in the wings (no pun intended). The jay, annoyed with how long the crow was taking, first dive-bombed and shrieked at the crow to get it to bug off. The crow kept eating and ignored the jay. The jay, now done with the crow’s greedy behavior (yes, I know I’m anthropomorphizing) flew to a tree, broke off a stick, and used it like a sword! Parry! Thrust. The crow basically said, “Oh no you didn't!” and lunged back. The startled jay dropped the stick, which the crow picked it up and stabbed the jay with it. The two flew off together, crow chasing jay with the stick still in its mouth. So, this just goes to show that human friends and siblings aren’t the only ones who fight over food, and resort to petty violence to get what they want.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

The Great tit (Parus major) is a cute little bird. People all over the world watch them at bird feeders and say, aww! How sweet.  Only... no. When experiencing a particularly harsh winter, the Great Tit has been known to go on vicious, carnivorous binges. One flock in Hungary (no pun intended) is known for finding the caves of the wee bat, the common pipistrelle. Once found, they bash the bat's brains in...and eat them. So, these tits? Not so nice. (And, ladies, next time some idiot cat-calls you, you can stop and give a lecture on zombie birds)

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

I've always been fascinated by examples of mutual symbiosis. We often see it in ox peckers and a variety of mammals in Africa. The clownfish and the anemone. Flowers and their pollinators-- bees, bats, moths, lizards, birds. Cleaner fish and wrasse. The plover and crocodile. What is even more fascinating are the relationships we often can't see. Our microbiome is a fabulous example of this. Without our gut bacteria, we wouldn't be able to digest or get vitamins from much of our food. The wee bobtail here is another glorious example of mutualism at the microscopic level. Plus-- it's bioluminescent!! These relationships serve as a constant reminder that we are all connected to many, many other species, and rely on them. To keep ourselves healthy, we have to keep them healthy too.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

I had learned about horseshoe crab blood and its medicinal uses a while back, but just recently learned about the plight of the red knot. This is just one more example of how complex ecosystems are, and how one slip-up can cause ecosystem collapse, and extinction. I wish more people were attuned to how interconnected ALL life is on this planet. I am always hopeful that we can see our limitations with elegance, and find new solutions, but we are so often set in our ways, and begin scrambling madly once it is too late. And then, the damage is done. It takes 9 years for horseshoe crabs to be mature enough to mate. 9 years. Even if some localized moratoriums do their job, and more eggs are available for red knots and other coastal birds.... will it be too late? I hope not. The additional impact of our warming planet makes me fear for the worst.

[msjerlthesciencegirl]

As part of my "irreverent adult coloring book" series, the pangolin. :)