A colony that never asked for an invitation
New Year’s Day in the Dominican Republic, and a trail of ants was streaming across the driveway as if the holiday had nothing to do with them. They moved in a dense, orderly column, workers of noticeably different sizes, all with a single destination in mind. I made the mistake of putting my hand down near the line, and learned within seconds why nobody here pets the fire ants.
This is Solenopsis geminata, the tropical fire ant, a member of the ant family Formicidae within the order Hymenoptera. It is one of the most widespread fire ants in the world, native to the tropical Americas and carried by shipping to warm regions on nearly every continent. The colony builds low earthen mounds, and when the nest is disturbed, hundreds of workers pour out and sting in unison, each sting delivering a dose of alkaloid venom that burns far out of proportion to the insect that delivered it.
The species is a generalist in the best and worst sense: it scavenges, hunts small invertebrates, tends to honeydew-producing insects, and even harvests seeds. This versatility, plus the famous sting, has made it a successful invader wherever it lands, and a serious pest of agriculture and backyards alike.
The name geminata means “twinned” or “doubled,” which seems apt for an ant that is never found alone. One ant is a curiosity; a hundred thousand of them are a lesson, and I got mine on the first day of the year.
