Do insects suffer from heat exhaustion?
I’ve never really minded spiders. but this year I seem to have an awful lot of them.
I’m fortunate that they don’t worry me like they do other people, although, I’m not so keen on the large ones that suddenly scurry across the floor in late autumn and winter. Even so, three days running I heard of people being taken to hospital with quite serious spider bites and this had me wondering what this latest bit of news was all about, so, as usual, I looked it up.
It seems that the most likely culprit is the false widow spider.
These clamber in, probably taking up residence in a kitchen or conservatory and should you be unfortunate enough to come across one, it can cause a bite that can swell and can cause severe pain and swelling, even chest pains.
There are quite a few others that can give you an unfriendly nip.
I was bitten by one once on my finger and it swelled slightly, but was no worse than a wasp sting, and was gone in 24 hours.
However,don’t worry, the false widow isn’t that common. Even so, I’ve noticed something else rather odd this year.
The reason spiders usually decide that they want to share our homes is because they want to find a mate, or because of imminent cold, wet or very hot
weather.
We’ve recently emerged from the wettest July and August, followed by a heat wave that has broken all records from which we are just emerging as I write
this.
So that’s it, it’s another thing we can blame on climate change!
I shall continue to shake out my towels in the morning when one may drop out and when I turn back the covers of my bed at night, I may well find one lurking either in it or beside it, and if I move a photograph on the window sill I’ll discover that it is firmly attached to the adjoining one by a thick web, even though it was only dusted two or three days previously.
And tell me this, do insects suffer from heat exhaustion?
I ask this because I have found several biggish spiders hanging from their webs, looking very dead.
Then, when I grab them with my grabbers, they suddenly come to life and wave their legs at me, which is a bit unnerving.
If I pitch them outside, they come scuttling back.
And who was it who started the old saying, ‘Blow the cobwebs away’?
That’s a laugh. Have you ever tried to get rid of them from your fingers by standing in a gale, waiting for it to blow away?
Not likely. It’s much too strong for that, which is why they can also withstands torrential downpours and still remain undamaged.
In my last article I was bemoaning the fact that I had seen no bees in my garden.
Can they read?
The day after I had sent it to the Caundler team, bees, of all sorts arrived from all quarters. There were bumbles, honeys and wild ones, together with
a whole variety of butterflies, all arriving on mass.
It so happened that on the same day, a few different flowers suddenly bloomed. The bees have remained ever since.
They particularly like my Aster Monch and sedums, but it is gratifying to see that, having at last found me, they are staying to try all sorts of other things.
I have had more butterflies in the garden than I have had for a number of years.
It seems to have been a particularly good year for them generally, as I have seen a lot of different varieties mixed in with the usual ones in Rowden Mill Lane,
including commas.
I don’t usually see many of these – perhaps I just haven’t been looking.
Any minute now I expect the majority of house martins and swallows will fly away to somewhere warmer for their winter break.
I wonder how long it will be before they decide that the summers here are hot enough to chance staying for the winter too.
I have had the usual second or third brood of house martins in my three nests.
I always get worried about these late offspring, wondering how they manage to cope with the long journey ahead of them.
Each morning, they leave their nests and spend the day on the wing, wheeling and circling with their parents, feeding and practising their flying skills.
I don’t know where they go during the remainder of the day, but they return each evening to sleep in their nests.
I hear their sleepy murmurings first thing each morning like grumpy teenagers, being urged by their parents to come and catch their breakfast.
The migration of birds has been well recorded.
What still seems to be a bit of a puzzle is the migration of fragile things like the painted lady butterfly.
To me, some of the statistics argue against each other.
I read one set that says that these tiny, fragile creatures have been known to fly from the Sahara to the Mediterranean – a distance of 2,500 – the largest distance recorded. Some have even made the round trip, hitching lifts on the back of southerly winds and even climbing to altitudes of 1606 feet at 30 miles per hour so that a single group can make the journey in one go.
What seems to defy my logic is another piece of information that says that they only live for 2-4 weeks.
I would really like someone to explain, that if it has hatched in Africa, is there really time for it to get to our country before it dies and if it hatches here is there really time for it to do what it has to then fly back?
Is it the freshly hatched ones that fly back? And, whichever way you look at it, is there time to fly all those miles and still be fresh enough to mate and lay more
eggs?
Perhaps it’s just me being particularly dense, but I just don’t get it.