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the pinhole of light shining through the entrance, the whole house
would be completely dark. To get from room to room, we’d have
to smell our way with our antennae. Our rooms would have
domed ceilings, tall enough for a couple of us to stand on top of
each other. Because we’d have clingy feet, we could even walk
on the ceiling!
We might have a few hundred sisters—sometimes up to 10,000
living with us—so every now and again, we’d bump into one of
our sisters and give her a friendly tap with our antennae. If she
seemed hungry, we might spit a bit of food for her to eat. If she
seemed dirty, we’d help clean her with our mouths and antennae.
It might take us a long time to get all the way to the bottom.
Remember, our nests are at least the human equivalent of a mile.
Our older sisters live in the upstairs rooms, and our younger
sisters live with our mothers deep down. Our queen mothers
wander around the bottom of our nest in the dark laying their
eggs. Our younger sisters help feed the babies and keep them
clean while our older sisters gather food for us.
Life Underground
If we were winter ants, we would not be able to hear well, and
anyway, it’s quiet so far underground. We can’t hear children
running over us or leaves falling on our entrance. We don’t know
somebody’s dad’s car just parked next to our own driveway.
School of Ants Map - Winter Ant
North American distribution of the winter ant. Visit
www.schoolofants.org/species/96 for an interactive version.
Beneath the roots, we don’t get wet when the sprinkler showers
over our home and across the lawn in the summertime. We don’t
hear the thud of the family dog flopping right on top of us to gnaw
on a tennis ball. But it’s all there, all above us, all over New York
and the United States. If we were winter ants, we’d miss out on a
lot about the fascinating lives of people. We’re lucky we’re not
winter ants. We’re people, active all year long, and able to
understand and delight in the winter ant’s secret wonderland,
deep below our feet.
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