Alex Terlecky | Life on a Lupine

Salticus scenicus, a zebra jumping spider, waited on the leaf of a lupine as her hunger grew. She focused her binocular vision and, with an acuity similar to humans, scanned the other leaves of the plant. A single Bombus vosnesenskii—the yellow-faced bumblebee—and the larva of Icaricia icarioides fender—Fender’s blue butterfly—had taken temporary residence nearby.

The morning’s rising temperatures had warmed Bombus to a point where he could shake off the night’s chill and begin his work collecting pollen. In his current state, however, he was unaware of Salticus’s presence and the mortal fact that, although bumblebee was larger than jumping spider, he was being viewed as a possible meal.

Salticus crouched low, like a cat prior to pouncing, but before she could strike, sunlight sprayed the leaves of the lupine and provided Bombus with a sudden infusion of warmth.

He wiggled his thorax, moved his antennae, fluttered his wings. He untucked his head and began to look around. He, too, had good eyesight, and although it was not nearly as sharp as the spider’s, it was clear enough for him to notice the arachnid lurking one leaf over. With the strength he’d accumulated, he began to wave his middle legs into the air—a signal to Salticus to back off. He was no easy prey any longer and was prepared to put up a fight. From there, it was only a matter of moments before Bombus found the energy to stand up, stretch out his legs and wings, and take flight, ascending to the blossoms adorning the top of the lupine.

Salticus reset her posture. She had missed her chance, but that was okay. Her sights turned to the Icaricia larva, and she observed their behavior with grave interest.

The green, oblong Icaricia larva—there were three of them sharing the space—inched about, taking small bites along the leaf’s edges. They were focused on nothing except collecting nourishment from the similarly colored plant which helped to camouflage their existence.

As Salticus kept watch, a newcomer appeared. It was a crew of Aphaenogaster occidentalis, the Western Winnow Ant, making their way toward the three Icaricia larva—not to eat them, but to offer their end of the facultative mutualism bargain. It, too, was time for the ants’ breakfast, and they had a devised a system where they could force the larva to produce a delicious, sticky juice—as an act of defense—simply by squeezing them with their pinchers. Once again, Salticus waited while life on the lupine proceeded to develop.

Higher up, Bombus landed on the wing petals of the purple flower. He squeezed into the keel and combed the stamens for pollen. Once his legs were heavy with it and he was satisfied with his collection, he returned to the petals and waited.

A shadow passed over the lupine.

Across Bombus’s field of vision, the scene of a meadow in bloom was replaced by the owner of the shadow. He felt a new vibration course through his feet, which was his cue to flap his wings and relocate. The plant was moving. It had been cut, desired as the favorite flower of a member of the species Homo sapiens. The lupine fell and came to rest on the soil of the earth, briefly, before being retrieved by the human and relocated to a clear, slender vase in the center of a table far, far away.