- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
So here's this immature praying mantis, a Stagmomantis limbata, perched on a narrow-leafed milkweed, Asclepias fascicularis, in a Vacaville pollinator garden.
She's camouflaged quite well. She's as green and thin as the leaves.
Me: "Hey, Ms. Mantis, whatcha doin'?"
Ms. Mantis: "Just occupying a spot on this milkweed. Catching some sun, is all."
Me: "Hoping to catch a monarch, Ms. Mantis?"
Ms. Mantis: "No, no, of course not. I would never, ever, catch a monarch! You know me!"
Me: "I do know you. Promise you won't nail a monarch?"
Ms. Mantis: "Sorry, I can't promise if I'm hungry. Now, go away, you're disrupting my choice of menu items."
Me: "How about a stink bug or a lygus bug?"
Ms. Mantis: "I don't take menu orders. What do you think I am? DoorDash? Go away!"
Me: "Hey, I see a katydid nymph over there!"
Ms. Mantis: "Where, where? How far?"
Me: (Pointing to a lower leaf) "Over there!"
With that, Ms. Mantis slipped off the blossom, never to be seen again.
Epilogue: The California scrub jays noisily nesting in the cherry laurel hedges may have snagged a Stagmomantis mantis meal.
They don't take orders, either.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
If you've been pruning bushes or trees, check to see if a praying mantis egg case (ootheca) is attached to a limb.
If you do, you're in luck!
A mantis deposits her egg case in late summer or fall, and usually on twigs, stems, a wooden stake or fence slat, but sometimes even on a clothespin.
The nymphs emerge in early spring.
The hard egg capsule protects the future offspring from "microorganisms, parasitoids, predators, and weather," Wikipedia tells us. The ootheca "maintains a stable water balance through variation in its surface, as it is porous in dry climates to protect against desiccation, and smooth in wet climates to protect against oversaturation. Its composition and appearance vary depending on species and environment."
Meanwhile we've been watching a neighbor's gift: an ootheca attached to redbud twig. With any luck, we expect the nymphs to emerge around April 9, weather permitting.
Back in 2022--April 9th to be exact--we were delighted to see some 150 nymphs emerge from the clothespin just a'hanging on the line. Of course, the sisters and brothers ate one another. Only a handful survived.
It's survival of the fittest. Or the fleetist. Or maybe just luck?
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
Date: Sept. 9, 2023
Location: A flower bed in Vacaville, Calif.
Mantis: “Hi, it's me, your favorite praying mantis! I just popped in to say hello!”
Photographer: “Well, hello there, Ms. Stagmomantis limbata, but I think you have ulterior motives! You're not here to greet me and tell me to have a nice day, are you?”
Mantis: “What makes ya think that?”
Photographer: “Because you're hungry and you're an ambush predator and you're waiting to nail an unsuspecting bee or butterfly. But that's OK. Every living thing in this garden eats.”
Mantis: “Ya think?”
Photographer: “Sometimes.”
Mantis: “Well, tell me how I look.”
Photographer: “You look like your crept out of the shadows and your head is spinning in space and it somehow got detached from your body. I could ask you what motivational and existential predicaments are playing directive roles on your current behavior patterns, like I ask all my friends, but I won't. Be well.”
Mantis: “Bee? Where? Where?”
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
Can a praying mantis catch a monarch?
Yes, it can. And yes, it does.
It was Sept. 14, 2013. As I approached a Vacaville supermarket, I noticed pink lantana blooming furiously near the entrance, and then, a familiar-looking butterfly quietly sipping nectar.
"Ah, there's a monarch," I observed.
I wasn't the only one watching the monarch.
A female praying mantis, Stagmomantis limbata, was watching it, too.
In a nano-second, it was all over.
A meal for the mantis.
One less monarch to migrate.
Yes, it can. And yes, it does.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
So there she is, a gnarly-looking praying mantis, the last of the season, and on her last legs. Last spiked forelegs?
From her perch on a cactus in a Vacaville garden, this Stagmomantis limbata is neither praying nor preying. She is staring. She almost resembles a cartoon character with her wide-spaced bulging eyes atop a triangular head and a pencil-thin neck. One antenna up, one trying to stay down.
Ms. Gnarly Mantis doesn't look at all like a skilled ambush predator.
"Hey, there!" I say.
"Hey, there, yourself! Whatcha looking at?"
"You!"
"Whatcha doing?"
"Taking a photo of you!"
This species, native to North America, is also known as a bordered mantis, an Arizona mantis or a New Mexico praying mantis.
I know S. limbata as a garden treasure.
"Females are most often fairly plain green (often with a yellowish abdomen), but sometimes gray, or light brown, with dark spot in middle of the tegmina, which do not completely cover the wide abdomen. Hind wings may be checkered or striped yellow," according to Wikipedia. "Males are slender, long-winged, and variable in color, but most often green and brown with the sides of the folded tegmina green and top brownish (may be solid gray, brown, green, or any combination of these). Abdomen without prominent dark spots on top. The wings are transparent, usually with cloudy brownish spots on outer half."
Ms. Gnarly Mantis hung around for three days and then she vanished. A hungry California scrub jay may have nailed her.
Or maybe not...
But she bequeathed us her ootheca before her last goodbye.