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In my previous post, I went down a deep rabbit hole by exploring reports of raining fish and frogs. That really does happen (though always with a plausible scientific explanation). But what about when people say it’s raining cats and dogs? Where did that come from? Has it ever actually rained cats and dogs? Almost certainly not, but I still find the saying to be interesting. The first recorded use of the phrase was in 1651, in a poetry collection by British poet Henry Vaughan. A year after that, the British playwright Richard Brome included this line in one of his comic plays: “It shall rain dogs and polecats.” The phrase didn’t become popular, though, until 1738, when Jonathan Swift wrote a satire in which one of his characters feared it would “rain cats and dogs.” But this doesn’t really explain why this particular phrase became popular. Why specifically cats and dogs? One hypothesis comes from etymologists—people who study the origins of words. The Norse god of storms, Odin, was often depicted alongside dogs and wolves, which at that time were symbols for wind. Also, witches were thought to ride their broomsticks during storms, and they were often depicted with black cats. The black cats therefore became signs of approaching rain for sailors. So, “raining cats and dogs” may have been a way to refer to a storm with wind (dogs) and heavy rain (cats). In my opinion, though, a more likely origin of the phrase might be indicated by something else that Jonathan Swift wrote. In 1710, he wrote a poem called “City Shower.” Many cities had poor drainage in those days, and the poem describes the flooding that would occur after heavy rains, and how the flooding left dead animals in the streets. So, I’m going with the explanation that these dead animals led people to describe the storm as “raining cats and dogs.” Okay, I'm now satisfied I have fully explored the weird notion of animals raining from the heavens. I shall pontificate on this matter no further.  Image credit: Midjourney 6.1
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I went down a rabbit hole with this one, so bear with me... it'll be worth the time it takes to read it. All the way back to ancient civilizations, people have reported seeing frogs and fish rain from the sky. And other animals, like rats, iguanas, bats, and spiders. I’ve always wanted to know why people would make such an obviously outrageous claim. I mean, even if I saw it happening, I would think twice about going around telling people what I saw. They would think I was crazy. So, why have people made these claims throughout history? One explanation, at least with frogs, is that, after emerging from their houses after a heavy storm and seeing frogs everywhere, people made the assumption the frogs fell from the sky during the storm. The 1999 movie Magnolia (considered by many to be a cinematic masterpiece) has a famous—and rather graphic—scene where thousands of large frogs fall from the sky. To most viewers, it was confusing, but the movie critics claimed it was the perfect ending. Go figure. Anyway, the movie was obviously fiction. Here are some things we know for real. Ernest Agee from Purdue University said, “A tornadic waterspout is merely a tornado that forms over land and travels over the water. I’ve seen small ponds literally emptied of their water by a passing tornado. So, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for frogs (or other living things) to ‘rain’ from the skies.” So, waterspouts are likely to be the source of some of the reports of such things. In 1873, it actually rained frogs in Kansas City, and a Scientific American article concluded it was likely due to a tornado. In 1882, in Dubuque, Iowa, there was a frog hail storm, in which frozen frogs fell from the sky during a storm. Scientists concluded a powerful updraft must have carried frogs high into the atmosphere, where they turned into frogcicles and eventually fell onto the heads of puzzled Dubuque residents. In 1947, a biologist from the Louisiana Department of Wildlife was eating at a restaurant in Marksville, Louisiana. A waitress came up to him and said fish were falling from the sky. Later, he wrote: “There were spots on Main Street, in the vicinity of the bank, averaging one fish per square yard. Automobiles and trucks were running over them. Fish also fell on the roofs of houses… I personally collected from Main Street and several yards on Monroe Street, a large jar of perfect specimens and preserved them in formalin, in order to distribute them among various museums.” Keep in mind this was actually a biologist saying this. In 2005, thousands of frogs rained on a small town in northwestern Serbia. Almost laughably, a local climatologist, named Slavisa Ignjatovic, described the phenomenon as “not very unusual.” Why? Because, as he explained, the strong winds that accompanied the storm could have easily picked up the frogs. In 2010, the people of the small Australian town of Lajamanu witnessed hundreds of spangled perch falling from the sky. Christine Balmer, who was walking home when the rain and fish started falling, said, “These fish fell in their hundreds and hundreds all over the place. The locals were running around everywhere to pick them up.” In June of 2022, in San Francisco, anchovies rained from above. In this case, the weather was clear, and the falling fish appeared to have been chewed on. Scientists concluded this phenomenon was a result of an unusually productive year for the anchovy population, and sea birds were catching them and accidentally dropping some while flying. A similar incident happened in Texarkana, Texas in 2021, but in this case a large flock of cormorants were disgorging their recent meal of shad while flying. The yacked-up shad were on the ground over an area of nine square miles. So, there we have it. It does occasionally rain frogs and fish, and we have reasonable scientific explanations for almost every event. Below is a woodcut from a book titled Prodigiorum ac Ostentorum Chronicon, published in 1557, one of the first books specifically about strange phenomena. The woodcut depicts a reported raining of frogs that took place in Scandanavia.  Many of the leaves have fallen now, but a few weeks ago, when Trish and I were sitting on our deck, I was staring at the leaves at the top of a nearby oak tree. Then I stared at the leaves at the bottom, then again I stared at the top. This is when I had an epiphany—in the category of Stan-discovers-something-all-true-botanists-probably-already-know. What did I discover? The leaves at the top of the tree are skinnier (less surface area) than those at the bottom of the tree. The difference is striking. So, I took two photos of leaves on the same tree. This first photo is leaves at the top.  And this second photos is leaves at the bottom of the same tree:  See what I mean? What's up with that?
Well, although I was proud of myself for making this acute observation, this was already a well-known phenomenon. There are several reasons the top leaves of tall plants have less surface area than the bottom leaves. The leaves at the top are in direct sunlight, whereas those at the bottom are shaded by the upper leaves. With smaller leaves at the top, more sunshine can get to the leaves at the bottom. And the larger leaves at the bottom can grab more of the light filtering through the top leaves. It's an equity issue, you see. The lower leaves can do their share of photosynthesis this way. There's another reason too. The top leaves are exposed to more direct sun and more wind, so they evaporate away more water. By having less surface area, they lose less of the precious water the tree needs to survive. At the bottom of the tree, the leaves are shaded, there is less wind, and the air is more humid. So, those leaves can be larger without evaporating away too much water. These kinds of adaptations always fascinate me, even if I'm late to the party. Several day ago, I was hiking in the forest near our property and I came upon this old fallen branch covered in what looked like ants... but many of them had wings and were flying away as more continued emerging from inside the dead branch. What's up with that? Well, with some types of ants (as well as termites), the queen produces winged offspring at certain times of the year, and the winged individuals emerge and take off all at once, often thousands at a time. The question is, are these ants or termites? Let's start with a bit of background information. Both ants and termites have what is called their annual nuptial flight. Basically, this is when some of the ants (or termites) take off flying to find a mate. Ants and termites live in colonies, with a queen and a large army of non-reproductive female workers. During most of the season, the non-flying, non-reproductive female workers forage for food to feed themselves and the numerous larvae produced by the queen. This part of the year is for growing the colony. However, at certain times of the season, the queen changes her job. She stops laying eggs that hatch more non-reproductive female workers, and she starts laying eggs that hatch females that could become queens, as well as males that could mate with these females. These potential queens, and the males that could mate with them, have wings. They all emerge from the colony at once and take to the air, swarming about and mating (yes, they mate while swarming in the air... the little multitaskers). Once a winged female mates with a winged male, the male loses its wings and dies (bummer), and the female goes off to become the queen of her own new colony (yay for the queen!). As it turns out, the insects in the photo are ants. How do you tell if they are ants or termites? The easiest way is the body shape and the wing length. Zooming in on the photo, I could see a distinct constriction behind the head (a narrow neck). And with some of the winged individuals, you can see how the second pair of wings are shorter.   |
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