A view of the recently completed UWF Heritage Roots Garden. Photo credit: Mike Thomin, Florida Public Archaeology Network
Just about a year ago, a dream team of history and plant nerds assembled around a common goal. The idea was to transform an open, weedy space adjacent to the University of West Florida (UWF) Archaeology Institute into a lush garden. The garden would be unique, however, in its purpose; to showcase native plants important to the wide swath of humanity that has made northwest Florida home for centuries. The plants featured here were to be planted deliberately, demonstrating how human relationships with vegetation over time have made the area habitable.
This sign describing the edible, medicinal, and building uses of Black-eyed Susan plants is typical of the educational information at the garden. Photo credit: Mike Thomin, Florida Public Archeology Network.
If you walk on the site today, that idea and initial sketches have been made reality. Concentric circles of gravel, mulch, and grass form the shape of a gopher tortoise shell. The tortoise has spiritual significance to members of the local Muscogee tribe and ecological importance as a keystone species. Within the planted space are native groundcovers, shrubs, and trees that have long provided food, traditional medicine, building materials, and dyes and textiles for clothing. This flora makes human life tolerable in a hot, rainy, often difficult environment.
Locally brewed yaupon tea was served as part of the opening ceremony for the garden. Photo credit: Mike Thomin, Florida Public Archaeology Network.
Illustrated signage designed for the site explains ethnobotanical principles, highlighting the relationship that people have had with fifteen plants as they provided healing, nourishment, or protection over the years. The plants are identified on signage in Latin binomial, English common names, and Muscogee language. At the center of the garden is a gravel rectangular space, highlighted by a large piece of local iron rock that represents the tribal Sacred Fire.
One featured plant includes the yaupon holly (Ilex vomitoria), whose leaves are brewed as a highly caffeinated tea. The tea is used ceremonially by many southeastern American Indian tribes, and was popular with early American settlers when tea was difficult to import. Yaupon tea is experiencing a bit of a popular resurgence, with commercial products readily available now. Known as the “black drink,” we all drank a cup of the tasty beverage as part of the open house and ceremonial blessing of the garden a few weeks ago.
Chief Dan Helms of the Santa Rosa Band of the Lower Muscogee tribe blesses the UWF Heritage Garden. Photo credit: Mike Thomin, Florida Public Archaeology Network.
The design team developed a scavenger hunt for youth visitors and is working on a self-guided tour to educate the public about native plants, their cultural heritage, and their role in supporting a healthy watershed. The garden is open to the public during daytime hours, and located near the entrance to UWF at the eastern corner of University Parkway and Campus Drive.
Habitat, whether for wildlife or people, relies on the provision of food, water, shelter, and space. All these needs are met within the UWF Heritage Roots Garden. We hope that visitors will develop a deeper appreciation of the region’s historical and ecological legacy, strengthening modern cultural connections with the past. We hope to tie in the Heritage Garden to other UWF campus garden spaces, including the Edward Ball Nature Trail and the UWF Community Garden.
A typical katydid, with remarkable leaf-like camouflage. Photo credit: Carrie Stevenson, UF IFAS Extension
The intricate camouflage developed within the animal kingdom never fails to fascinate me. From fish that look like seagrass blades to butterflies that look like tree bark—or a pair of eyes—the variety, color, and textures are just mind-boggling. Among those are the leaf bugs, or katydids, that flawlessly evoke natural foliage. I had one join me on a patio chair recently, and I couldn’t stop starting at the detailed venation on their wings, which perfectly mimicked the veins on a leaf.
One of the pink katydids on display at the Audubon Insectarium. Photo credit: Amy Pitre courtesy LSU AgCenter
There are well over 6,000 species of katydids, and they’re found on every continent but Antarctica. Related to crickets and grasshoppers, they are similar in that they are remarkable jumpers, with strong hind legs that can also produce recognizable scraping, buzzing, and trilling sounds. The insects got their name from the perception that the noises they produce sound like, “Katy did!, Katy didn’t!” which are primarily made by males of the species. Song production and recognition among katydids are highly developed, used for warnings, attracting mates, or defending territory. Katydids detect sounds by raising their front legs, which have sensing/hearing patches called tympanum. Katydid and cicada songs can be differentiated by timing—cicadas trill during the day, while katydids are active at night.
Katydids have antennae nearly as long as their bodies, and despite their large wings are not strong flyers. Every katydid I’ve ever seen is a leafy green color, blending perfectly into its surroundings and hiding in plain sight from avian predators. However, they come in several different colors, including tan, yellow, orange, and hot pink. I cannot fathom how hot pink is an effective adaptation, but they are occasionally found—at a rate of 1 in 500—in the wild. The pink coloration is due to a genetic condition called erythrism, which is similar to the recessive traits causing albinism. New Orleans’ Audubon Insectarium exhibits several pink katydids, which, with no natural predators, can live typical katydid lifespans.
Katydids are found widely in the state and can be a pest of citrus, but are not considered a major issue. In a home garden, they are generally considered beneficial. While they might nibble on plant parts, they also feed on pest insects like aphids and can aid in pollination.
Fall webworms in a Tennessee forest. Photo credit: UF IFAS Extension
Have you ever noticed the big knots of webbing in some trees this time of year? They’re usually sort of a brown-pink hue, much too big for a spider but not really tightly wound enough to be a nest or cocoon.
A close-up of the fall webworm tent reveals dozens of tiny caterpillars and skeletonized leaves. Photo credit: Carrie Stevenson, UF IFAS Extension
What you’re seeing actually is a cocoon of sorts—a big shared one created by hundreds of larval fall webworms (Hyphantria cunea). This common name is a bit of a misnomer. The webbing—often referred to as a tent—is built in late summer, not fall, and these are caterpillars, not worms. But I suppose it gets the idea across!
On a recent hike, I saw webbing up close, so I was able to really investigate the caterpillars inside. They are quite small, and will undergo up to five molting stages, or instars, before adulthood. Upon transformation, they will become white or speckled moths. Fall webworms are native to the entirety of the United States—in the northern end of their range the moths will be solid white, whereas further south they will have darker spots on their wings. Due to accidental introduction, fall webworms are invasive throughout Europe and portions of Asia.
Adult fall webworm, with spots on white, which is typical for members of this species from the southern part of its range. Photo credit: Lyle Buss, UF
Host plants include a wide range of more than 80 deciduous hardwood species, allowing a broader spectrum of places for the caterpillars to undergo their various larval phases. During their months in the “tent”, the larvae feed on and skeletonize the leaves encapsulated within their webbing. This causes damage to the leaves, but results in no permanent issues to the trees—being late summer and fall during their tenure, the trees eventually lose their leaves anyway.
While the tents are a bit unsightly, controlling the caterpillars or removing the webs is unnecessary. Once they’ve reached their final caterpillar stage, they’ll hide out in tree bark and leaf litter on the ground until metamorphosizing into moths the following spring. Adult moths mate and lay eggs in the late spring and summer, starting the cycle all over again.
A cicada killer burrow at the Escambia County Extension Office. Photo credit: Carrie Stevenson, UF IFAS Extension
The other day, our Horticulture agent, Beth Bolles, called me over to point out something of interest. Along the sidewalk between our buildings was a sandy burrow that looked like a cross between a fire ant mound and a crawfish burrow. “People ask me about these all the time—you may want to write about them,” she said. Sure enough, just a couple days later I was tagged in a Facebook photo asking if I knew what this weird sandy mound was.
An up-close photo of a cicada killer brought into our office for identification. Photo credit: Beth Bolles, UF IFAS Extension
What Beth pointed out was the burrow of a cicada killer (Sphecius speciosus) wasp, also called the great ground hornet. Cicada killers are large (among the largest in the country, at 1.5-2” long) ground-dwelling wasps that use cicadas for an important part of their life cycle. They can fly, but I have observed them crawling through low weeds and grass. They have black bodies and wings with brilliant yellow stripes on their abdomens, and adults feed on flower nectar.
These wasps’ reproductive cycle is rather fascinating. After males and females emerge from the soil in the summer, they mate while in flight. Females then dig the burrows, using their front legs to scrape soil out of the ground and kick it out with their hind legs. Burrows may be up to 4 feet deep, with branches and larger cells.
A female cicada killer with her cicada prey. Photo credit: North Carolina State University Extension
Future moms then seek out cicadas, which they sting and paralyze on the leg. The wasps drag cicadas on their backs and into their underground burrows. They place 1-4 cicadas in each cell, depending on insect size. Once this task is completed, the females lay eggs—one into each cicada body. The sex of their offspring can be determined by placement, with the more substantial cicadas implanted with future females, who will need the extra energy. Female cicada killers have been observed to share their burrows with as many as 3 other wasps.
While female wasps stay busy with reproduction and burrowing, the males primarily serve roles of protection and competition for mates. Male cicada killers are known to “invade personal space” of humans by hovering at eye level, and can seem aggressive. However, they are harmless—only the females have stingers!
Green anole on a fence post. Photo credit: Dr. Steve A. Johnson, UF
There’s plenty of animals you might call “cute”, but lizards usually aren’t among them. However, I’d take exception to that premise when discussing the green anole (Anolis carolinensis). With big blue eyes, brilliant green skin, and flirty males doing push-ups and flexing their dewlaps (the pink throat fan) at you, these little reptiles are more endearing than most.
A green anole–with a slightly forked tail–poses on a deck chair. Photo credit: Carrie Stevenson, UF IFAS Extension
Native to Florida and the deep South, they are competent crawlers, prowlers, and predators. I see them frequently on my office building’s outer stucco walls, running along fences, or skittering up trees. They feed on beetles, termites, ants, worms, spiders, and more. Called the “American chameleon” by some, they possess excellent camouflage, changing their skin rapidly from green to dull brown depending on their backgrounds.
Over the last few years, I—and many biologists—have been concerned about the health of their population. As the invasive Cuban brown anole successfully gained a foothold in north Florida, I saw fewer green anoles and many more of the browns. It has seemed that the greens were losing ground. The invasive species can outcompete the native by eating the green anoles’ young and eggs.
Male brown anole on a tree. Photo credit: Dr. Steve A. Johnson, UF
A recent study by a UF PhD candidate found another explanation for why Floridians have seen more brown anoles than green. His study found that the two species have found a way to coexist—the green anoles are moving further up the canopy (an average of 17x higher!), while browns are staying closer to ground level. The green anoles thrive in more natural areas, whereas the brown anoles do well in lower level urban surroundings.
Interestingly, this summer I’ve noticed a resurgence in green anoles and have rarely seen brown ones. I am wondering if our snow days knocked the tropical brown anole populations back, enabling the more temperate greens to recover. Time will tell if the greens have regained their advantage or if it’s only temporary.
