- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
Praying, preying, or peering?
This female praying mantis, a Stagmomantis limbata, selects a patch of red Lantana to watch for pollinators.
Her spiked forelegs resting, her eyes always watching but her body as still as a stone, she makes an incredible predator portrait. That triangular head, those bulging eyes, that pencil-thin "neck."
Her common names included "bordered mantis, bosque mantis, Arizona mantis, and New Mexico praying mantis." This species is native to North America and considered most prevalent in the southwestern United States.
What's for breakfast? A bee, a butterfly, a syrphid fly?
What's for lunch? What's for dinner? What's for snacks?
She need not worry. She's a great ambush predator.
A limbata in the Lantana.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
A praying mantis, Stagmomantis limbata, stretches beneath a Mexican sunflower, Tithonia rotundifola, in a Vacaville garden.
Ms. Mantis: (Startled to see she is not alone) "Well, hello, there! How are ya? I'm just dropping by to say Hello!"
Photographer: "So, this is a meet-and-greet? And not a meet-and-eat?"
Ms. Mantis: "Exactly. I'm not interested in eating bees or butterflies. Ooh, there goes a honey bee! Ooh, there's a long-horned bee! Omigosh, a butterfly!"
Photographer: "You're just looking?"
Ms. Mantis: "No, just stretching. See, I've closed my spiked forelegs."
Photographer: "Then why did you move beneath the blossom?"
Ms. Mantis: "For the shade. Yes, that's it. For the shade."
Photographer: "Sounds pretty shady to me. Just admit it, you're hungry."
Ms. Mantis: "Well, now that you mention it, I guess I could use a bite to eat. Just a little bite...a little bee...a little butterfly..."
Photographer: "A quick bite?"
Ms. Mantis: "Lightning fast! One-twentieth of a second! Now, if you'll excuse me..."
The camera clicks. The mantis vanishes...along with an unsuspecting bee.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
So here's this female praying mantis, Stagmomantis limbata, camouflaged on a narrow-leaf milkweed, Asclepias fasciculari, in a Vacaville garden.
If she thinks she's going to ambush a monarch, she has another think coming. No monarchs in the garden.
If she thinks she's going to ambush a bee, no way. No bees in the garden early this morning.
If she thinks she's going to munch on oleander aphids (which she probably won't), there are plenty.
Fact is, she doesn't "think" like we do. She will wait, quite patiently, to ambush prey. Even in the pending triple temperatures of the day.
When the heat becomes unbearable, she will slip beneath the leaves, but still maintain a lookout.
Ms. Mantis will be patient. She is always patient.
Patience is her middle name (Stagmomantis "Patience" limbata) and prey is her game.
- 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?