Rowan Hooper, news editor
I REMEMBER as a kid exploring a near-derelict building
on a bit of land behind a row of shops and finding a bird's nest on a
dusty shelf, complete with squawking, alien-like chicks. I still
remember the thrill of feeling I'd stumbled across a secret - but there
was also an odd sense of intrusion, like I'd walked in on my mother
getting dressed.
Perhaps one of the reasons that seeing
a bird's nest is such an intimate experience is that it is a peek into
their genes. Just as geneticists can talk about the genes that
contribute to eye colour, or height, for example, they can also imagine
genes that influence things further afield, outside the immediate
structure of the organism, like a spider's web or a bird's nest. This is
the idea of the extended phenotype, as conceived by evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins. Bowerbirds, for example, probably have genes for selecting coloured items to decorate their elaborate bowers.
Seeing a bird's nest gives you an idea about their genes, as well as
their environment, in a similar way to how seeing someone's house gives
you an idea about their social background. So the nest of this house finch (top picture), collected in Arizona in 1965, tells us that it used garbage to construct a home rather than natural materials.
http://www.newscientist.com/
The nest of a house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) (Image: Sharon Beals)
Both emotions are provoked by Sharon Beals's
beautiful images of birds' nests. "When I hold these fragile structures
in my gloved hands, all built with beak and claw, it makes me wonder at
the instincts that formed them, embedded in DNA honed over millions of
years," she says. Beals, who lives in San Francisco, photographed the
nests from collections in museums around the US.
The nest of a western tanager (Piranga ludoviciana) (Image: Sharon Beals)
http://www.newscientist.com/
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