op-ed The queens are coming! Don't squash them.

Author: Lucas Yoquinto

Quite a few people around here talk about "the Middlebury Bubble." This figurative barrier supposedly separates the student body from the rest of the world, keeping out current events and keeping in some of the most devastating diseases ever to make you think twice before opening a bathroom door with your bare hand. When I think about this phenomenon, I picture something out of "Logan's Run" or "Total Recall" - a big glass dome covering up our futuristic city, enclosing our air supply. All that's missing from this scenario are a monorail and laser weapons.

However, even as winter turns into … a wetter version of winter, and you are more likely than ever to eat dinner from a vending machine rather than hike over to Atwater, I have some good news. Unbeknownst to most, the Middlebury Bubble is full of holes, perforated like the glass dome is after the bad guy starts shooting at Arnold. You only need to know where to look to realize that we are, in fact, part of the rest of planet Earth. You need to look at the ground. From there, if you keep careful watch, you might see a queen bumblebee the size of the end of your thumb come out of her hole.

Bumblebees, unlike honeybees, their famous cousins, can increase their body temperature by shivering their internal flight muscles. In fact, that urban myth you've probably heard is true in a way. A bumblebee does not violate the laws of theoretical aerodynamics when it flies - that rumor is based on fixed-wing aerodynamics, as in an airplane, and does not take into account a bumblebee's helicopter-like rotational wing movement. However, a bumblebee cannot take off unless its muscle temperature is higher than 86 degrees Farenheit, or 30 degrees Celsius. As a result of their thermoregulatory abilities, in the very beginning of spring you're more likely to see a furry Bombus impatiens flying around than just about any other insect.

The first bumblebees of the year are always the queens. These are larger than other bumblebees, and you're most likely to see them searching for nectar on the first flowers of the year, dandelions, which will become omnipresent on the less-kempt lawns of campus. Despite her size and her sting, the attribute of a queen bumblebee that most interests ecologists is her potential. When she finds a suitable nest site - usually an abandoned mouse hole - she will lay between eight and 16 eggs. This modest-sounding brood is the genesis of a colony of dozens or even hundreds of workers, fertile males and new queens. In every queen bumblebee you see in the next month on your walk back from class, there is an insect civilization waiting for its chance to exist.

Given that this is an ecology article written in the 21st century, you've probably been bracing yourself for it - the bad news. Unsurprisingly, like just about every other wild animal you've probably heard about recently, bumblebees are declining in number. Although this phenomenon should not be confused with the Colony Collapse Syndrome that has been lately plaguing honeybees, it threatens similar effects. Due to declining floral diversity, loss of nest and hibernation sites, pesticide usage and habitat fragmentation, bumblebees are less able to perform their function as pollinators, which is vital to both the ecosystem and agriculture. For you economists out there, pollinator loss comes at a price that is difficult to pin down, but it is decidedly large - estimates for the value of pollinator contribution to agriculture in the U.S. range from $1.6 billion to $40 billion per year. Of this total, most is attributable to honeybees, but many crops are primarily, if not solely, pollinated by bumblebees. Every tomato you eat, for instance, is likely the work of a bumblebee.

I didn't write this article to guilt-trip you into getting involved with ecological conservation. If you're a student at Middlebury, you're probably already involved with this already. However, I do want to help lend some perspective. Even as you rush to your room carrying three pieces of pizza in your hand so you can eat while studying for your weekly Orgo quiz, look to your left and right, and most importantly, underfoot. You might see something that's bigger than all of us.

Lucas Yoquinto '08 is a Biology and English double major from Clifton Park, N.Y.