Ecology and Evolutionary Biology

Researchers learn new lessons from old butterflies

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 06 Feb 2026 18:00:00 +0000

Researchers learn new lessons from old butterflies Rachel Sauer Fri, 02/06/2026 - 11:00

Alexandra Phelps

Research co-authored by CU Boulder PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers reveals how museum butterfly specimens, some almost a century old, can still offer insight into chemical defense of insects and plants

You’re sitting in a field, a garden or another outdoor space, basking in a beautiful summer day. Clouds drift across the sky when something catches your eye. You turn to see a butterfly, its delicate wings and vibrant coloring shifting as it moves from flower to flower. For a moment it’s there, but soon, it moves too far away for you to see.

At first glance, butterflies appear to be just simple, dainty creatures that fly around feeding on plants. For �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers, however, butterflies are anything but simple. Beneath their wings lies a complex system that plays an integral role in their survival.

In recently published research, CU Boulder PhD graduate Megan E. Zabinski (left) and evolutionary biology Professor M. Deane Bowers (right), emphasize the value that museum specimens have in current scientific research.

In a recently published study in the Journal of Chemical Ecology, Zabinski and Bowers researched how two Euphydrays butterfly species—E. phaeton and E. anicia—sequester certain chemical compounds, a process by which organisms capture and store substances from their host plants to defend themselves against their enemies. The researchers found that they were able to understand how these butterflies sequester substances using both historic specimens as well as fresh ones.

Their project points to the value museum specimens can have in scientific research. By comparing historic butterfly specimens from CU Boulder’s Museum of Natural History (CUMNH) with freshly collected and laboratory-reared butterflies, their research demonstrates the benefits, as well as the limitations, of using preserved insects to study chemical defenses decades after collection.

Hatching a plan

Although museum collections house billions of specimens, only a small fraction are used in research after they are acquired. Recognizing this gap inspired Zabinski to begin her research. While Zabinski was still a graduate student, an encounter with Bowers helped shape the trajectory of her academic career.

“Deane came up to me one day—I was in the EBIO club—and she told me she had a job for me. And I thought, ‘A job! You mean I can quit waiting tables at Applebee’s?’”

This opportunity allowed Zabinski to explore her interest in insects and plant-insect interactions within a laboratory setting.

“I absolutely loved being in the lab, doing the physical work with my hands, (whether it was) being able to be outside in the field or looking after the plants,” she says.

Working alongside Bowers—whose research also focuses on how insects interact with their environments—Zabinski began developing her own research questions. She specifically focused on how butterflies in different developmental stages consume and store defensive chemicals to use them later.

Zabinski became interested in whether museum butterfly specimens—which have rarely been investigated and examined for their chemical defenses—could still be helpful.

“We thought about how detecting sequestered defenses in museum specimens really has rarely been done,” she says. “The world of sequestration hadn’t really delved into museum collections. So, we were curious if there was utility there.”

The project was made possible in part by Bowers’ extensive research background and personal butterfly collection, which is housed at CUMNH. The collection includes the species used in the study. When combined with outside specimens, this collection, which includes the species used in the study, allowed Bowers and Zabinski to enrich their understanding of the butterflies.

The Euphydryas anicia butterfly is able to sequester compounds that plants create in defense against herbivores. (Photo: Robert Webster/Wikimedia Commons)

“There has been work done on detecting chemical compounds in plants,” Bowers says. “But there had been less done on insects, and Megan’s thesis had centered on looking at how this particular group of compounds in my lab has worked on particular compounds. We thought it would be really interesting to see if we could find them in old specimens.”

For Zabinski, the combination of Bowers’ expertise and insects available for research made this experiment uniquely valuable.

“It’s kind of the perfect storm for a good experiment. You have a colony in the lab; you also know where there is a field lab where you can get fresh specimens. You know that the museum also has them, but one of the species we had sequestered a high amount, so we thought that … even if there was some degradation, we would still be able to detect them,” she says.

Crawling toward a new understanding

Zabinski and Bowers analyzed specimens from two checkerspot butterfly species in the genus Euphydryas: Euphydryas anicia and Euphydryas phaeton. The species were selected because they are known for their high sequestration ability, abundance in the CUMNH entomology collection and the ease of obtaining live adult specimens. Their research aimed to better understand how the insects use and store these compounds after consuming them as larvae.

Both species sequester iridoid glycosides (IGs), which Zabinski explains are “compounds created by the plants in defense against the herbivores. They’re trying not to get eaten, but there are certain insects— including these butterflies—that capitalize off this process.” Bowers adds, “I’ve tasted (iridoid glycosides), and they’re really bitter. So they are a really good defense against predators and diseases.”

“They’ve been able to find a way to store these compounds in their own bodies and then they can confer some defense against predators,” Zabinski says.

In an initial pilot experiment, the researchers chemically extracted from only one set of wings—a forewing and a hindwing—from historic specimens to determine whether IGs could be detected from the wings alone. Previous experiments have determined that, because in butterfly wings there’s hemolymph (a circulatory fluid similar to blood), it’s possible to detect IGs there. Unfortunately, the results showed extremely low concentrations. To obtain detectable amounts, they found it necessary to analyze both the body and a pair of wings together. For documentation and future research, the set of right wings from each specimen was removed and preserved.

With their methodology established, they chose six E. phaeton specimens from the CUMNH that had been collected from 1936–1977. For comparison, E. phaeton larvae were collected from Burlington County, Vermont, brought back to Boulder and raised in the laboratory with their host plant, white turtlehead, Chelone glabra. Once the butterflies reached adulthood, they were freeze-killed and analyzed for their IG content.

Zabinski and Bowers also examined nine historic E. anicia specimens collected between 1933–1998. Fresh adult E. anicia were collected from Crescent Meadows in Eldorado Springs, Colorado, freeze-killed and immediately underwent extraction for chemical analysis. Although it’s almost impossible to tell what plant the freshly caught butterflies consumed as larvae, the field they were collected from is known to have four catalpol-containing host plants. Catalpol, an IG that is found in these plants, allowed the researchers to determine whether the butterflies were sequestering these compounds, even if they weren’t sure what specific plant was the butterflies’ food source.

“Raising butterflies is not easy,” Zabinski says. “Plants can’t just be alive and available—they have to be high quality, because it’s been shown in studies with these plants that if the plant is not happy, it will not allocate energy to create those compounds. Then your caterpillars are not going to want to eat it.”

Shifting predetermined perceptions

Despite being preserved for decades, the historic specimens still contained detectable traces of sequestered chemical defenses. While IG concentrations were significantly lower in museum specimens than in freshly collected butterflies, Zabinski’s results demonstrate that even after nearly a century, chemical traces of larval diets can still be detected in preserved specimens.

Euphydryas phaeton butterflies have "been able to find a way to store (plant defense) compounds in their own bodies and then they can confer some defense against predators,” says researcher Megan E. Zabinski. (Photo: Joshua Mayer/Wikimedia Commons)

By focusing on the detectability of chemical compounds in older specimens, Zabinski’s work contributes to a broader discussion about preservation methods. She notes that museums often have little control over how donated specimens were originally collected or preserved. She says that despite this, “If you’re a collections manager and you have a researcher that conducted a research experiment and would like to donate them to your collection, if you have the capacity to access them, you’re probably not going to say ‘no.’”

Zabinski explains that previous research demonstrating how preservation methods affect scientists’ ability to detect DNA in museum specimens really shifted how people preserve certain organisms.

“Most insects are preserved as dried specimens, although some are preserved in alcohol,” she says. “In other groups of organisms, like vertebrates and other invertebrates besides insects, they’re often preserved in alcohol or formaldehyde. We now know that using formaldehyde destroys DNA, and so I think the protocol for specimen preservation has changed, trying to preserve the DNA. That’s been one change that museums have been trying.”

Zabinski’s project and others like it are creating an incentive. “As more research comes out about the extended museum specimen and the utility of specimens—particularly with standardization—museums will find a draw to create some uniformity,” she says.

Soaring to new heights

On that summer day, someone who was watching the butterflies move was Bowers.

“I started collecting insects when I was a little kid,” she says. “In undergrad, I did some independent research on butterflies, [and later,] in graduate school, I had a really supportive advisor who told me to spend my first summer going out and looking at butterflies and seeing if I could find some interesting questions. That’s been the focus of my research since.”

Recognizing Zabinski’s curiosity and potential, Bowers recalls, “I brought Megan into the fold.”

“We hear a lot about climate change and we don’t really hear about these smaller interactions that are quite literally under our feet every day,” Zabinski reflects. She says this paper offers one example of how museum specimens are not just remnants of the past, but tools that can be used to better understand specimens today. As technology advances and more research is conducted into chemical defenses, Zabinski says museum specimens can prove to be even more valuable in understanding how organisms interact with their environments long after they’ve been collected.

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Top image: Euphydryas anicia butterfly (Photo: U.S. Fish and Wildlife)

Boxelder bugs and other insects are invading houses

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Feb 2026 17:31:39 +0000

Boxelder bugs and other insects are invading houses Rachel Sauer Wed, 02/04/2026 - 10:31

Jeff Mitton

The good news is none of them bite, sting or carry diseases that can be passed to humans

My house is being invaded. It happens to some extent in fall of most years, but this is the most intense invasion we have experienced, and on the first day of February we are still heaving cadavers and active insects into the backyard. One day I caught eight invaders. Most years, we have just one species trying to get in, but this year it is three.

Let me introduce the combatants: First is the small milkweed bug, Lygdaeus kalmi; next is the boxelder bug, Boisea trivitatti; and third is the western conifer seed bug, Leptogossus occidentalis. These three insects have much in common. For example, all of them are looking for a safe, warm place to spend the winter so they can reproduce in spring; more about this later. None of the three has cryptic coloration, they all have aposematic (or warning coloration) and each has a chemical defense. They all suck sap from green plants.

None of them bites or stings or carries diseases that can be passed to us.

The aposematic colorations advertise to predators that they are wielding chemical defenses. The colors and patterns of the three species make them easily identified, and the foul and poisonous fluids make any encounter poisonous and memorable.

Small milkweed bugs, like monarch butterflies, sequester cardiac glycosides that they take from the sap of the pods and seeds. Boxelder bugs have abdominal glands that release a foul smelling, disgusting-tasting liquid when they feel threatened. The western conifer seed bug has glands between its legs that release a repulsive, pungent smell taken from the seeds of Douglas fir, western white pine and lodgepole pine. Their bright colors, backed up by an awful taste with sickening effects, adequately protects these three bugs from predators.

Home-invading insects including (left to right) small milkweed bug, boxelder bug and western conifer seed bug. (Photos: Jeff Mitton)

I find it interesting that monarch butterflies, large milkweed bugs, milkweed leaf beetles and milkweed tiger moths, all feeding on milkweed, have adopted the orange and black aposematic coloration. They undoubtedly gain protection from the legions of herbivores, similarly colored, all carrying similar cardiac glycosides synthesized by milkweeds.

All three of these insects eat by sucking fluids sap or fluids inside green leaves and developing seeds. Their common names from their most common source of sap: small milkweed bug, boxelder bug and western conifer seed bug. Boxelder bugs favor the sap that they get from developing boxelder seeds, although they grow adequately by feeding from silver maples in Boulder.

By far the most common of these bugs that I encounter inside the house are the boxelder bugs. At first, it was puzzling that such a high proportion of them, approaching 50%, are lifeless chitinous sheaths lying on the floor. This observation reminded me of the reason that ladybugs, Hippodamia convergens, fly to the tops of mountains, such as Green Mountain and Bear Peak, as winter approaches. Ladybugs head to high elevation peaks for winter so that they can go into an undisturbed dormancy until spring. If they try to overwinter at lower elevations, they stir and fly about on warm sunny days in the winter. They fly about and search for food when none is available. They might die of starvation while searching for food, or they may exhaust lipid stores that they need to lay eggs in spring. Natural selection favors those that leave the most offspring, so ladybug genes that favor prolonged hibernation are most common. The insects trying to get inside houses should talk to ladybugs!

I asked a neighbor about boxelder bugs, and he responded that “all their lifeless bodies are scattered around the house.” Bugs that get inside have a comfortable environment, but they need more water and food to remain active inside, where familiar sources of water and food are not available. Natural selection needs more time to teach boxelder bugs the lesson that ladybugs have learned.

Jeff Mitton is a professor emeritus in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder. His column, "Natural Selections," is also printed in the Boulder Daily Camera.

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The good news is none of them bite, sting or carry diseases that can be passed to humans.

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Top image: boxelder bugs attempting to get into Jeff Mitton's house (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

One photo, many whales: scholar captures research above the Arctic Circle

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 02 Feb 2026 21:31:55 +0000

One photo, many whales: scholar captures research above the Arctic Circle Rachel Sauer Mon, 02/02/2026 - 14:31

Cody DeBos

For CU Boulder ecology and evolutionary biology alumna Emma Vogel, an award-winning photo captured a vital moment of research and science

Soft light slanted across the gray Norwegian sky, bouncing off the frigid water where Emma Vogel sat in a research boat. She had just helped her team tag a whale and was scanning the waves for the next group. It was a rare reprieve in what otherwise tends to be a chaotic venture.

She lifted her camera, but not for data collection this time. The scene was simply too vivid not to capture.

“I was super surprised about catching the little whale in the background of it, framed in the platform,” Vogel recalls. “That was a very, very nice surprise. I’m not often using my camera to take pictures of people, but the lighting was so atmospheric, I thought it would be a good shot.”

Emma Vogel, a 2016 CU Boulder graduate in ecology and evolutionary biology, is a postdoctoral researcher at The Arctic �Թ�� of Norway.

The photo, showing a researcher poised to launch a tracking tag set against a backdrop of swarming seabirds, went on to win Nature’s 2025 Scientist at Work photo competition.

For Vogel, a 2016 �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder graduate, the image is more than an award-winner. It’s a snapshot of her life spent tracking giants of the ocean through the shifting currents of science and sustainability.

A path north

Vogel’s journey to the coast of Northern Norway, firmly situated in the Arctic Circle, began in Washington, D.C., but when it was time to go to college, the mountains of Colorado called.

“I thought Colorado looked beautiful. And I kind of always knew I wanted to do science or ecology, so it seemed like a perfect place for that,” she says.

During her time at CU Boulder, Vogel studied ecology and evolutionary biology, exploring the impact of forest fires and regrowth. A semester abroad in Sweden opened her eyes to marine science.

“I got to take some more aquatic and ocean marine-based courses and I fell in love with the field.”

After graduation, Vogel spent two years working in animal welfare policy with the Humane Society of the United States. However, she felt drawn to do hands-on research.

That led her to Tromsø, Norway, where she earned her master’s and PhD and now works as a postdoctoral researcher at the Arctic �Թ�� of Norway’s Arctic Sustainability Lab.

Fieldwork at the edge of the world

As one might imagine, life and research in the Arctic come with their own rhythms.

“Some of the unique, really wonderful things that maybe people wouldn't expect, is that it's such a diverse place, both the people and the ecosystems, the organisms that live here,” Vogel says. “We have a beautiful combination of mountains and ocean right in the same space.”

Fieldwork in this environment is both harsh and intimate. Vogel and her team spend weeks tracking and tagging humpback and killer whales in the fjords during the winter herring season. She says the process can be logistically easier than in other places because the whales stay close to the coast.

But the conditions are punishing.

“In the morning, we often need to shovel snow out of our boats before we can get started, and it’s cold enough where the seawater is freezing onto the boat. Temperatures are often well below zero while we’re out doing research.”

Luckily, Vogel has discovered something of a superpower.

“The thing that changed it for me was when I discovered battery-powered socks that you can put on a little cycle to heat up every 30 minutes,” she says with a grin. “They really make all the difference.”

Those socks come in handy during long days on the water when Vogel and her team are using air-powered tracking equipment to attach satellite transmitters to whales. The tags allow researchers to track their movements long after they disappear from the coast.

“Normally, once the whales get enough of the herring, we don’t know where they go. With the tags, we can see their movement patterns for a month to six months, depending on the species and tag,” she says.

From there, Vogel and her team can interpret the data to paint a clearer picture of what these oceanic giants do when they slip below the waves.

“We can figure out their behavior based on the data. If they’re slowing down and turning a lot in one area, we can say they’re possibly looking for food and foraging. If they’re traveling in a straight line really fast, then it’s kind of transiting behavior. For humpbacks, we’ve tracked them through a full migration. So, going down to the Caribbean and then back up to Norway and even up into the Barents Sea.

“These tags let us track them through the entire ocean and see things we otherwise wouldn’t be able to, which is, I think, really exciting.”

Emma Vogel's award-winning photo shows biologist Audun Rikardsen, her PhD advisor at The Arctic �Թ�� of Norway, battling waves in a northern Norwegian fjord, aided by the glow from a nearby fishing trawler.

Data-informed decisions

Part of Vogel’s work in the Arctic Sustainability Lab involves turning movement data into better marine policy.

“We are working to create ways to use tracking data to help spatial planners consider these migratory animals when designing local marine protected areas,” she says.

It’s a tricky challenge. Protected zones often prioritize stationary habitats for sea grasses and corals (and the animals that rely on them), not animals that travel hundreds or thousands of miles every year. Vogel and her team hope to change that by giving planners reliable data to inform their policy decisions.

But her work isn’t solely focused on marine life. She’s also part of a project called the Coastal Barometer, which helps quantify the health and sustainability of Northern Norway’s seaside communities.

“We developed a website called the Coastal Barometer to offer different ways of looking at and considering sustainability. It lets people from different municipalities click on where they’re from and see where they’re performing well and where there needs to be improvement,” Vogel says.

The project includes metrics for biodiversity, water quality, carbon storage, tourism, economic resilience and even a unique measure called “sense of place” that considers how much people value their connection to the local land and sea.

The latter is more urgent than ever. While Vogel doesn’t want to attribute all changes in her community to climate change, she’s already seen worrying signs.

“This last summer and the summer before we had about a month of days that you were able to go hiking in shorts in the Arctic. That’s been rare since I came here in 2018. For now, they’re nice, but you don’t want it much warmer.”

Those summer days may be rare enough to feel like a novelty today. But for researchers like Vogel, they are a quiet warning that even in the planet’s most rugged corners, change is underway. Thanks to valuable data collected by humans who care, communities and conservationists can be equipped with tools to adapt to those changes.

Boulder foundation, global reach

Despite her current home being thousands of miles away, Vogel still sees her time at CU Boulder as a defining chapter.

“It really set me up so well, I think, to be an interdisciplinary researcher. Not only taking science courses, but also exploring literature, communication, human geography. I even took a course about Vikings, which was quite fun,” she recalls.

That foundation has served her well in a career that now sprawls across ecology, community engagement and policy innovation. For students hoping to follow in her footsteps, Vogel has one piece of advice: “Genuine curiosity.”

“You need to really want to understand and be inquisitive,” she says. “To understand for the sake of understanding—not just taking your courses. Asking questions and not taking things at surface value, just always wondering, ‘Why? Why? Why?’ can really get you far.”

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For CU Boulder ecology and evolutionary biology alumna Emma Vogel, an award-winning photo captured a vital moment of research and science.

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Inferring the evolutionary tree of antelope ground squirrels

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 16 Jan 2026 15:25:19 +0000

Inferring the evolutionary tree of antelope ground squirrels Rachel Sauer Fri, 01/16/2026 - 08:25

Jeff Mitton

Desert dwellers offer evidence that genes carried by an individual store information that literally reaches back millions of years

Sitting in my campsite at Goblin Valley State Park, I saw an antelope ground squirrel standing erect on its back feet, which I found amusing. I soon found that this was a common posture evoked by vigilance. Antelope ground squirrels are in the genus Ammospermophilus, which has five species, all in North America. I was watching white-tailed antelope ground squirrels, A. leucurus, the only antelope ground squirrel in Colorado and Utah.

Antelope ground squirrels (AGS) occur primarily in deserts, including Great Basin, San Joaquin, Mojave, Peninsular, Sonoran and Chihuahuan. They also occur in dryland environments like sagebrush communities and some grasslands. Most species of ground squirrels hibernate, but living in relatively warm and dry environments allows AGS to be active year round.

AGS have several adaptations that allow them to live in the deserts of the western United States and Mexico. Later that day, in the heat of the afternoon, AGS were walking with their white tails coiled above their backs to shed their own portable shade. They would also linger in the shade of a piñon pine, dumping heat by stretching out their legs and pressing their bellies onto the soil. This posture is used frequently in their burrows, between bouts of foraging on the surface. Their body temperatures can rise to 108 to 110 degrees F without damage, much higher than most mammals.

AGS are adapted to deserts or drylands and A. leucurus occupies the greatest distribution, including Oregon, Idaho, California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and the Baja California Peninsula. Background reading turned up a paper in a scientific journal that nicely demonstrated, with AGS, how biologists can utilize DNA sequences to infer an evolutionary tree of the genus, and to not only estimate the date that the genus first arose but also infer when and where each species arose.

Antelope ground squirrels occur primarily in deserts and also in dryland environments like sagebrush communities and some grasslands. (Photo: Jeff Mitton)

From 10 million years ago to the end of the Miocene, 5.33 million years ago, a single lineage sustained the ancestors of AGS, but approximately 4 million years ago, as deserts were spreading and developing in the Southwest, the lineage split into three clades. That is, from a solitary trunk the tree of AGS sprouted three branches. A. interpres evolved east of the Sea of Cortez, A. leucurus south ranged from the southern tip of Baja to the middle of the peninsula and A. leucurus north ranged from the middle of Baja to Oregon and Idaho.

Fewer than 1 million years ago, another three species evolved. Pioneers from the leucurus south clade colonized two small islands east of Baja in the Sea of Cortez and evolved into A. insularis. The leucurus north form spread into the San Joaquin Desert in California and evolved into A. nelsoni, and subsequently the AGS in Arizona and northern Mexico evolved into A. harrisii. A. leucurus still ranges from the southern tip of Baja to Oregon and Idaho, but within A. leucurus nine subspecies are recognized today.

Dates on the AGS phylogenetic tree were estimated with mutation rates in three genes and with fossil data. A. insularis, A. harrisii and A nelsonii evolved recently, with an average of 0.32 million years ago. On a different continent, modern humans evolved around 0.20 to 0.30 million years ago—approximately the same time.

At first, the differentiation of A. leucurus into northern and southern forms or clades seems curious, but similar vicariances or taxonomic boundaries have been noted in systematic and biogeographic studies of other mammals, birds, fish and insects. The barrier has been attributed to the Vizcaíno Seaway, which is now the Vizcaíno Desert. While systematists agree that there was a barrier to gene flow near the middle of the Baja Peninsula, estimates from different studies yield different estimates, which vary from 1 to 3 million years ago. One description of the modern desert mentions multiple marine terraces, but another states flatly that there is no convincing evidence of an open, freely flowing seaway. Perhaps the marine terraces were formed by recurrent, ephemeral lagoons or marshes that were sufficient to disrupt gene flow.

Studies like this one emphasize the point that the genes carried by an individual store information that literally reaches back millions of years. Historical biogeographers working with genetic data in animals or plants or microbes can peer through the roiling mists of time to infer relationships among species, to detect speciations and extinctions and to map the migrations of species driven by glacial cycles. Similar techniques to those used in this study of AGS were used to map the migration routes that brought humans from southern Africa to every continent, archipelago and island in the world. Furthermore, our genome carries the evidence that humans hybridized with Neanderthals in Europe and the Middle East and Denisovans in Siberia.

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Desert dwellers offer evidence that genes carried by an individual store information that literally reaches back millions of years.

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Wally the Wollemi finds a new home

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Wally the Wollemi finds a new home Rachel Sauer Mon, 12/01/2025 - 07:30

Rachel Sauer

CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donate a tree once considered extinct to the EBIO greenhouse, giving students a living example of modern conservation

Wally probably doesn’t know he’s a dinosaur.

He’s just living his best life in a bright spot—but not directly sunny, he doesn’t like that—in the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology greenhouse on 30th Street.

This guy! Talk about charisma. People have certain stereotypes and expectations for what he should be, and he defies them. For starters, he’s here and not, after all, extinct.

Yes, Wally the Wollemi is something special—a Cretaceous Period pine tree thought to have gone extinct 2 million years ago, rediscovered in a secluded Australian canyon in 1994 and, with a few steps in between, recently donated to the greenhouse.

. “Where we are right now with climate change, we’re losing plants and animal species and insect diversity at an extremely rapid rate, so as scientists and horticulturists and curators it’s our job to maintain the diversity of the world in collections, and Wally is an important part of that," says Malinda Barberio, EBIO greenhouse manager.

“The Wollemi pine is an interesting story about paleobotany as well as conservation,” explains Malinda Barberio, greenhouse manager. “Where we are right now with climate change, we’re losing plants and animal species and insect diversity at an extremely rapid rate, so as scientists and horticulturists and curators it’s our job to maintain the diversity of the world in collections, and Wally is an important part of that.”

Back from extinction

How Wally came to live in a quiet spot in the 30th Street greenhouse is a story that started in the Cretaceous. Scientists theorized that herbivorous dinosaurs living then dined on Wollemi pines, which belong to a 200-million-year-old plant family and are abundantly represented in the fossil record dating as far back as 91 million years.

Where they weren’t abundantly represented was in the living world. They were theorized to have gone extinct, living only in stone impressions.

However, in 1994, New South Wales (Australia) National Parks ranger David Noble was rappelling in a remote canyon about five hours west of Sydney when he happened upon a stand of pine trees unlike anything he’d seen before. They had fern-like foliage, distinctive bumpy bark and a dense, rounded crown. They towered over other trees in the canyon.

“Typically, you think of pines as Christmas tree-shaped, fairly triangular, so that dense top crown that’s very rounded is a little odd for pines,” Barberio says. “And you typically expect large, fluffy branches, but the Wollemi’s branches are covered in thicker, flat needles that are in two rows parallel to each other along the sides of branches, which is really distinctive.”

Intense scientific investigation followed Noble’s discovery, including comparison to the fossil record, until it was agreed: This was the Wollemi pine—back from extinction.

The ongoing threat of extinction loomed large, though, because there were fewer than 100 trees in that canyon, whose location remains a closely guarded secret. So, in 2006, and in an unusual partnership between the National Geographic Society, the Floragem plant wholesalers, conservationists, botanists and scientists, 10-inch Wollemi pines were offered for sale in National Geographic’s holiday catalog.

Follow Wally and his friends in the greenhouse at @CUBoulderEBIOGreenhouse on Instagram.

“You are now the owner of a tree that is a survivor from the age of the dinosaurs, a miraculous time traveler and one of the greatest living fossils discovered in the twentieth century,” began the catalog description of the 10-inch saplings selling for $99.95.

That’s what caught Judy McKeever’s attention.

A tree named Wally

“My husband (Rod) does bonsai and loves his bonsai garden, so when I saw the advertisement for National Geographic selling these trees, and it was a love story about finding a dinosaur in an Australian canyon, I thought it would be the perfect addition to his collection,” recalls McKeever (A&S’76). “But he never got bonsaied or really trimmed at all, and just kind of grew out of control.”

The couple named him Wally because it sounds like Wollemi, and he lived in a sheltered, south-facing spot on their Boulder deck in the summer and under a grow light in their basement in the winter. Between seasons, they toted him up and down the stairs—and every year he was bigger.

CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donated Wally the Wollemi pine tree to the EBIO greenhouse in October.

“We didn’t really do anything special, just treated him like every other plant we have,” McKeever says. “He lived a sheltered little life, occasionally got fertilized, and he was very happy. We just let him do whatever he wanted to do; he’s an Australian free spirit.

“We just loved Wally, but he grew a few inches every year and with the soil and pot, he just got to be too heavy to take down to the basement every winter.”

In early autumn, McKeever began looking for places that might be interested in adopting Wally and found the EBIO greenhouse. There was an element of homecoming since both Judy and Rod are 1976 CU Boulder graduates (Rod in chemical engineering); Wally would be staying in the family.

“We are very happy to bring Wally into our collection,” Barberio says. “For the university to have a Wollemi pine is a really special privilege. It allows students to have an example of conservation efforts that are modern and recent in history and shows them that they have the opportunity to participate in these efforts as well.”

Plus, she adds, Wally is a great opportunity for public outreach: People can schedule time to visit him in the greenhouse and see science, conservation and worldwide partnerships at work. And students in future paleobotany classes will be able to see just how close scientists and artists got in visually rendering the Wollemi pine from fossil evidence.

“It’s surprisingly accurate how well they were able to reproduce (Wollemi pines) in theory,” Barberio says. “We have all of these animals and plants that are extinct, and having this living example is a really cool way to show how close we got it.”

A part in plant diversity

As for the care and feeding of Wally, who actually isn’t only male since pines produce both male and female cones, he likes acidic soil and bright but not direct light, given that he’s prone to sunburn. He likes regular watering and doesn’t like his soil to completely dry out, but he also dislikes “wet feet,” or for the bottom layer of soil to be damp.

Because his very few wild relatives live in a protected canyon, it may be implied that Wollemi pines prefer protection from rapid temperature changes, Barberio says, adding that so far, he’s shown no signs of producing cones.

“We would love to have Wally produce cones in the future,” she says, “and of course we would try to plant and grow them.”

Until that time, Wally the Wollemi pine will be a signature plant in the greenhouse collection and an example, Barberio says, “that we can play a part in maintaining the diversity of the plant world.”

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CU Boulder alumni Judy and Rod McKeever donate a tree once considered extinct to the EBIO greenhouse, giving students a living example of modern conservation.

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Migration no guarantee of bird biodiversity

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 24 Oct 2025 01:11:14 +0000

Migration no guarantee of bird biodiversity Rachel Sauer Thu, 10/23/2025 - 19:11

Cody DeBos

CU Boulder researchers challenge long-held assumptions about the relationship between bird migration and the process by which new species arise

Every year, billions of birds take to the skies, riding thermal currents and navigating with an innate sense of direction across distances that would humble even the most accomplished commercial pilots.

“Migration is one of the most spectacular natural phenomena,” says Gina Calabrese, an evolutionary biologist and postdoctoral research fellow in the Safran Lab at the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder.

Gina Calabrese, an evolutionary biologist and postdoctoral research fellow in the Safran Lab at CU Boulder, and her research colleagues, tested the theory that bird migration may be a leading force behind the genesis of new species.

Aside from inspiring awe in bird enthusiasts, this ancient ritual has also sparked many scientific theories. One suggests that migration—by way of dividing populations across different routes and destinations—may be a leading force behind the genesis of new species.

“The idea that this behavior could be a major driver of biodiversity has been an attractive one,” Calabrese says.

But does it hold up under evolutionary scrutiny? That’s what she and a team of co-researchers set out to test in a new study published in Systematic Biology.

Rethinking migration and diversity

Calabrese and her colleagues’ research challenges long-held assumptions about the relationship between migration and speciation, or the process by which new species arise. While scientists have documented cases where migratory behavior appears to be splitting populations, her team wanted to know whether this pattern was widespread enough to have shaped bird diversity at a large scale.

“There’s a body of literature that suggests migration could promote the formation of new species, by isolating populations that use different migratory routes or wintering areas,” she explains. “If this were a widespread pattern, we might expect migratory lineages to be more diverse today than other non-migrating birds.”

To test the hypothesis, Calabrese and her collaborators examined evolutionary trees called phylogenies that map out how present-day bird species are related to one another. Drawing from massive data sets of two avian superfamilies, they used statistical models to estimate how quickly different bird lineages have diversified over evolutionary time. They then compared the rates of speciation in migratory birds to those that make a home in one location year-round.

The results weren’t what they had expected.

“We found no consistent evidence that migratory birds speciate faster than non-migratory ones,” Calabrese says. “This was a surprise—especially given how much attention the idea of migration-driven speciation has received.

“There are clear examples where migration is leading to population splits—those are real,” she says. “But those examples are often recent, and they might not always result in fully separate species.”

In other words, migration might occasionally set the stage for speciation, but it’s no guarantee.

“Not every population split leaves a lasting imprint in the fossil record or leads to a new species,” Calabrese adds.

“We found no consistent evidence that migratory birds speciate faster than non-migratory ones. This was a surprise—especially given how much attention the idea of migration-driven speciation has received," says CU Boulder researcher Gina Calabrese. (Photo: Todd Trapani/Unsplash)

One reason for this, she suggests, is that many observed migratory divides are evolutionarily young. These populations may just be starting to diverge, and many might merge again over time. Others may remain distinct but not reproductively isolated.

If the goal is to understand how biodiversity has accumulated over millions of years, a short-term snapshot—whether looking at bird lineages today or thousands of years ago—may not tell the full story.

“This is a good example of how something can be true in some cases but not necessarily explain large-scale patterns,” Calabrese says.

Following evidence, not expectations

Calabrese’s recent work is also a case study in scientific humility. When she and her colleagues first set out to test the migration-speciation connection, they weren’t looking to debunk anything. However, when the results started pointing in a different direction than their hypothesis, they remained committed to following the data.

“I think it’s important that we test assumptions—even appealing ones—with data,” Calabrese says.

The process also gave her a new perspective on how the scientific method plays out in real-world applications.

“I was a little anxious at first, until I kind of really felt like I had a handle on what my results were and felt confident in them. And then at that point, your job is just to tell the story of what your data show,” she adds.

While this study might have raised more questions than it answered, that’s part of what keeps Calabrese curious and driven to study the incredible phenomenon that is migration.

“It’s a little disappointing because you want to believe that what you’re studying today is explaining the answers to your bigger questions,” she says. “But it’s also cool because our findings mean that there’s still a lot to understand about how we get the diversity we see today and there’s still some mystery out there to solve, which is cool to me.”

CU Boulder Professor Rebecca Safran contributed to this research, as did Kira Delmore, Jochen Wolf and Daniel Rabosky.

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CU Boulder researchers challenge long-held assumptions about the relationship between bird migration and the process by which new species arise.

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Science inherits the wind of century-old verdict

Clint Talbott — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 04:28:59 +0000

Science inherits the wind of century-old verdict Clint Talbott Tue, 07/15/2025 - 22:28

Clint Talbott

On the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes Evolution Trial, CU Boulder scientist reflects on science education and on ‘same issues, different players’

Andrew Martin first became interested in biology as a child growing up in the Sonoran Desert, which is in southern California and western Arizona. He was captivated by living things like butterflies: “They don’t weigh anything. They have these beautiful wings, and they fly off and visit flowers, and it’s just amazing.”

Professor Andrew Martin

Martin was about 6 or 7 years old then, and he collected every live thing he could find and took it home. “I turned my room into a museum of living organisms, and half the time the things would escape somewhere in the house.”

For a long time, Martin notes, he was “totally hooked on biology” and was “always asking the question of ultimate causation without really realizing it.” It wasn’t until college that he realized the scientific answer to that question was evolution.

“Evolution as a coherent explanation of the diversity of biology structure and function was not on the syllabus until I got to college,” Martin says.

Today, Martin is a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology at the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder. Recently, he discussed the teaching of evolution on the occasion of the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes trial, a landmark case in 1925 in which a substitute high school biology teacher was found guilty of teaching evolution, then a crime under Tennessee law.

That trial, which was immortalized in Inherit the Wind, a play (and, later, movie), is a parable about the conflict between religion and science, social conformity and intellectual freedom, intuition and reason.

Teaching evolution was legal when Martin went to school, but state legislatures could criminalize the teaching of evolution until 1968, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that an Arkansas law banning the teaching of evolution violated the First Amendment’s establishment clause, which established a separation of church and state.

For Martin, learning evolution for the first time in college was not only exciting, but it also helped him understand how life came to exist. “I had been looking for those answers for a long time. I didn’t really understand the process of mutation and sexual recombination during reproduction,” he says.

His reaction was, “This is amazing.”

The Scopes trial is an indication that evolution was not an acceptable topic for education. My grandparents likely did not learn about it, and their children, my parents, who were born in the decade after the Scopes trial, also likely did not learn about it except in very general ways.

Then, all the biological diversity he’d seen as a child made sense. “And the common-ancestry piece blew my mind. We [all life on Earth] were all basically different combinations of the same set of parts.”

Martin didn’t begin college focused on a particular career. “I was just following my passion for knowledge, and I ended up here,” he says. “If anything, I was much more a product of evolution of my own self than a plan, a directed deterministic plan to arrive at a place. I’m not sure every evolutionary biologist has that trajectory, but I certainly did.”

Martin seldom thinks about the Scopes trial, but he believes something like it could play out today in a similar way. As was the case a century ago, there is conflict between belief systems and scientific knowledge.

When he does reflect on the Scopes trial, he says, “It’s the same issues, different players, still playing out today.”

First, he notes, when the issue of ultimate causation comes up in biology courses, students are sometimes unprepared to explore and understand it. Evolution is “a result of a really large and complex emergent process that leads to different outcomes in different places, and if we ran the tape again it would be a completely different show. So, there’s the inability to grapple with emergent processes, for everyday thinking about what evolution is.”

Second, a lot of people believe in various forms of the supernatural, a world beyond the ability of science to detect, Martin says, noting that only about a third of Americans think about biology as scientists do—namely that evolution is a natural, emergent process and not a direct process.

“Every time I go into class, I know that there’s a whole bunch of people in there who will have difficulty trying to get their head around how evolution happens and what it really means.”

Scientific education, particularly at the K-12 level, bears some responsibility for this, Martin suggests. “Science curriculum, especially in biology, is consumed with content, when it should be focused on process.”

Martin also notes that popular conceptions of evolutionary biology are lacking. Specifically, that many people think of evolution as a good process that inevitably leads to the improvement of species, “that mutation is always advantageous, that things get better and that that’s the reason everything is here.”

When he asks students to draw a picture of evolution, Martin notes, most will draw a picture of a single cell transitioning into a more complex organism and portray the ultimate result as a human.

“Everybody sees the world through their own perspective, and it’s hard for them to escape it. They have a coherent narrative that allows them to explain their own existence as an individual that is often unconnected to other organisms and histories.”

Additionally, Martin says, there could be lingering effects of scientific illiteracy resulting from the Scopes verdict, which effectively allowed states to ban the teaching of evolution.

“The Scopes trial is an indication that evolution was not an acceptable topic for education. My grandparents likely did not learn about it, and their children, my parents, who were born in the decade after the Scopes trial, also likely did not learn about it except in very general ways: like there were adaptations and a fossil record showing life on Earth has been in place for millions of years. I don’t remember ever talking about evolution in my house when I was growing up,” he says.

Also, to the extent that evolution and religious belief might compete for space in people’s minds, religious traditions have an advantage: “If there’s a conflict between those two with how people see themselves in the world, then it’s usually the case that religion wins.”

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On the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes evolution trial, CU Boulder scientist reflects on science education and on ‘same issues, different players.’

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The anti-evolution league at the Scopes trial in 1925.

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The anti-evolution league at the Scopes trial in 1925.

Alum’s resumé: veterinarian, reality TV star, stand-up comic

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 09 Jun 2025 17:15:10 +0000

Alum’s resumé: veterinarian, reality TV star, stand-up comic Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/09/2025 - 11:15

Bradley Worrell

As he muses about conservation, 1970s Boulder and how Keith Richards prompted him to finish his college career, Kevin Fitzgerald still has his sights on crafting the perfect joke

Did you hear the one about the veterinarian who is also a stand-up comedian?

It’s no joke.

It’s the very real-life story of �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder alum Kevin Fitzgerald, who is a staple of the Denver comedy scene and who has opened for such nationally recognized acts as Joan Rivers, George Lopez, Jeff Foxworthy and Saturday Night Live alums Kevin Nealon and Norm Macdonald.

CU Boulder alumnus Kevin Fitzgerald (right) with the late Norm Macdonald (left), for whom Fitzgerald opened. (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Meanwhile, Fitzgerald has spent the past four decades working as a Denver veterinarian who specializes in treating exotic animals and has become something of a celebrity as one of the featured vets on Animal Planet’s popular TV series “Emergency Vets.”

Fitzgerald is also a wildlife conservationist—and with the recent publication of his autobiography It Started with a Turtle—he adds “published author” to his growing list of job titles.

The Denver native enjoys talking about his experiences as a comedian and a veterinarian, but most of all he enjoys reminiscing about his time at CU Boulder, where he earned his undergraduate, master’s and PhD degrees. He says the lessons he learned in the classrooms—and in the local music venues where he worked security—shaped him into the man he is today.

“Boulder is a magical place,” he says. “Boulder has a different feel than other college towns—and the campus is absolutely beautiful. I first visited when I was in high school and I decided then and there that it was the place for me.”

Raised in a working class home, Fitzgerald says receiving a scholarship for being on the swim team made it possible for him to be able to attend college starting in 1969.

For his undergraduate degree, Fitzgerald majored in biology, and he credits biology Professor Dick Jones; Professor Hobart Smith, then chairman of the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology; Professor David Chiszar, who was an internationally renowned herpetologist known for his work with rattlesnakes; and history Professor Charles “Chuck” Middleton, whom Fitzgerald says made history come alive, with being mentors.

“Even back then, CU Boulder was known as a party school, but if you wanted to, you could get a great education there,” he says. “They didn’t so much teach you as inspire you. I had wonderful mentors who wanted me to succeed.”

Fitzgerald says his initial plan upon entering college was to get his bachelor’s degree from CU Boulder and then attend Colorado State �Թ�� to receive a veterinary degree. However, there was a waiting list to get into the CSU veterinarian program at the time, so Fitzgerald says Jones convinced him to continue pursuing his education at CU Boulder by obtaining his master’s and PhD degrees, which he did.

“I’m still reaping the benefits of that wonderful education every day,” he says.

Working security for a hamburger and $1.35 an hour

To earn extra money for school, not long after arriving on the Boulder campus Fitzgerald took a job working for Chuck Morris (the future CEO/president of national concert promoter AEG Live), who hosted concerts at local music venues including Tulagi and The Sink.

“There were so many great venues in Boulder at the time,” Fitzgerald recalls. “There was Tulagi, the Blue Note, The Olympic, Shannon’s, the Good Earth and J.J. McCabes. The music venues were legendary—and they hosted a lot of great bands before they became famous. Not just rock bands, but soul bands and country bands, so there was something for everyone. There was just so much great music.”

Kevin Fitzgerald has been a staple of the Denver comedy scene for many years. (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Fitzgerald’s job working as a bouncer for local music venues led to jobs working security for concert promoters Bill Graham and Barry Fey, who produced nationwide shows featuring musical acts including The Grateful Dead, Willie Nelson, The Eagles, The Who, Jethro Tull and The Rolling Stones.

Years later, Fitzgerald still recalls Fey’s simple job pitch: “I’m going to pay you a buck-thirty-five an hour and give you a hamburger every shift and you’re going to meet more girls than Frank Sinatra.”

Fitzgerald says he has many fond memories of those times and particularly of the bands who performed—especially The Rolling Stones, who he says never forgot their roots and gave selflessly for some special fans.

“Back in the day, before handicapped seating was widely made available, people in wheelchairs didn’t get good seats at concerts and they were stigmatized by making them all sit together. It was awful,” he recalls. “So, before every show The Rolling Stones did, Mick Jagger would ask me: ‘How many (handicapped) chairs are there, and in which section, Kevin?’

“‘I’d say, ‘23 chairs and they’re in section three.’

“Jagger would grab 23 cassette tapes and 23 concert T-shirts. He’d put a towel over his head or put a hoodie up and he’d personally go to the wheelchair section and hand out a cassette tape and a T-shirt to each person. He’d say, ‘Thanks a million for coming; we couldn’t do it without you,’” Fitzgerald recalls. “He didn’t do it as a photo op; he specifically kept himself covered up so the rest of the concertgoers wouldn’t know what he was up to.

“People can say whatever they want about The Rolling Stones, about Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, but they didn’t forget where they came from,” he adds. “And Mick would always say, ‘We’re blessed. You know, Kevin, we can’t forget how lucky we are.’ That really made an impression on me.”

What’s more, Fitzgerald credits Richards with prompting him to go back to college to get his veterinary degree.

“I remember we were in Philadelphia for a show, with more tour dates coming up, and I was unsure what I should be doing with my life. I was talking about it with my boss, Jimmy Callahan, who was the head bouncer, and he said, ‘Why don’t you ask Keith?’

“I knew Keith, so I asked him: ‘Should I stick with you guys, or should I go back to school?’

“And Keith said, ‘Oh, no, go back to school. Do you really want to be a bouncer at (age) 50?’

“When Keith Richards says something, he’s the coolest cat in the world. So, I got on a plane and I came back to Denver,” Fitzgerald says. “My brother picked me up at the airport, and I said, ‘Keith told me to get a grip on my life and go back to school.’ And my brother said, ‘Well, when Keith says something, you better do it.’ So, I applied to veterinarian school again and I got in.”

Becoming a vet … and a reality TV star

Kevin Fitzgerald has been a veterinarian in Denver for the past four decades and is one of the featured vets on Animal Planet’s popular TV series “Emergency Vets.” (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Fitzgerald obtained his degree in veterinarian medicine from CSU in 1983. He later took a job with the Alameda East Veterinary Hospital in Denver, where he has been working for the past 40 years.

“Veterinary medicine is a harsh mistress. It asks a lot of us (vets), but it’s very rewarding,” he says. “It’s been a wonderful career for me. To be successful, you have to love animals, but you also have to love people.

“Sometimes people would tell me, ‘My daughter would be a great veterinarian. She hates people but she’s great with animals.’ And I would always say, ‘No, no, no. People have to trust you when they bring their animal to you, so it’s important that you are able to connect with them.’”

Fitzgerald’s role at the Denver animal hospital became much more widely recognized starting in 1998, with the launch of the Animal Planet’s TV show Emergency Vets. At the time, the TV series ER was hugely popular, and the producer believed a reality show about veterinarians treating all types of animals would appeal to Animal Planet viewers, Fitzgerald says. That proved to be the case, as the show and its successor, E-Vet Interns, ran for a combined 11 seasons, and were two of the network’s top-rated shows.

“For me, it was just too weird to watch myself on TV, but it was quite an experience,” Fitzgerald says. “People started recognizing me from the show. Once, I was at the Denver airport and this young kid was staring at me. Finally, he said, ‘You look like that guy from the TV show on Animal Planet.’

“I said, ‘I am that guy,’ and the kid says, ‘Yeah, you wish,’” Fitzgerald says with a laugh.

He says his work as a veterinarian led naturally to his conservancy work. He has served on the Denver Zoo’s board of directors since 2009 and has been involved in several projects, including the creation of a huge nature conservancy in Mongolia.

“There’s 10 million other forms of life on this planet besides us, and we were given this wonderful biodiversity. Those animals are waiting for us to use our intellect to save this place,” he says. “We’re borrowing this planet from our grandchildren, so we have to win this one, because we’re given just this one planet. Realizing that, that’s how I went from veterinary medicine to conservation.”

‘Like being shot out of canon’

While being a veterinarian, an Animal Planet reality TV star and conservationist might seem to all naturally fit together, Fitzgerald acknowledges becoming a stand-up comedian is a less obvious choice to add to the mix. He says he was inspired to do so in part by watching comedians perform as the opening act for bands where he provided security and by seeing one of his friends perform.

“I started doing stand-up in 1986. At the time, a friend of mine was doing comedy, and he didn’t seem that funny to me, but he was getting paid to do it. I told myself, ‘I can at least be as bad as that guy,’” he says with a laugh.

The appeal for doing stand-up comes partly from the enjoyment of making people laugh and partly from the exhilaration of being on a stage, Fitzgerald says, explaining, “The feeling is like being shot out of a cannon.”

It took some trial and error in the beginning, Fitzgerald admits, before he developed his own comedic timing. The strategy he settled on involved trying to tell as many jokes as he could in rapid-fire succession at the start and telling jokes that would appeal to the broadest audience demographic.

“My job is to tell jokes that make everyone laugh—the old guy and the young guy, the black guy and the white guy, the man and the woman sitting next to him,” he says. “I don’t think it works to say, ‘This is a young person’s joke; you wouldn’t understand.’ The best jokes touch everyone.”

Fitzgerald’s brand of comedy was on full display during a recent Sunday evening show at a south Denver comedy club, where he was zinging his audience with one-liners about being an old guy:

“Our lives are short, but they are beautiful. My whole life, whatever I’ve done, has been small and beautiful. The fate of the Western world doesn’t hang on the balance of what I do in the exam rooms with people and their animals, but I try to make my little side of the street better as a veterinarian and also with my conservation efforts.”

“I’m so old my kindergarten had a smoking section.”
“I’m so old I can remember Preparation A.”
“I’m so old that I can run for president in a few years.”

Bathed under white stage lights, Fitzgerald’s flowing white hair gave credence to his position as a veteran of standup comedy, but those jokes about his age (he’s 73) were just a warm-up to a set that ran more than an hour long, and which also included several humorous stories about being a veterinarian and a reality TV star and concluded with a reading from his new book talking about the importance of being kind to animals and people.

Sharing life lessons in print

Fitzgerald says he’s accumulated so many stories and bits of wisdom over the years that he wanted to share with people in a book, but he says that his active veterinary practice and many civic and social commitments made that difficult to do. That changed, however, once COVID-19 pandemic brought much of the world to a yearlong standstill.

“It seemed like the perfect time to get my thoughts down on paper,” he says, adding, “We only have so many days, so we have to make them count.

“Our lives are short, but they are beautiful. My whole life, whatever I’ve done, has been small and beautiful. The fate of the Western world doesn’t hang on the balance of what I do in the exam rooms with people and their animals, but I try to make my little side of the street better as a veterinarian and also with my conservation efforts.

“And I’m not done yet,” he adds. “I still think I’m going to write the perfect joke. I’m 73 and I’m still going to see my pet patients every workday. I can’t bounce anymore, but I still love listening to music.”

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As he muses about conservation, 1970s Boulder and how Keith Richards prompted him to finish his college career, Kevin Fitzgerald still has his sights on crafting the perfect joke.

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Tree rings offer clues to small-population growth

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 05 Jun 2025 15:54:21 +0000

Tree rings offer clues to small-population growth Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/05/2025 - 09:54

Daniel Long

In a recently published paper, PhD student Ellen Waddle and her coauthors provide some clarity on a decades-old problem

When researching what drives the growth of small populations, ecologists consider several factors, says Ellen Waddle, a PhD student in the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder’s Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology.

“There’s climate. There’s density, which can be thought of as both the total number of individuals in a population or how crowded or spread out individuals are. And then there’s stochasticity, which is this big word that just means variance” or random chance.

CU Boulder scientists Ellen Waddle (left), a PhD student in ecology and evolutionary biology, and Dan Doak (right), a professor of environmental studies, and their research colleagues found "that climate data alone did a pretty poor job of predicting population growth (in small tree populations)."

But whether any of these drivers matters more than the others is a question that has challenged researchers since at least the 1950s, and one that Waddle and her coauthors Mark R. Lesser, Christopher Steenbock and Dan Doak take up in a paper recently published in Ecology and Evolution.

Time and perspective

Researchers have tended to fall into opposing camps with this question, Waddle explains.

“There’s a lot of people that think if we can perfectly predict what the climate’s going to be in an area, we’re going to be able to perfectly predict how that population is going to grow through time. And then you have another set of ecologists that argue, well, it also really matters how many individuals you have in the population.”

Yet in their paper, Waddle and her coauthors come to a less divisive conclusion. By analyzing the rings of two long-lived tree species, Ponderosa pine and limber pine, “we found that climate data alone did a pretty poor job of predicting population growth. We needed to include other drivers (in our predictive models), like competitive density effects and stochasticity, to accurately reconstruct population dynamics over time.”

This means that no individual driver proved more influential than the others. They all mattered.

Which was somewhat surprising, Waddle says, considering the long timescale she and her colleagues were dealing with—many hundreds of years. (The oldest tree they sampled dates back to 1470, half a century before Queen Elizabeth I was born.)

“We're averaging over such a long timeframe that you might be tempted to think that random fluctuations and stochasticity are less important, but this sort of study highlights that that's not always true. There's a lot of uncertainty in how long it's going to take small populations to grow.”

“The most important aspect of our work, to my mind,” adds Doak, professor of environmental studies at CU Boulder and head of the Doak Lab, “is showing that simplifying assumptions we often make about population growth don’t seem to hold up.”

‘The entire history of a tree’s life’

Tree rings, says Waddle, are a gold standard for measuring a tree’s history, one with which most people are familiar. The center, or pith, signifies when the tree established, or secured its roots and became capable of growing on its own, and each concentric ring around it represents a year of growth.

CU Boulder researchers studied small populations of Ponderosa pine (seen here) and limber pine to better understand how drivers such as climate data and competitive density affect growth. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

But for their study, Waddle and her coauthors used tree rings—in the form of tree cores, or centimeter-wide rods extracted from living tree trunks—a little differently.

“What we did, which has not been done often, was to core every single tree in the population,” says Waddle, which enabled her and her coauthors to get a clearer picture of how tree populations changed over time than they would have gotten coring only a handful of trees.

“Another way to put it: The tree core data basically allows us to reconstruct annual censuses of population from start (1400s-1500s) through present day because we can know exactly how many individuals were alive in each year and when each individual first established.”

The tree-core samples themselves came from Bighorn Basin, a mountain-encircled plateau region in north-central Wyoming about 500 miles from Boulder. Waddle collected some of the tree cores herself in 2017, while an undergrad at CU, for what turned out to be her first camping experience.

Yet the bulk of the core samples owe their existence to Lesser and Steenbock. Lesser alone cored around 1,100 Ponderosa pines between 2007 and 2008, in hot, sometimes tense conditions.

“We (Lesser and an undergraduate field technician) would start hiking to the first trees of the day typically around 5 a.m. to avoid the worst of the heat,” Lesser recalls. “Trekking up dry streambeds to reach the trees we would encounter multiple rattlesnakes each morning and on one occasion a mountain lion that set us on edge for the rest of the day! Many days we would core fewer than 20 trees due to the low density of the population and the ruggedness of the terrain—getting from one tree to the next often took an hour or more negotiating cliff faces, ravines and steep slopes.”

But the effort, he says, was worth it.

“Coring the trees itself was an incredibly rewarding experience—sizing up the tree to get a sense of its shape and where the pith was and then extracting the entire history of its life!”

Pick a species, any species

This research on small-population growth is no small matter, says Doak, “because all populations start small,” and “understanding what controls the growth of new populations has a new urgency as we try to predict whether wild species can shift their ranges to keep up with climate change.”

“Pick some species you care about,” says Waddle, who is currently writing her dissertation on how mountain terrain affects plant species’ ability to follow their preferred climate. “What I care about might be different than what someone else cares about, but there’s probably a species that matters to you, whether it’s a food species or your favorite animal.

“If we want to help keep those populations on the landscape, we need to know how small populations grow and how they persist.”

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In a recently published paper, PhD student Ellen Waddle and her coauthors provide some clarity on a decades-old problem.

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You said a moth-ful

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Jun 2025 16:09:34 +0000

You said a moth-ful Rachel Sauer Wed, 06/04/2025 - 10:09

Ryan St Laurent

It’s miller moth season in Colorado—an entomologist explains why they’re important and where they’re headed

It is spring on the Front Range of Colorado, which means before long the region will receive an influx of many, many moths.

Colorado is home to thousands of species of moths, many of which are hatching out from a winter of hibernation, known as diapause.

At night, porch lights, stadium lights and street lamps are regularly visited by moths, a collective term for most of the nocturnal members of the insect order called Lepidoptera. Butterflies are also part of this order, but they are mostly diurnal, or active during the day. Butterflies are actually just a subset of moths, so all butterflies are moths, but not all moths are butterflies.

Ryan St Laurent is a CU Boulder assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology and CU Museum curator of entomology.

The Front Range lies on the path of a springtime migration of a particularly familiar species of moth, usually referred to in this part of the country, including Colorado and neighboring states, as “miller moths.” Miller moth caterpillars are often called the “army cutworm,” a whimsical name referring to the caterpillars’ tendency to reach large numbers that march across fields and roads to find food. Both the moths and their caterpillars are rather drab and brown in color, though the moths are variable in patterning.

Many people find miller moths to be a nuisance, and the caterpillars can be a pest. But miller moths are a native species to Colorado and play important roles across the plains and up into the high country.

I am an assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology as well as the curator of the entomology collection at the �Թ�� of Colorado’s Natural History Museum in Boulder. I study moths from around the world. I have a particular fascination for the large moth group known as Noctuoidea, the superfamily to which miller moths and their relatives belong.

As an entomologist, I crisscross the state looking for moths for my ongoing evolutionary, classification and life history studies. During miller moth migrations, they may swarm my moth traps, which are made up of a bright light in front of a white sheet. The crush of miller moths makes finding the less common species that I am looking for all the more challenging in a sea of dusty brown.

What makes miller moths so unique?

In temperate regions like most of North America, most moth species hibernate in the cold winter months. During this time, they are in a dormant pupal stage. Some species spin cocoons. They then hatch into adult moths, mate, lay eggs, and those caterpillars grow during the spring and summer. Come fall, the cycle starts over.

While miller moths also have a hibernation period, it is not like that of most moths. Miller moths instead spend their winters on the plains of eastern Colorado, Wyoming, Kansas, Nebraska and nearby states as partially grown caterpillars, rather than a pupa, having gotten a head start on feeding in the late summer. This puts the caterpillars at an advantage. As soon as the weather warms and low-lying crops like wheat and alfalfa produce new, nutrient-rich foliage during the early spring, the caterpillars are right there ready to feast and may cause serious damage to the crops in outbreak years.

Pupation then occurs later in the spring, and unlike in most Lepidoptera, the adult moths hatch without an extended pupal diapause, and instead begin to migrate west. They travel more than 100 miles (roughly 160 kilometers) toward higher elevations to seek out flowering plants, feeding on nectar and pollinating as they go.

To spot and trap moths, entomologists set up bright lights in front of a white background. (Photo: Ryan St Laurent)

This migration is where folks on the Front Range become all too familiar with these weary travelers, who seek out narrow spaces to rest, often crawling into gaps in cars and homes. Inside a home, miller moths don’t feed, reproduce or lay eggs. Sudden agitation of the resting moths may cause them to fly about to seek out a new spot to hide – that is, if your house cat doesn’t see them first. If they do make their way inside, they can be easily swept into a cup or jar and let outside.

People on the Front Range experience a second run-in with these moths after they finish their summer of feeding in the mountains and head back to the plains to lay their eggs in the fields from August to September.

The call of the night

The importance of pollinators is familiar to many Coloradans. The state offers many resources and groups to help create spaces to attract butterflies and bees, including an initiative that designated Interstate Highway 76 as the “Colorado Pollinator Highway.”

But pollination does not stop when the sun goes down. In fact, moths make up the largest percentage of pollinators in terms of number of species globally – more than bees and butterflies combined. But scientists have yet to figure out which plants miller moths pollinate.

Despite the importance of moths as pollinators to agriculture and ecology, by comparison to bees, for example, we know exceedingly little about nocturnal pollinators. Of the thousands of moth species in Colorado, many hundreds remain unknown to science. One of the reasons scientists study moths is to literally shed a light on these insects in the environment to see what they are doing.

My work aims to understand what certain moths eat in their caterpillar stage, but other researchers, and my colleague Dr. Julian Resasco, at the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder, study what plants the adults are feeding on as they pollinate.

Colorado moths

Moths are among the primary airborne insects at night, playing a significant, and perhaps leading, role in insect-feeding bat diets. During their migration to the mountains, there are so many miller moths that they are a substantial protein- and fat-rich meal for animals as large as bears.

Considering that we still know so little about moths, it’s important to realize that light pollution, habitat loss and agricultural chemicals are all impacting moth numbers, resulting in annual declines in these insects globally.

So, the next time you see a miller moth in Colorado, or any moth at a light anywhere on Earth, remember that it’s working the night shift. Turn out that light so it can go about its way.

Ryan St Laurent is an assistant professor of ecology and evolutionary biology and CU Museum curator of entomology the at the �Թ�� of Colorado Boulder.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

It’s miller moth season in Colorado—an entomologist explains why they’re important and where they’re headed.

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