Tag Archives: Wildlife

Moths, wasps, hummingbirds and nectar: exploring the pollination ecology of Apocynaceae in Argentina

One of the things that has fascinated me throughout my career is the extraordinary diversity of ways in which flowering plants interact with their animal visitors. Nowhere is this better illustrated than in the milkweed and dogbane family, the Apocynaceae, a group that I’ve been studying for almost 40 years.

Only last month I wrote about the remarkable pollination biology of Heterostemma ficoides, a species from Thailand that deceives fig wasps while offering a genuine breeding site to tiny flies. That was an example of an unusual pollination system involving a single species. But what happens when we look at a whole community of Apocynaceae growing together in the same habitat? Do they share pollinators, or have they evolved different ways of attracting and using animals?

Those are some of the questions that my Argentinian colleagues Carolina Torres and Leonardo Galetto and I have addressed in a new paper just published in the journal Taxon. The study focuses on eleven species of Apocynaceae growing together in the Chaco forests of central Argentina, a region characterised by strongly seasonal rainfall and a distinctive assemblage of plants and animals.

What’s particularly interesting is that the original field observations were made by Carolina and Leonardo over three flowering seasons between 1997 and 2000. We have now brought those data together, including detailed measurements of floral nectar, and added analyses of the networks of interactions between plants and their visitors. It’s a nice example of how carefully collected field data can continue to yield new insights many years later.

Different flowers, different rewards

The eleven species represent three major evolutionary lineages within the Apocynaceae: one rauvolfioid, three apocynoids (Mandevilla species), and seven members of the Asclepiadoideae, the group formerly recognised as the separate family Asclepiadaceae.

Their flowers vary enormously in size and structure. At one extreme are the relatively small flowers of species such as Araujia, Oxypetalum and Philibertia. At the other are the large, tubular flowers of Mandevilla, including M. petraea, in which the functional floral tube is more than 10 cm long.

These differences are reflected in the nectar that the flowers produce. The three Mandevilla species generally offer relatively large quantities of nectar containing substantial amounts of sugar, predominantly sucrose. They are visited by animals capable of accessing these rewards, including long-tongued hawkmoths, bumblebees and, in the case of M. pentlandiana, hummingbirds. By contrast, most of the smaller-flowered species produce much less nectar and show greater variation in the proportions of the three main nectar sugars: sucrose, glucose and fructose.

But these relationships are not quite as straightforward as we might expect. For example, two closely related species, Araujia brachystephana and A. odorata, have rather similar-looking flowers, yet the former produces nectar dominated by sucrose while the latter produces nectar consisting almost entirely of glucose and fructose. Both are visited primarily by wasps, although A. brachystephana attracts a broader range of insects.

In other words, even closely related species living in the same habitat may differ substantially in the rewards they offer and the animals that visit them.

There’s another intriguing result concerning the tree Aspidosperma quebracho-blanco. Previous research described its flowers as deceptive, attracting visitors without offering nectar. Yet in our study we found small quantities of nectar containing mainly glucose and fructose. Does nectar production vary between populations, or were there differences in the methods used to study the flowers? It’s an interesting question that deserves further investigation.

Sharing the flowering season

The timing of flowering is another important part of this ecological story. Most of the species flowered during the warmer, wetter months, particularly December and January, with flowering often continuing for three or four months. Seed dispersal, by contrast, was concentrated mainly between February and June, when conditions become progressively drier.

This makes ecological sense. Water availability is likely to be an important trigger for flowering in this seasonal environment, while the wind-dispersed seeds of these species are released mainly during the drier part of the year. But it also means that many of the species are flowering simultaneously and potentially competing for the attention of the same animals.

One possibility is that plants avoid this competition through differences in flowering time. Another is that they coexist by attracting different groups of pollinators, or by using the same pollinators in subtly different ways. For example, two Mandevilla species may share hawkmoth visitors but place their pollen on different parts of the moth’s proboscis, potentially reducing interference between their reproductive systems.

Among the smaller-flowered asclepiads, differences in the intricate structures that attach pollen masses to visiting insects may perform a similar function. These are fascinating examples of how floral morphology can influence ecological interactions, even when the same animals visit several plant species.

What do the interaction networks tell us?

As readers of this blog will know, I’ve been interested in plant–pollinator networks for many years. One reason for analysing these networks is that they allow us to move beyond individual plant species and examine how an entire assemblage of organisms is connected.

In the Chaco study, we found a mixture of apparently specialised and generalised relationships. Some species were visited by just one major functional group, such as wasps or butterflies, while others attracted a much wider range of insects. Wasps were particularly conspicuous. Indeed, two social wasps, Polybia ignobilis and Brachygastra lecheguana, were among the visitors that connected different parts of the interaction network. The introduced western honey bee, Apis mellifera, also played a connecting role.

It’s another reminder that when we talk about pollinators, we really need to look beyond bees. Wasps, flies, moths, butterflies and other animals can be important components of these ecological communities.

One intriguing outcome of our analyses concerns the overall structure of the network. At first glance, the interactions appear to be organised into distinct groups, or modules, with particular sets of plants sharing particular sets of visitors. However, when we compared the observed network with randomly generated networks that preserved the number of interaction partners of each species, neither its modularity nor its nestedness was significantly greater than expected.

In other words, although some groups of interactions look rather specialised, there is limited statistical evidence for strong compartmentalisation within this particular assemblage. The patterns may largely reflect differences in how many partners each species has, rather than the existence of clearly separated ecological groups.

There is an important qualification here. Our network includes only eleven plant species, all from the same family, rather than the full diversity of flowering plants in the Chaco forests. A more comprehensive network might reveal additional structure that we cannot detect at this scale.

This connects rather neatly with my recent discussion of global patterns in plant–pollinator specialisation. One of the lessons from that research is that specialisation depends partly on the spatial, taxonomic and ecological scale at which interactions are examined. What looks specialised at one scale may be much more generalised at another.

I should also emphasise that this is a network of floral visitors, not necessarily effective pollinators. We recorded animals capable of contacting the reproductive structures of the flowers, and of carrying pollinaria, but that does not establish that they successfully transferred pollen between plants. As I discussed in an earlier post about what we actually mean by a pollination system, that distinction really matters.

Back to the bigger picture

For me, this study makes an interesting contribution to the broader understanding of Apocynaceae pollination ecology that my colleagues and I developed in our 2019 global review of the family’s pollination systems. In that paper, involving 75 authors, we showed that Apocynaceae exhibit an extraordinary diversity of pollination systems, with strong evolutionary and biogeographical patterns. But we also emphasised how much remains unknown, with reliable pollination information available for only a little over 10% of the family’s species. The new Chaco study adds something that large-scale reviews cannot provide on their own: a detailed picture of how related species interact with their floral visitors within the same ecological community.

There’s also a connection to our recent review of edible Apocynaceae, which also involved Carolina and Leonardo. One of the striking results of that study was how little we know about the pollination biology of many species whose fruits, seeds or other parts are used by people. Understanding how these plants reproduce is important not only from an evolutionary perspective but also for their conservation and sustainable use.

Ultimately, what I find most interesting about this new paper is the contrast between the extraordinary diversity of floral forms and rewards, and the extent to which different species can share the same visitors. Specialised flowers do not necessarily mean exclusive relationships with particular pollinators. And generalised patterns of visitation do not mean that floral morphology and nectar chemistry are unimportant. The reality is more complicated, shaped by evolutionary history, seasonality, floral structure and the behaviour of the animals themselves.

It’s also a reminder of the continuing value of detailed natural history. Large-scale databases and sophisticated network analyses are enormously useful, but they depend ultimately on people spending time in the field, watching what visits flowers, measuring nectar, and recording when plants flower and produce seeds. Sometimes those observations take decades to reach their full potential. But that doesn’t make them any less valuable.

Here’s the full reference, with a link to the paper:

Torres, C., Ollerton, J. & Galetto, L. (2026) Reproductive phenology, flower-nectar traits, and floral visitors of eleven co-occurring species of Apocynaceae from Chaco forests (Argentina). Taxon 75(5): e70279. https://doi.org/10.1002/tax.70279

Listen to Karin and I on The Gardener’s Lodge podcast: pollinators, gardening and relationships

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Back in the summer, Karin and I were interviewed, one after the other, by garden designer and podcaster Mykal Hoare for his The Gardener’s Lodge podcast. Both interviews have now been released, covering rather different aspects of gardening and our relationship with the natural world.

My interview, published on 17 September, was a wide-ranging conversation about pollinators, their relationships with flowering plants, and the role that gardens can play in supporting biodiversity. We discussed everything from bees and butterflies to birds, the effects of climate change and this summer’s unusually hot, dry weather, and the perennial question of whether gardeners should favour native or non-native plants. We also talked about why providing flowers is only part of the story when it comes to conserving pollinators.

Karin’s interview, published on 1 October, approached gardening from a very different perspective. Drawing on her experience as a relationship therapist and author, she and Mykal explored how gardens and gardening can contribute to mental wellbeing, mindfulness and stronger relationships. In particular, they discussed how gardening together can reveal differences between couples, provide opportunities for communication and compromise, and strengthen our connections with nature. Apparently, our own sometimes contrasting ideas about how tidy or wild a garden should be provided some useful examples!

There’s quite a bit of common ground between the two conversations, particularly around the importance of observing and appreciating the wildlife that shares our gardens.

Some readers may remember that Karin has spoken about gardening and relationships on a podcast before, so this is an interesting continuation of that discussion.

Many thanks to Mykal for inviting us both onto the podcast and for two very enjoyable conversations!

Are plant-pollinator interactions more specialised in the tropics? A new global analysis suggests that it’s complicated…

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Some scientific questions have a habit of following you around for much of your career. Back in 2002, Louise Cranmer and I published a paper in the journal Oikos asking a deceptively simple question: are tropical plants more specialised in terms of their pollinators?

At the time there was a widespread assumption in ecology that interactions between species become increasingly specialised as you move from the poles towards the tropics. It’s an attractive idea which had some (quite vague) theoretical support. Tropical ecosystems contain more species, have experienced relatively stable climates over long periods of evolutionary time, and seem like just the sort of places where tightly specialised interactions ought to evolve.

The trouble was that the evidence wasn’t especially convincing, in part because it hadn’t actually been well studied. In preparing the 2002 paper, Louise and I found only a handful of empirical studies that had addressed the question, not just for plants and pollinators, but for ALL kinds of interactions.

The question of tropical specialisation has subsequently cropped up repeatedly in my research. In 2014, Angela Moles and I went considerably further and asked whether the broader claim that species interactions are stronger and more specialised in the tropics might actually be a “zombie idea” – one of those scientific notions that persists despite accumulating evidence that the reality is considerably more complicated. That guest post on the Dynamic Ecology blog was then written up as an invited paper for Biotropica see: Tropical Zombies: Moles & Ollerton (2016) is now published.

Twenty-four years after that first Oikos paper, we can now address the question with a dataset that Louise and I could scarcely have imagined in 2002. A huge international collaboration led by Sailee Sakhalkar and Robert Tropek has just published “Global patterns in plant–pollinator specialization” in Nature Ecology & Evolution.

I’m delighted to be one of the co-authors and I find the answer to the question that we posed 24 years ago to be fascinating.

More than 110,000 interactions

The scale of the new study is worth emphasising. It assembled 3,415 quantitative plant-pollinator networks from 162 studies, covering 110,571 pairwise interactions between 5,343 pollinator species and 6,126 plant species. The data span almost all of the world’s terrestrial biogeographic regions, from 43.6°S to 81°N and from sea level to more than 4,000 metres elevation.

That makes this the most comprehensive attempt yet to examine the geography of specialisation in plant-pollinator interactions. But simply throwing thousands of networks into a statistical analysis would potentially create as many problems as it solves. Different researchers study pollination networks in very different ways. Some attempt to sample whole communities, while others concentrate on particular groups such as bees, hummingbirds or particular plants.

So an important feature of this study was that we explicitly separated these different types of datasets and accounted for sampling completeness and methodological differences. We also looked separately at different functional groups of pollinators rather than assuming that bees, beetles, butterflies, moths, flies and birds should all behave in the same way. That turned out to be important in ways that we could not predict.

So, are interactions more specialised in the tropics?

The short answer is no, not in any simple sense. There is geographical structure to plant-pollinator specialisation. But there is no straightforward increase in specialisation as you approach the Equator – nor, for that matter, a straightforward decrease. Instead, the patterns are distinctly nonlinear.

Network-level specialisation and pollinator specialisation tended to peak at relatively low northern latitudes, at around 20°–30°N, close to the tropical-subtropical boundary. I find this particularly interesting as I think the subtropics have been a bit neglected as a focus of ecological research: no one ever refers to themselves as a “subtropical ecologist” and there is no Journal of Subtropical Ecology. Yet the subtropics are not simply a transitional zone between the tropical and temperate worlds. They encompass an extraordinary range of ecosystems, including deserts, Mediterranean-type vegetation, subtropical forests, and some major centres of biodiversity and endemism. This includes the distinctive habitats in Yunnan that I’m exploring during my visits to China. Perhaps we need to start thinking of the subtropics as an important biogeographical region in their own right, rather than as the ecological space between two better-studied zones?

Plant specialisation showed a different and weak hemispherically asymmetric pattern. And once individual pollinator groups were examined separately, the picture became more complicated still. Hoverflies, for example, came closest to the traditional expectation of increasing specialisation towards the Equator. Birds showed something closer to the opposite pattern, while moths did something much more complicated.

In other words, there isn’t a latitudinal specialisation gradient. There are several overlapping geographical patterns whose shapes depend upon what organisms you study and what measure of specialisation you are considering.

That conclusion feels satisfying given the arguments Angela Moles and I made ten years ago. We suggested that attempts to find a universal latitudinal gradient could obscure the fact that different groups of organisms have different evolutionary histories, physiologies and ecologies. That is very close to what emerges from this much larger analysis.

Perhaps latitude was never really the interesting variable

One of the most intriguing results is what happens when we stop asking about latitude itself. We compared latitude with a suite of possible explanatory variables, including temperature, precipitation, environmental productivity, and plant and pollinator diversity. Climate generally did a better job of explaining specialisation than latitude, biodiversity or productivity. Again, however, there wasn’t a single climatic rule.

At the whole-network level, specialisation generally declined as mean annual temperature increased, which was not expected at all and runs counter to the argument that the tropics are always more specialised. Precipitation produced strongly nonlinear relationships, and plants and different pollinator groups responded differently. Birds, insects and even different groups of insects could show contrasting responses to the same climatic gradient.

There are some plausible biological explanations for these patterns. Warmer conditions may extend flowering periods and pollinator activity, creating more opportunities for species to encounter alternative partners and therefore encouraging generalisation. Colder or more seasonal environments might compress flowering and pollinator activity into shorter periods, producing tighter temporal matching between species. Rainfall adds another layer of complexity because it can influence flowering but also directly constrain pollinator activity.

These are hypotheses rather than demonstrated mechanisms, however. As we stress in the paper, these are correlational global patterns and climate covaries strongly with latitude. The results shouldn’t therefore be interpreted as demonstrating simple causal effects of temperature or rainfall.

Specialisation depends on how you look at it

There’s another connection here to research I’ve discussed previously on the blog. In work with Danish and Brazilian colleagues, for example, we showed that the apparent specialisation of plants and pollinators depends partly on the spatial scale at which interactions are examined – see Local and regional specialization in plant–pollinator networks. More recently I’ve written about why scale matters when analysing plant-pollinator networks.

And earlier this year, our global analysis of plant-pollinator interactions in gardens found that the factors explaining species richness were not necessarily those explaining interaction specialisation: Global drivers of plant-pollinator interaction specialization in gardens.

There’s also a nice connection to another study that I wrote about here in 2022. With Pablo Gorostiague and Pablo Ortega-Baes, I looked specifically at whether cactus pollination systems become more specialised towards the tropics. Our answer was yes and no: tropical cacti were visited by somewhat fewer pollinator species, but there was no latitudinal pattern in the number of functional pollinator groups that they used. As I wrote at the time, the answer depended on what we meant by “specialised”: Are cactus pollination systems more specialised in the tropics? A new study suggests yes…and no!

All of these studies point towards a similar conclusion: “specialisation” is not a single, fixed property of an ecological community. What we detect depends upon biological scale, geographical scale, the organisms being considered, and how the interactions have been sampled. That doesn’t make specialisation meaningless. Quite the opposite, it means we need to be precise about what sort of specialisation we’re talking about and at what scale.

The new global study puts that result into a much broader context. Different groups really can display different geographical patterns of specialisation, so studies focused on a particular lineage aren’t necessarily contradicting one another when they produce different answers. They may simply be measuring different pieces of a much larger ecological puzzle.

Why does any of this matter?

Specialisation is not just an esoteric property of ecological networks. It affects how plants and pollinators partition resources, how species coexist, how communities are assembled, and potentially how ecological systems respond when species disappear.

That becomes especially important in a changing climate. Our results suggest that changing temperature and rainfall regimes could restructure plant-pollinator networks, but they are unlikely to do so uniformly. Different pollinator groups and different parts of the world may respond in very different ways. Highly specialised interactions may also be particularly vulnerable to changes in phenology or the loss of interaction partners. Predicting the consequences therefore requires us to move beyond simple statements about “tropical” and “temperate” ecosystems.

For me, though, there is also a broader lesson here about how science progresses. In 2002, Louise Cranmer and I questioned whether the available evidence really supported the assumption that tropical plant-pollinator interactions were more specialised. Fourteen years later, Angela Moles and I argued that the wider claim about stronger and more specialised tropical interactions might be a zombie idea. Now, with more than 110,000 plant-pollinator interactions available for analysis, the answer is much clearer. Latitude matters; climate matters; the identity of the organisms matters; and ecology, as usual, refuses to obey a simple rule.

My particular thanks to Sailee and Rob for the monumental efforts they made to pull this work together, and cudos to all of the co-authors who helped to make the study possible.

A century of genetic erosion in a British bumblebee – a new study just published

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Back in 2022 I wrote about a project in which I’d been involved with colleagues at the Natural History Museum, Imperial College London and several regional museums. We were using preserved bumblebees to ask a deceptively simple question: what can insects collected decades ago tell us about the environmental changes that their populations have experienced?

The first papers from that project showed two important things. One found increasing signs of developmental stress in the wings of museum bumblebees over the course of the 20th century, associated particularly with hotter and wetter conditions. The other demonstrated that it was possible to recover and sequence surprisingly good-quality DNA from insects collected more than a century ago, in some cases using just a single leg.

At the time I wrote that this opened up the possibility of looking at how the genomes of bee populations had changed through time. Well, we’ve now done it.

Published this week in Molecular Biology and Evolution, our new study focuses on the Moss Carder Bumblebee (Bombus muscorum), a beautiful species of flower-rich grasslands, heaths, marshes and coastal habitats. Once much more widespread across Britain, it is now largely concentrated in Scotland and the Scottish islands, with scattered populations surviving around the coasts of England and Wales.

Led by Victoria Mullin, the team generated whole-genome data from museum specimens collected between 1894 and 2019. The results provide a rather sobering picture of what has happened inside these bee populations as their geographical distribution has contracted.

Comparing bees collected before 1926 with those collected after 1975, we found about a 25% reduction in genome-wide genetic diversity. Looking at the full time series gives the same basic message: heterozygosity declined progressively through the 20th century, with no obvious sign of recovery.

That matters because losing a species is not the only way that biodiversity can decline. Long before extinction, populations can become smaller and more isolated and begin to lose genetic variation. That variation is part of the raw material that allows populations to respond to environmental change, disease and other challenges.

There was also a striking geographical pattern. In England and Wales, the amount of the genome occurring in long stretches of homozygosity increased by about 186% – in other words, almost threefold. These “runs of homozygosity” are consistent with populations becoming smaller, more fragmented and increasingly isolated from one another. Scotland showed a much weaker change, reflecting the fact that B. muscorum remains considerably more widespread there.

Importantly, however, the population structure is not simply “Scottish bees versus English bees”. The genomic data reveal a broad north-to-south gradient across Britain – what population geneticists call isolation by distance – rather than a set of sharply separated populations. That has implications for conservation because fragmentation may be breaking what was once a more continuously connected population into increasingly isolated regional groups.

There’s another interesting connection here with work that I published with colleagues more than a decade ago. In our 2014 Science paper we used historical records to show that Britain had lost 23 species of bees and flower-visiting wasps, with the fastest rate of extinction occurring from roughly the late 1920s to the late 1950s. We argued that large-scale changes in British agriculture, beginning just after the First World War, were an important part of that story.

The new study is looking at genetic change within a surviving species rather than the disappearance of whole species and it cannot pin that change on a single cause. But the parallels are difficult to ignore. The loss and fragmentation of flower-rich habitats associated with agricultural intensification is a likely contributor, alongside pesticides, climate change and other environmental pressures. The genomic erosion appears to have accumulated progressively across much of the same century in which Britain’s pollinator landscapes were being radically transformed.

One unexpected finding was also a useful warning about museum data. Of the 130 specimens originally labelled as Bombus muscorum, genetic analysis showed that 29 (almost a quarter) were actually two other, morphologically similar bumblebee species. Museum collections are extraordinarily valuable, but identifications cannot always simply be taken at face value, particularly for difficult groups. Genomics provides both a historical record and a way of checking the identity of the specimens supplying that record.

And that brings me back to what I think is one of the wider messages of this whole project: natural history collections are not dusty archives of dead organisms, they are biological time series.

A pinned bumblebee collected more than a century ago preserves information about where a species occurred, what environmental stresses it experienced, and, as we can now show, the genetic diversity of the population from which it came. Combined with modern genomic techniques, the millions of insects sitting in museum drawers around the world represent an extraordinary resource for understanding biological change.

The conservation message for the Moss Carder Bumblebee itself is fairly straightforward. Protecting the remaining populations is not enough if they become progressively smaller and more isolated. Restoring large areas of suitable, flower-rich habitat and reconnecting populations should help maintain population sizes and gene flow. More interventionist approaches such as translocation or assisted gene flow may eventually have a role, but would need careful assessment because of issues such as local genetic structure and disease transmission.

Four years ago, when I blogged about the first papers from this project, I finished with the idea that museum genomics might allow us to understand how insect populations had adapted, or failed to adapt, to a century of environmental change. We now have part of that answer. And it shows that beneath the visible contraction of a species’ range, another quieter form of biodiversity loss can be taking place: the erosion of diversity within its genome.

The paper is open access and you can download a copy here:

Mullin, V.E., Merchant, H.N., Arce, A.N., Nash, W. et al. (2026) Museum specimens reveal the genomic consequences of long-term population decline in an insect pollinator. Molecular Biology and Evolution 43: 1-11.

Fake figs, fooled wasps, and another extraordinary Apocynaceae pollination system

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One of the things I love about working on the milkweed and dogbane family (Apocynaceae) is that it has an apparently inexhaustible capacity to produce strange and wonderful interactions with animals. Just when you think that the family’s pollination biology has yielded most of its surprises, along comes something like this.

A paper just out in New Phytologist, led by Aroonrat Kidyoo, describes the pollination of Heterostemma ficoides, an unusual climbing plant from northern Thailand. The title rather neatly gives away the story: “Fake figs, fooled fig wasps and rewarded phorid flies: brood-site mimicry and mutualism in Heterostemma ficoides (Apocynaceae)”.

And “fake figs” is not journalistic exaggeration, as you can see from the photos above, which are taken from the paper. The flowers of H. ficoides are globose, fleshy structures, about 1.5–2 cm across, with a small opening at the top. Superficially they look remarkably like the enclosed inflorescences (the syconia) that we normally call figs. Indeed, when the species was first described in 2019, its resemblance to a fig was obvious enough to inspire the name ficoides: fig-like. But looking like a fig is only the beginning of the story.

Fooling one of nature’s most specialised pollinators

The relationship between figs (Ficus) and their tiny agaonid wasps is one of the classic examples of an intimate plant–pollinator mutualism. Female fig wasps locate receptive figs using their scent, squeeze through the tiny opening or ostiole, and pollinate the enclosed flowers while attempting to reproduce inside. These relationships can be remarkably specific, in some cases representing rare examples of one-to-one plant-pollinator interactions.

So it was genuinely surprising to discover female Kradibia fig wasps entering flowers of Heterostemma ficoides. These wasps normally pollinate Ficus heterophylla, not an Apocynaceae, and the authors believe that nothing comparable, i.e., a fig wasp being fooled into visiting a completely unrelated flowering plant, has previously been documented. I have to concur, this relationship is (so far) unique.

The authors have neatly demonstrated that the deception of these wasps is not simply visual. The chemical bouquet produced by H. ficoides is closer to that of receptive Ficus heterophylla figs than it is to the flowers of its relative H. siamicum. More importantly, behavioural experiments showed that Kradibia wasps were significantly attracted to the scent of open H. ficoides flowers, though not to unopened flower buds. In other words, the plant seems to switch on its misleading olfactory advertisement at just the right time.

Once inside, however, the wasps discover that they have made a serious mistake. They wander around probing the inner surface, searching for egg-laying opportunities that simply aren’t there. Some die inside the flower, although more than 80% of observed individuals managed to get out again, and often went on to visit another Heterostemma flower.

In the process, pollen can be transferred between flowers, but as in other members of the Asclepiadoideae, Heterostemma does not dust its visitors with loose pollen grains. Instead, pollen is packaged into pollinia which become attached to the legs of the fig wasps.

So from the fig wasp’s perspective this is straightforward deception: the plant promises a breeding site that doesn’t exist, and the flowers get pollinated in return. But that is only half of the system.

The flies are not being fooled by the fake fig

The most important pollinator of H. ficoides appears to be a tiny phorid fly in the genus Megaselia, and its relationship with the plant is quite different. Female Megaselia enter the flowers and lay their eggs there. Mating may even take place on the flower beforehand. Their larvae then develop inside the fallen flowers, eventually completing their development in the decomposing floral tissue on the forest floor. For these flies the promise made by the flower is therefore an honest one: this really is a brood site.

Pollinaria become attached to the flies’ mouthparts, then the flies carry them to another flower, where pollen can be deposited. Interestingly, Megaselia are also important pollinators of some species of the related Ceropegia in Africa (both genera are members of the tribe Ceropegieae).

This creates an ecological combination that is one of the most distinct examples of a “bimodal pollination system” that I’m aware of, in which the same flower operates simultaneously as a brood-site mutualism and as a brood-site deception, involving two completely distinct groups of insects.

Back to our 2019 Apocynaceae review

For me, there is a satisfying connection here with the large review of Apocynaceae pollination systems that we published in Annals of Botany in 2019: The diversity and evolution of pollination systems in large plant clades: Apocynaceae as a case study. Aroonrat Kidyoo, lead author of this new study, was also one of the large international team involved in that paper.

We assembled usable pollination information for 567 species (a bit more than 10% of the family) and found an extraordinary diversity of interactions. About 73% of the species for which we had information were associated predominantly with a single broad pollinator group, whether bees and wasps, butterflies and moths, flies, beetles or birds. However, about 7% of the species had distinct bimodal pollination systems, such as bee + butterfly. Whether this is an unusually high proportion for such a family is currently unclear as there are few comparative statistics.

One of our broader conclusions from the study was that this interaction diversity was not randomly scattered across the Apocynaceae evolutionary tree. Pollination systems show strong phylogenetic structure and some transitions between pollinator types have occurred much more readily than others. The new Heterostemma study puts some wonderfully detailed natural history onto that much larger evolutionary picture.

Aroonrat and her colleagues suggest that Heterostemma ficoides may represent a shift away from the more open, nectar-producing flowers found in other parts of the genus. In section Oianthus, to which H. ficoides belongs, the flowers have become progressively more closed. In the extreme case represented here, the result is a globose chamber entered through a small opening, nectar production has apparently disappeared, and the plant has moved towards brood-site pollination by flies and deception of fig wasps.

Whether that evolutionary scenario survives a proper phylogeny and detailed pollination studies of the remaining species is an obvious question for the future. As the authors themselves acknowledge, both are currently lacking. But it is exactly the sort of transition that our 2019 study suggested we should be looking for.

And what does any of this have to do with eating Apocynaceae?

Quite a lot, in a roundabout way. Earlier this year my colleagues and I published another large synthesis of the family, this time asking a very different question: which Apocynaceae do people eat?

We documented 440 edible species, spread widely across the evolutionary tree of the family. That sounds like a lot, although statistically Apocynaceae are actually under-represented among the world’s food plants, probably in part because the family is so well endowed with toxic and pharmacologically active chemistry.

One point that emerged strongly from that work was that our knowledge of how those useful plants reproduce is remarkably incomplete. Many edible Apocynaceae are harvested for their fruits and seeds, which of course ultimately means that successful reproduction matters. Yet for most of those species we still know little or nothing about their pollinators.

That matters if we are serious about conserving wild food plants or developing some of them as future crops. You cannot fully understand the biology of a fruit-producing plant without understanding how the flowers get pollinated in the first place.

There are no Heterostemma species documented in our edible-plant study (though it appears that we missed one – see the comment below), so H. ficoides is not some promising new food species. But that isn’t my point. Rather, this new research is a reminder of just how much biological complexity can lie behind the production of an Apocynaceae seed. And we still know the pollination biology of only a fraction of this enormous family.

That, perhaps, is the broader lesson from all three papers. Large databases and family-wide syntheses are valuable because they reveal general patterns and, equally importantly, the gaps in our knowledge. But filling those gaps still depends on researchers spending time watching individual plants and individual insects, dissecting flowers, rearing larvae and asking exactly what the animals are doing. Sometimes what they find is stranger than anyone would have predicted.

Join me for “Pollinator Conservation: Threats and Opportunities” in Bedfordshire on Tuesday 15th September

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Bedfordshire Natural History Society (BNHS) has invited me to give a talk on the theme of “Pollinator Conservation: Threats and Opportunities” at Maulden Village Hall (MK45 2DP) on Tuesday 15th September. It starts at 8pm and non-members are encouraged to attend.

More details are available at the BNHS web site.

I’ll have signed copies of my books available to purchase, so if you’re in the area, please do come along.

Press release: Europe risks a crisis if it fails to halt pollinator loss, researchers warn

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NOTE FROM JEFF: This press release came out at the start of the week and I am involved in two of the EU-funded projects that are mentioned, Butterfly and ProPollSoil, and I’m a co-author of the White Paper.

For immediate release

University of Bergen Brussels office, Rue Guimard 1040, Brussels, Belgium, 22 June 2026

Eight EU-funded research consortia warn that Europe risks a crisis if it fails to halt pollinator loss. Their solution: a roadmap to reverse wild pollinator decline and protect managed bees.

A new White Paper from eight major EU-funded pollinator projects warns that the resilience of Europe’s vital societal functions and food security are at stake if the EU fails to halt and reverse wild pollinator declines, and to support managed pollinators. Behind the report is an interdisciplinary team of 135 leading researchers with expertise ranging from ecosystem ecology, pollinator ecology, ecological economics, social science, environmental history, behavioural psychology, political science, and environmental law. The report flags the EU’s siloed governance structures and resulting policy incoherence as the major barrier to pollinator restoration. It states that the EU and its Member States urgently need to act by making Pollinator Stewardship an explicit and measurable top-priority across policies on agriculture, environment, chemicals, research and innovation, trade, finance, planning, legislation, and education.

The report diagnoses the looming pollinator crisis as arising from a dysfunctional relationship between humans and nature. Seeing humans as separate from and superior to nature, and thinking of nature as an object for human use as a resource, reinforces institutional structures that exploit nature for short-term individual and material gain. This leads to unsustainable agricultural practices that risk jeopardising the resilience of the ecosystems on which humanity critically depends.

There is more at stake than food security, the report warns. Indeed, many of Europe’s economic supply chains and sectors depend on pollination of flowering plants. Think of medicinal plants, food supplements, biomass energy crops, biomaterials, textiles, fodder, cosmetics, decoration, art, culture, and tourism.

The report also highlights the low pollinator literacy of key societal actors whose daily actions can make the difference for pollinators. It advocates mandating ecoliteracy in the education of professionals in all key sectors that affect pollinators and their habitats.

According to the report’s lead author, Professor Jeroen van der Sluijs, many people whose actions affect pollinators and their habitat are already doing their best to help save the bees. But most lack the literacy to understand how their practices cascade into pollinator loss.

“Many farmers plant wildflower strips along their fields, but almost no one knows that some moths are more effective pollinators than honeybees. These little creatures of the night, clothed in velvet and moonlit dust, need host plants for their larvae, not only flowers. Host plants for pollinating hoverflies, beetles and moths are missing in most seed-mixtures for flower strips.”

Avoiding a scenario in which Europe is hit by a pollination crisis requires addressing the EU’s functioning and moving away from its siloed governance structures. This requires addressing fragmented responsibilities across sectors, top-down policy design, and weak coordination among administrations that currently hinders effective pollinator restoration. According to the authors, the conflict between short-term production goals and the need to maintain pollination services as a public good must be solved as soon as possible.

The report ends with a detailed roadmap of 15 urgent, evidence-informed recommendations for action that, when fully implemented, can reverse pollinator decline in Europe.

Full White Paper: https://zenodo.org/records/20715669

When an old experiment revealed a new story about flowers

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Sometimes, science does not go the way you plan.

That is usually framed as failure: the experiment did not work, the results were inconclusive, the story was unclear. But science can also advance when we go back to old data and ask a different question. That is exactly what happened with a study of Field Scabious, Knautia arvensis, a familiar wildflower of meadows and grasslands.

Back in 2001, I carried out an experiment to test the function of the showy outer florets around the edge of the flower head. These enlarged “ray florets” look as though they ought to be important in attracting pollinators. The idea was simple: trim them in different ways and see whether pollinating insects responded – you can see the results of that trimming in the photo above.

The answer, at the time, was baffling. Bumblebees, hoverflies and butterflies (all of which are effective pollinators of this plant) did not seem to care very much. Visitation rates by the insects hardly changed, and neither did seed set. But seed weight did change, as did the amount of sugar being produced by the trimmed flower heads. At the time I could not make sense of this in relation to the question I had asked, so the data were archived and left alone.

But not forgotten.

Fast forward 25 years, and I was chatting about this data set with colleagues when I was at the Kunming Institute of Botany in China. That got me reading some more recent work about florivory -the damage done to flowers by animals – and I realised that this old experiment might make more sense if viewed from another angle. Perhaps I had not really been testing floral attraction at all. Perhaps, without intending to, I had carried out a simulated florivory experiment.

Seen in that light, the results became much more interesting.

Cutting the ray florets did not stop pollinators from visiting. Nor did it reduce the number of seeds produced. But it did change the plant’s internal economics. Nectar quality declined in the most heavily cut flowers, and the seeds that those flower heads produced were consistently lighter. In other words, the flowers still functioned well enough to get pollinated, but the plant appeared to invest less in rewards for pollinators and less in each of its offspring.

That matters because lighter seeds may have poorer prospects later in life, even if the plant initially appears to reproduce successfully. The damage did not cause total reproductive failure. Instead, it produced a subtler effect: hidden costs that only become visible when you look beyond simple seed counts.

Newly contexualised in this way, we wrote up this work, being completely honest about the history of the study, submitted it to the Journal of Pollination Ecology, where it received very positive reviews. It’s now been published and you can download a copy by following the link in the reference:

Ollerton, J., Xu, X. & Ren, Z.-X. (2026) Misconceived experiments may yield valuable insights: simulated florivory has unpredictable consequences for plant reproduction in Knautia arvensis (Caprifoliaceae). Journal of Pollination Ecology (in press)

I like this study because it tells two stories at once. One is ecological: florivory may not always reduce pollinator visits, but it can still alter plant reproduction in potentially important ways. The other is about how science actually works. Not every good paper begins with a perfect hypothesis and a clean result. Sometimes the value lies in returning to an awkward, neglected dataset and realising that it was trying to tell you something different all along.

Science does not always go the way you plan. But occasionally that is when it becomes most revealing.

What the COVID lockdowns taught us about plant-pollinator specialisation in gardens

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One of the few positive things to come out of the COVID lockdowns was the unexpected opportunity to look much more closely at the nature right outside our doors. In 2020 I coordinated the Lockdown Gardens initiative, bringing together pollination ecologists from around the world to carry out standardised surveys of flower visitors in the gardens they could access during that strange and constrained period. That project generated an unusually rich global dataset: 67 gardens, almost 47,000 flower visits, and records from more than 650 pollinator species.

Since then, the dataset has started to yield some really interesting insights. A new paper led by Luis Perugini uses the Lockdown Gardens data to ask a deceptively simple question: what determines how specialised plant–pollinator interactions are in gardens? In other words, are garden flowers in some places visited by a narrow set of pollinators, while elsewhere they are more generalist?

The answers are not quite what we expected. Looking at 40 garden networks from four continents, we found that larger gardens support more plant species, and that suburban gardens tended to be richer in plant species than either rural or urban gardens. We also found that pollinator richness increased with plant richness and with precipitation. But when it came to the actual specialisation of interactions, climate and species richness did not seem to matter very much at all. Instead, variation in specialisation was mostly species-specific and showed no clear phylogenetic pattern.

That’s an important result, because it suggests that the factors that drive biodiversity in gardens are not necessarily the same factors that shape the ecological relationships within those gardens. Put more simply: having more species does not automatically mean having more specialised interactions.

For me, this is a nice example of how a project born out of a global crisis can continue to produce useful science. The Lockdown Gardens surveys began as an improvised response to an extraordinary moment, but the data are now helping us to understand how gardens function as ecological systems, and how they might better support pollinators in an increasingly human-dominated world.

Here’s the full reference with a link to the paper, which is open access:

Perugini, L., Rech, A., Ollerton, J. & Jorge, L. (2026) Global drivers of plant-pollinator interaction specialization in gardens. Ecology and Evolution (in press)

Help us uncover the hidden lives of Europe’s ground-nesting bees

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When most people think about pollinators, they picture bees visiting flowers. But for many species, a large part of life happens elsewhere: in the soil. Many pollinators do not just feed above ground, they also nest, shelter or develop below it

Discovering more about this aspect of pollinator life histories is the focus of ProPollSoil, a major new European research project exploring the links between soil health and pollinator health that kicked off last year. I’m excited to be part of it because the soil component of pollinator ecology and conservation is important but often overlooked.

As part of ProPollSoil, we are asking the public to help us find and document ground-nesting bees through a citizen science initiative called EuroBeeSoil. If you spot a bee nest in soil, sand, a lawn, a path edge or a sunlit bank, you can photograph it and upload your record to iNaturalist.

It’s a simple idea, but potentially a very powerful one. These observations will help us understand where bees are nesting, what kinds of soils they use, and how we can better conserve them.

We often talk about pollinator-friendly flowers. But bees need more than food, they also need somewhere to live. For many species, that means the ground beneath our feet.

So please follow this link and consider how you might take part if you can. You do not need to be a bee expert. You just need to look down a little more often.