Bougainvillea - A Favorite Flower with a French Imperialist Name

A Crested Antillean Hummingbird came to collect nectar from a Bougainvillea flower.

During dry times, the Bougainvillea bushes we planted in our yard usually manage to stay colorful and attractive, though this summer has been particularly challenging. They were recommended to us years ago as new homeowners for being both drought-resistance and decorative. I enjoy them also for the birds and insects they bring to the yard when they are flowering.      

 

I soon learned that the colorful parts are not flowers, but are called ‘bracts’. These are specialized leaf structures that assist plants in reproduction. For Bougainvillea plants, the papery bracts surround and protect the small white flowers, while helping to attract birds and insects as pollinators.

A Bananaquit stretched precariously past the bracts to reach the tiny white flower. 

Once we had a few plants, it was easy to start new ones from cuttings. Over the years, we lost some to hurricane damage and erosion, but others have grown profusely and threaten to obstruct the walkway. One negative is that their stems have hard, sharp thorns and can scratch badly when I try to cut them back. 

Although Bougainvillea sap is mildly toxic, a Pearly-eyed Thrasher enjoyed nibbling on its bracts and leaves.

I had read that these plants were named after a French explorer, Louis-Antione de Bougainville. Then this summer his name came up in connection with naval battles during the so-called French and Indian War in North America. From 1756 to 1763, England and France were struggling for control over land and trade in the colonies, and at least one of my ancestors in Maine fought with the British in that war. Meanwhile, some of the Indigenous people fought alongside the French, apparently viewing them as less inclined to remove the native inhabitants from their ancestral lands. 

The French were ultimately defeated. They were forced to give up their colonial claims in North America, along with control over the islands of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Dominica, Grenada and Tobago in the Caribbean. 

 

Despite the French military failure, during the war Bougainville had an opportunity to develop significant skills in naval navigation. Afterwards, in 1766, King Louis XV agreed to send him on a mission to circumnavigate the globe. Bougainville set off to search for alternative lands for potential colonies in places not yet claimed by another European country. The French were hoping to restore their national pride – and find new sources of wealth. Bougainville did lay claim to several islands in the south Pacific, including Tahiti, in what became known as French Polynesia. 

 

Bougainville’s naval expedition was the first to include an official botanist, Philibert Commerson, with a mandate to search for plants that could become useful for medical and economic advancements.

 

The botanist’s assistant on the voyage was eventually revealed to be a woman that he was involved with, Jeanne Baret. She had been disguised as a man because at that time women were not allowed on ships, in the belief that they brought bad luck. After he became ill, it seems that she was the one who did most of the specimen collecting. 

 

The flower now known as Bougainvillea is native to the tropical forests of South America, and was found near Rio de Janeiro. There is no record of what the people who lived there called it.

Bougainvillea flowers are favorites of Long-tailed Skipper butterflies, whose native range includes South America, as well as the Caribbean

One author, Glynis Ridley, suggested that Baret was familiar with medicinal plants in France, and was hoping to find a possible cure for Commerson’s illness when the bright bracts caught her eye. According to the ancient ‘doctrine of signatures’ the shapes and colors of plants can provide signals indicating their potential medicinal uses. Sadly, nothing Baret collected was able to cure Commerson. They left the ship in Mauritius during the return voyage and he died not long afterwards. The plant specimens remained onboard and were brought back to France by Bougainville, who later wrote a report on his travels and discoveries. A number of species ended up carrying his name, but only one became world famous.  

Over time, Bougainvillea plants were introduced and cultivated in hot, tropical locations around the world. 

The bright Bougainvillea flowers attract Caribbean tailless swallowtail butterflies.

 

Many other types of plants and trees were also collected and relocated by Europeans during the so-called ‘Age of Discovery’. In the years after Bougainville’s circumnavigation and colonial claims, botanical exploration and long-distance transfers of plants became critical elements of European empire building. Labor-intensive commercial cultivation of plants such as coffee, tea, sugar cane, spices, tobacco and cotton led to the establishment of large-scale plantation systems around the world as the basis for colonial economies.

A European Honeybee delicately probed a Bougainvillea flower. 

 

While the Bougainvillea bracts and flowers have been used in some parts of Asia and Africa to make teas to treat respiratory or digestive problems, the plants seem to have been valued primarily for their looks and drought-resistance. They are mostly sold for ornamental use in gardens, delighting both pollinators and people generally unaware of their links to a global history of imperialism.

 

Native Flowers Cheat Pollinators Out of Rewards

 

Butterfly Orchids are attractive but not so sweet inside.

What if these delicate beauties are really deceitful posers?

 

Stopping for a moment to notice the local flowers always makes me smile, even though I know that they are not really showing off for my benefit. The shapes and colors and fragrances of flowers are mostly meant to attract insects and birds that can transfer pollen from one flower to another, thereby enabling the plants to gain the advantages of cross-pollination. The evolutionary deal is supposed to be a mutually beneficial relationship, with the pollinators getting food in exchange for reproductive services. However, nothing is ever so simple.  

 

Recently I reported on some of the birds and bees that get food from flowers for free by poking holes directly into the nectar sacs, without going inside the flowers and providing pollination services in exchange. 

 

Now I am getting some feedback from pollinators about the cheating behaviors of the flowers themselves. The biggest complaint is that some flowers look good, and smell sweet, but don’t have any nectar inside. 

 

From the plant’s perspective, it takes a lot of effort to produce nectar to feed the pollinators. The chlorophyl-containing cells in their leaves can produce sugars through photosynthesis, absorbing sunlight to provide the energy needed to break down water and carbon dioxide and then synthesize glucose. That’s a complicated procedure, though. 

 

If an energy-conserving plant really needs cross-pollination to reproduce successfully, it might try to save its strength by relying on flashy colors and cheap scents rather than nectar to draw in the pollinators, thereby tricking them into doing the work without any food in exchange. The energy the plants save by not having to make nectar for pollinators can otherwise be spent on plant growth and maintenance, seed production, and other important activities.

 

The no-nectar deception generally works best on young ‘naive’ pollinators, because eventually most hungry pollinators will catch on and avoid those cheating flowers. 

 

One deceitful type of flower in my yard is the delicate Psychilis macconnelliae, which is native only to the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. They are variously called Butterfly Orchids, Island Peacock Orchids or Sandy Point Orchids. Their flowers last for months, so I enjoy having them around.  

 

The bright colors and protruding petals of the Psychilis macconnelliae are designed to attract bees and butterflies – but there is no nectar there. As a result, they don’t get very many repeat visitors. 

 

These plants seem to be resigned to the low-pollinator situation. Their energy-saving adaptation is a trade-off that makes it possible for the plants to grow in a dry environment and survive drought conditions. Their flowers, when they come, last a long time. Eventually a naive bee will probably stop by. Then if pollination occurs, the fertilized plant will have enough energy to produce and throw off large numbers of tiny seeds in hopes of expanding its population. 

 

The hanging seed pouch of a Butterfly Orchid can contain 3 to 4 million seeds.

I don’t actually think it’s fair to conclude that the Butterfly Orchids are being lazy or unethical. The no-nectar decision may be critical for their survival under precarious living conditions. Still, you can understand that the pollinators feel cheated and won’t be coming back once they catch on.      

 

Another no-rewards native flower, Tolumnia prionochila, is commonly known as the Dancing Lady Orchid. As epiphytes, they get nutrients and water just from the air. They attach themselves to thin tree branches using hairy, white roots. 

Dancing Lady Orchids are charming deceivers. 

 

These orchids, too, are only found in the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. They have small, crinkly upper petals (forming the head and waving arms) and much larger lower petals (the swirling skirts of the dancer). 

 

The bottom petals of the Dancing Lady Orchid flowers also have slits that make them look like face masks. 

 

The deception here involves luring pollinators by impersonating another type of flower. The Dancing Lady flowers look a lot like those of the Stigmaphyllon emarginatum vine (Yellow Wiss, Monarch Amazonvine, or Goat Bush), which has developed a special evolutionary relationship with oil-collecting Centris bees. 

   

Yellow Wiss flowers have petals similar to the Dancing Lady Orchids. 

 

Centris bees are solitary bees that make nests underground. Female Centris bees are attracted to flowers like the Yellow Wiss that produce fatty floral oils instead of nectar, which the bees collect to form energy-rich food for their larvae, and to waterproof their nests. In the process of collecting the oils, the bees pollinate the flowers.  

 

Because of the similar flowers, the bees come to the similar Dancing Lady Orchids as well, and pollinate them while they hunt for oil – but they are wasting their time because they don’t get any oil in return. 

 

Maybe the Dancing Lady Orchids feel challenged as epiphytes, living on air and water, without having roots in the ground like the Yellow Wiss. So because of their precarious circumstances, they might feel justified in tricking the bees and not paying for their pollination. Or they might just do it because they can get away with it. 

 

Meanwhile, it’s not just orchids that practice deception. 

 

Frangipani flowers are alluring but nectar-less. 

The native frangipani trees (Plumeria alba) primarily target nighttime pollinators like sphinx moths. Their fragrance is strongest at night, and their pale petals glow in the moonlight. The large, hairy moths come to investigate, and pick up pollen when they land. They then transfer the pollen to other frangipani flowers as they unsuccessfully search around for the expected nectar. 

 

During the day, bees and butterflies might also be drawn to the scent, and the bright yellow centers, of the frangipani flowers. However, all of the potential pollinators will leave hungry and possibly feeling used.  

 

One type of moth, the female Pseudosphinx tetrio, seems to get back at the no-nectar frangipani tree by laying 50-100 eggs on its leaves. 

 

Frangipani trees serve as hosts for Pseudosphinx moths. 

 

Those eggs grow into huge hungry caterpillars that can end up eating almost all of the leaves on the tree before they change into their chrysalis forms and later emerge as new moths. 

 

 

Frangipani caterpillars are huge, and voracious leaf eaters. 

 

Regrowing all those leaves requires the frangipani tree to expend really a lot of effort. So the frangipani tree is actually paying a very high price for its pollination. That could explain why the tree doesn’t want to give the moths nectar as well.

 

I know it may seem silly to describe these plant-pollinator relationships in terms of intentions, feelings and judgments, since the long-term evolution of flower and insect behavior has been based on a mix of genetic diversity, natural selection and environmental factors.  

 

However, a storytelling approach can be useful for getting people emotionally engaged with the complicated relationships and dramas playing out in the natural world. I find it marvelous that these sweet-looking flowers are actually conducting very complex sexual reproduction maneuvers, including perhaps abusing the goodwill of unwitting third-party insects. Of course, I realize they are not just acting on impulse. Their respective ancestors have had millions of years to work out their mutual survival strategies. Let’s hope they can manage to continue.    

 

Sooty Terns and Brown Noddies Are Nesting on Saba Island Near UVI

Sooty Terns hover over the top of Saba Island with St. Thomas in the background

After my recent report on seabirds coming to nest on cays around St. John, I got a message from Steve Prosterman, from the Center for Marine and Environmental Studies at the University of the Virgin Islands on St. Thomas. He was kind enough to invite me on a boat trip to see the nesting colony of Sooty Terns out on Saba Island, which is about three miles south of the St. Thomas airport. 

I was enticed by the idea of thousands of birds nesting out on this little island. I had never seen even one Sooty Tern before. That’s not surprising since they are pelagic seabirds that stay far offshore except when they are breeding.  

 

Steve Prosterman took us out on a dive boat leaving from the UVI research lab in Brewers Bay

A group of students and teachers from the Gold Leaf Education Association, which focuses on nature studies, were the main participants on the boat trip. Steve Simonsen, a well-known St. John photographer, also came over with me to join the group. 

 

 Ella Troutman led a group of young Gold Leaf students. 

 

We weren’t going to get off the boat and go onto Saba Island because that would disturb the nesting birds. This is a small uninhabited island just for the birds. It is managed as a wildlife sanctuary by the VI Department of Planning and Natural Resources, Division of Fish and Wildlife. 

 

The name Saba was actually quite confusing for me. A few months ago I had been at Saba Rock Resort off Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands. And then there is also the Saba that is an island down near Saint Martin. Later I read that ‘siba’ is the Taino word for ‘rock’, which got converted by Europeans to ‘saba’. That helps explain why it became a popular name for small, steep islands.

 

Saba Island rises to about 200 feet, with steep cliffs on the south side.

 

If I had learned that about the name of the island before I went out there, I wouldn’t have had a picture in my mind of a low, flat sandy cay with thousands of birds all sitting on nests in plain sight. As it turned out, the nesting birds were mostly hidden down in the clumps of grasses and shrubs growing on the steep hillsides. 

 

After we pulled into a small cove offshore, there was a chaotic scene onboard, with the boat rocking, hundreds of birds whirling around making shrill cries, and children moving around on the boat also calling out excitedly. 

 

At first I started waving my heavy telephoto lens around madly, trying to focus on different birds as they whipped by. It seemed like a miracle when I was actually able to catch one in motion.  

 

A Sooty Tern flew up to the top of the grassy hillside.

 

Eventually I was also able to locate a few that were settled down in a more open area than the other terns. Like many seabirds, these terns don’t actually make nests. They just scrape out a small patch in the soil or sand, and maybe cover it with a few leaves, then place their egg on top. 

 

Sooty Terns only lay one egg, and the parents take turns incubating it for about a month.

Some of the Sooty Terns were going out fishing in the cove. However, when they are fishing, they don’t hover and then dive deep down under the surface, like some terns. That’s because their feathers don’t have oil to make them water repellent, and they could become water-logged and sink. Instead, they dip down while flying over the water, nabbing fish near the surface.  

 

 When the eggs hatch, both parents will help catch fish to feed the chick. 

 

Once they breeding season is over and the chicks can fly, they may not return to land again for years, until they are ready to breed themselves. 

 

Since they are flying at sea all the time and can’t rest on the surface because of their water-absorbent feathers, I wondered where do they sleep? I read that Sooty Terns have developed a way to let one side of their brain sleep for short periods of time while the other side stays alert. That doesn’t actually sound very restful, but it does seem to work, because there are lots of Sooty Terns out there flying around the oceans. The piercing call that the Sooty Terns make is described as ‘wide-a-wake’, which sounds appropriate given their sleep habits.  

 

After a while I spotted a couple of the Brown Noddies flying past just above the water line along a rocky edge of the island. I didn’t see their nests, as those were probably on the south side of the island because they prefer the cliff ledges there.

                  

We saw only a few Brown Noddy terns, and they seemed less sociable than the Sooty Terns. 

Brown Noddies are pelagic terns as well, but don’t spend as much time flying. And they are very different looking. The Brown Noddies are chocolate brown with pale gray heads. Many other types of terns have white underbellies – maybe so they are less visible to fish as they hover up over the water. But Brown Noddies apparently stay close to the surface and sometimes even pat the water with their feet to attract small fish. In that case, their dark coloring might help camouflage them. 

 

One striking thing about the Brown Noddies is that their eyes are set close to their bills, which makes them seem like they are frowning. 

 

Even the resting faces of the Brown Noddies look angry.  

 

Supposedly these birds got their names because they nod and bow to greet each other, as part of their courtship behavior. However, the ones I saw did not seem to be very courteous. They looked like alien gangsters. 

 

These Brown Noddies might not have sorted out who was mating with whom.

I read that although the male noddies are larger than the females, both sexes can be territorial and squabble with their neighbors. It’s probably not due to lack of sleep, though. Unlike the Sooty Terns, the Brown Noddies seem to get plenty of rest, as they don’t mind setting down on the surface of the water while they are out to sea.   

 

The noddies seemed to be exchanging angry words, as well as looks. 

  

I had thought of pelagic seabirds as solitary voyagers, traveling alone for years over the vast ocean – wandering lonely in the clouds. But apparently both these types of terns are sociable at sea, fishing in mixed flocks, and using their loud calls to keep in touch with their group members.  

 

I was grateful to Steve Prosterman for offering me a chance to meet these birds while they were settled down close to shore. Maybe one day I will go on a long sea voyage myself where I could see some of them out flying around in the open ocean.  

Tropicbirds, Terns and Other Seabirds Greeted Students on a V. I. Audubon Boat Trip

 

Red-billed Tropicbird (left) and White-tailed Tropicbird

 

Students from Gifft Hill School’s third and ninth grades recently went out on a boat to look for nesting seabirds on some of the small islands north of St. John. The trip was sponsored by the V. I. Audubon Society as part of a bird study program designed to help build awareness about the wide variety of birds in the Virgin Islands, and the importance of protecting them.

 

 

At this time of year, many different seabirds come from around the Caribbean to the small offshore islands in this area so they can mate and nest in secluded spaces.

 

Heading northeast out of Cruz Bay, the students, and accompanying teachers and Audubon Society members, were quickly rewarded with views of a group of about ten White-billed Tropicbirds flying back and forth from nests on the cliffs at Congo Cay. There were also a few of the somewhat larger Red-billed Tropicbirds (17-20 inches compared to 14-15 inches for white-tailed ones).  

White-tailed tropicbird

Tropicbirds are pelagic, which means they spend most of their time flying around over open water. The tropicbirds stay in warmer ocean areas, catching fish far from land, then resting on the surface of the water. They are usually alone or in pairs, not large flocks. 

 

Sometimes sailors will see tropicbirds hovering over boats, maybe watching for fish that rise to the surface due to boat-related activity. They are rarely seen by people on land, though, and sometimes seem mythical to non-sailors. 

 

However, since tropicbirds can’t nest out on the surface of the sea, they seek out isolated rocky cliffs when it is time to breed. They come together in small groups to find mates and make their nests, and then they are more easily visible. However, you generally still need a boat to go see them. 

 

Tropicbird nesting is not limited to a specific month, but usually takes place at times when there are plenty of small fish available in the water nearby. I saw some nesting near Congo in December, and now others nesting in May.

Red-billed Tropicbird by nest in cliff

 

The tropicbirds’ long, white ribbon-like tails, or streamers, are lovely and most distinctive. Yet they don’t seem very practical. It turns out that, like many impressive bird traits, they are primarily designed to attract a mate. During courtship, the tropicbirds engage in aerial courtship displays, circling around each other and alluringly swinging their tails from side to side. 

 

After the courtship and mating period, they find a spot on a rocky ledge, or in a crevice, for a minimalist nest. Invasive, non-native rats are now living on many of the offshore cays, and they will eat unprotected eggs, so the seabirds are now facing new dangers. The steepest, slippery cliff faces may be the safest. 

 

There is usually only one tropicbird egg, and it is incubated mostly by the female. She sits with it for about six weeks while the male brings her food. When the chick hatches, both parents bring food for it as it grows. Then after about three months the chick is ready to leave the nest and start its pelagic, ocean wandering life. 

 

Nearby, on the imposing cliffs of Carvel (or Carval) Rock, about 20 pairs of smaller Bridled Terns were nesting. These birds get their name from the dark lines reaching from their mouths to the backs of their heads, like a bridle used to control a riding horse. These terns are also pelagic and widespread in warm ocean waters. They tend to stay somewhat closer to shore than tropicbirds, though, and like to find something floating to sit on, like mats of the sargassum seaweed, rather than settling down right on top of the water. 

 

Bridled Terns

The bridled terns have longish forked tails, and their courtship involves some high flight displays, but their moves are not as dramatic as the tropicbirds. A male will fly by offering a fish to entice the females, and there is also a ground-level dance involving bowing and strutting.

 

The female will produce only one egg, and place it on or under a ledge, without building a substantial nest. Both parents will guard the egg, and then feed and protect the chick from predators, which seems like a strategy that increases the likelihood of its survival.  

 

Bridled Tern soaring

 

Laughing Gulls also come to some of the offshore islands in the Virgin Islands to nest during the summer, but they are not welcome near the terns. Gulls will eat the terns’ eggs or chicks if they get a chance, and will also chase adult terns and try to grab fish out of their mouths. The gulls also frequently gather in groups along the beaches, and will eagerly steal food from people as well.  

 

Laughing Gulls

 

Royal Terns will also steal fish from other, smaller terns. They are more commonly visible from land as they like to sit on buoys in the harbor. They have black caps when breeding, and there are a few of them that nest in this area. 

 

Royal Tern

 

From the boat, we also saw a couple of Oystercatchers on Rata Cay between St. John and Lovango. Oystercatchers have long, carrot-like bills that give them a cartoonish appearance. They actually stay through the year in some areas in the Virgin Islands, and are almost always seen in pairs. They nest on beaches in remote parts of the larger islands, as well as on small cays close to shore. The parents will take turns sitting on the nest and bringing food, which often includes local whelks that they break open with their strong bills.  

 

Oystercatcher

 

The students on the trip learned about the importance of preserving isolated offshore spaces for birds so they can continue to nest and reproduce, and be as free as possible from invasive predators and human disturbance. Because seabirds are not just fun to watch. Their widespread migrations, fishing, and nesting activities are critical for maintaining the health of our interconnected oceans, islands and sky.   

 

At the end of the trip, the students also got to jump in the water off Lovango Cay to cool off and also take a look under the water with snorkels. A pretty great day. 

 

Kapok Trees Create a Community in a Lonely Caneel Bay Parking Lot

 

When the hurricane-damaged Caneel Bay property on St. John was opened up for limited public access, I was able to visit with some of my old friends there. I was relieved to find at least eight big kapok trees (Ceiba pentandra) in the area that used to be the employees’ parking lot. 

 

A few of the older kapoks are looking pretty gnarly now, like those ancient sculptures with missing arms. The storm winds definitely came through fiercely and reshaped them, tearing off large branches. 

This tree trunk made me think of the Bible story about Lot’s wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt for looking back, against God’s instructions. 

Many of the trees’ wounds have healed over in the isolated years following the storms, often leaving bulging scars where branches were lost. 

The thick upper branches of this tree now swirl around like a whirlwind.  

 

For me, the growths where branches seem to have broken off began to look like fanciful faces. 

Several stumps have a protruding ghostlike appearance, like weathered gargoyles on the top of a medieval building, reminding me of the time I climbed to the top of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris.   

 

And some look quite dark and menacing, possibly threatening to hurl their seed pods down on intruders standing below in the parking lot.

 

 

A few of the tree faces are more friendly and whimsical. 

This stump reminded me of the Cheshire cat from the Alice in Wonderland story, lying in a tree and giving advice to Alice through riddles.

 

And this one seemed like an owl with thorns for eyes. 

 

On another tree, the buttress roots at the bottom seemed to have grown out like the head of a tortoise.

 

My favorite is one I used to call the 'elephant tree' because of its really wide base, which has expanded into huge gray hump. It is now battered and partially hidden behind bushes, but still thriving, producing flowers and making seed pods.

 

 

These trees are not statues, though. They are living beings – and they have definitely seen some things. I can feel their dynamic energy surrounding me when I am standing among them.

 

Since no one was able to visit the Caneel Bay property for many years after the storm, I imagine that the kapoks and other great trees appreciate that I remember them with fondness and have come back to look for them. But probably they were comfortable enough just being left alone, and are fine with the fact that hardly anyone sees them there, even now. 

 

Still, I worry about their future. Who will value these dramatic trees, I wonder, and care enough to protect them. Or will they just be knocked down, because they are old and weird looking and in the way, when the plans for redeveloping Caneel Bay as a new resort are finally implemented.