More stories

  • in

    Simultaneous absolute quantification and sequencing of fish environmental DNA in a mesocosm by quantitative sequencing technique

    Aquarium experiment and sampling
    To examine the effect of changes in species composition on the behaviour of eDNA, we conducted aquarium experiments using two mock fish communities comprising H. neglectus, C. temminckii, O. latipes, R. flumineus, and M. anguillicaudatus. Mock community 1 (MC1) consisted of one individual of each of the five fish species, whereas mock community 2 (MC2) consisted of three H. neglectus individuals and one individual of each of the other four fish species (Fig. 2). We used two aquaria (A and B). Each aquarium was used four times, twice for each mock community, giving two replicates (R1 and R2). This resulted in eight experimental units (2 mock fish communities × 2 aquaria × 2 replicates). Figure 2 shows the experimental setup used in this study.
    Figure 2

    Experimental setup of the aquarium experiments.

    Full size image

    To set up the aquaria, 20 L of tap water was added into each aquarium (GEX Co. Ltd., Osaka, Japan) and heated with a heater (Spectrum Brands, Wisconsin, US) until the water temperature reached 25 °C. Water in the two aquaria was maintained at 25 °C and constantly circulated with an aeration device. Before adding fish to the aquaria, the water was sampled for the negative control. The first experimental samples (day 0) were taken 1 h after adding the fish and subsequent samples were taken each day until day 4. At each sampling, two 1-L samples of surface water were collected from each aquarium and then 2 L of tap water was added to each aquarium to maintain the volume of water. The weight of individual fish species was measured using an electronic balance immediately after the final sampling. After each experiment, the two aquaria were bleached before being reused.
    In Japan, experiments on fish do not require any legal procedures or permission. However, in order to avoid causing pain to the specimens, the experiments in this study were conducted in accordance with the ARRIVE guidelines, Japanese laws and guidelines for mammals, birds, and reptiles as below; Act on Welfare and Management of Animals (Notice of the Ministry of the Environment No. 105 of October 1, 1973), Standards relating to the Care and Keeping and Reducing Pain of Laboratory Animals (Notice of the Ministry of the Environment No. 88 of 2006), Fundamental Guidelines for Proper Conduct of Animal Experiment and Related Activities in Academic Research Institutions under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education (Notice of Ministry of Education No. 71, 2006), and Guidelines for Proper Conduct of Animal Experiments (established by the Science Council of Japan on June 1, 2006).
    DNA extraction
    Each 1-L water sample was filtered immediately through a GF/F glass fibre filter (nominal pore size = 0.7 μm, diameter = 47 mm; GE Healthcare Japan Corporation, Tokyo, Japan). Filter funnels and measuring cups were bleached after filtration to prevent cross-contamination among the water samples. All filters were stored separately at − 20 °C until DNA extraction. Total eDNA was extracted from each filter using a DNeasy Blood and Tissue Kit (QIAGEN, Hilden, Germany) and Salivette tubes (Sarstedt AG & Co. KG, Nümbrecht, Germany). Extraction methods were as previously described18 with modifications. A filter sample was placed in the upper part of the Salivette tube and 220 μL of solution containing Buffer AL (200 μL) and Proteinase K (20 μL) was added. The tube containing the filter was incubated at 56 °C for 30 min, then centrifuged at 5000 × g for 3 min, and the solution was collected in the base of the tube. To increase eDNA yield, 220 μL Tris-EDTA (TE) buffer was added to the filter sample and centrifuged at 5000 × g for 1 min. Then, ethanol (200 μL) was added to the collected solution, and the mixture was transferred to a spin column. Total eDNA was eluted in buffer AE (100 μL), following the manufacturer’s instructions. All eDNA samples were stored at − 20 °C prior to qSeq and dPCR.
    Quantitative sequencing
    Simultaneous quantification and sequencing of the extracted eDNA were performed by qSeq as previously described15,16. First, SPE was performed. The SPE reaction mixture (20 µL) consisted of 1 × PrimeSTAR Max premix (Takara Bio Inc., Kusatsu, Japan), 300 nM of the primer qSeq-MiFish-U-F (Table 1), and extracted DNA (2 µL). The SPE primer qSeq-MiFish-U-F contains an eight-base length random sequence tag, which creates 65,536 different variations, enabling the quantification of up to approximately 1.0 × 105 copies of DNA15. This amount of variation was sufficient to quantify the abundance of eDNA in this study. SPE was initiated by denaturation at 94 °C for 1 min, followed by cooling to 60 °C at 0.3 °C/s, incubation at 60 °C for 1 min, and final extension at 70 °C for 10 min. Subsequently, the excess primer was completely digested by adding exonuclease I (4 µL, 5 U/µL; Takara Bio Inc.) to the SPE mixture. The digestion was performed at 37 °C for 120 min, followed by inactivation of the exonuclease I at 80 °C for 30 min. The first-round PCR mixture (25 µL) contained PrimeSTAR Max premix (12.5 µL), primers qSeq-MiFish-U-R and F2 (300 nM each; Table 1), and the SPE product (2 µL). Following 40 cycles of amplification at 98 °C for 10 s, 55 °C for 5 s, and 72 °C for 5 s, the amplification product was subjected to agarose gel electrophoresis, and the band of the expected size was removed and purified using Nucleospin Gel and PCR Clean-up column (Takara Bio Inc.). The qSeq-MiFish-U-R primer also contains eight N bases to increase the complexity, which improves the sequencing quality, and thus PhiX was not added in this study. Finally, a 2nd-round PCR was performed to add an index for Illumina sequencing as described elsewhere15. The indexed PCR amplicon was purified using AMPure XP beads (Beckman Coulter, Indianapolis, IN) followed by sequencing using a MiSeq platform with MiSeq Reagent Kit v3 for 600 cycles (Illumina). The sequence data obtained in this study were deposited in the DDBJ database under accession numbers SAMD00219124–SAMD00219214.
    Table 1 Oligonucleotide sequences used in this study.
    Full size table

    Data analysis
    First, all sequences were assembled and screened by length and quality of reads using the mothur software package (v1.39.5)22. The processed sequence reads were classified using the MiFish pipeline (http://mitofish.aori.u-tokyo.ac.jp/mifish/), with the parameters as previously described23. Subsequently, the representative sequences of individual operational taxonomic units (OTUs) were extracted using the Usearch program (http://www.drive5.com/usearch/). The random sequence tags (RST) at the end of sequences in the OTUs were counted to quantify the environmental DNA from each fish species as described elsewhere16. For comparison, the relative proportion of eDNA from individual species in each sample was calculated from the composition of the sequences of the fish species obtained by qSeq.
    Microfluidic digital PCR
    Quantification of eDNA was also performed by microfluidic dPCR using the BioMark Real-time System and 12.765 Digital Array (Fluidigm Corporation, South San Francisco, CA, United States) as previously described13. For each sample, the PCR mixture (6 µL) contained 2 × Probe qPCR mix (3.0 µL; Takara Bio Inc.), 20 × binding dye sample loading reagent (0.6 µL; Fluidigm Corporation), forward and reverse primers (900 nM), TaqMan probe (125 nM), ROX solution (0.015 µL), and sample DNA (1.0 µL). We used three sets of primers and probes to quantify the eDNA of H. neglectus, O. latipes, and M. anguillicaudatus (Table 1). PCR was initiated at 98 °C for 2 min, followed by 50 cycles of 98 °C for 10 s and 60 °C for 1 min. The amplification curves obtained from individual reaction chambers of the microfluidic chip were analysed using Fluidigm Digital PCR analysis software (Fluidigm Corporation) to obtain abundance of DNA molecules.
    Statistical analysis
    We employed Gaussian Type II regression models with the standardised major axis method to determine the relationship between the log10 eDNA abundances obtained from qSeq and dPCR analyses with the “sma” function of the “smatr” ver. 3.4.8 package in R ver. 3.6.024. Zero values were disregarded for the modelling. We employed the Gaussian Type II model because our preliminary evaluation showed higher R2 values for Type II regression models with a Gaussian distribution than for those with a logarithmic distribution in all cases. We compared the differences in the coefficient values by overlapping the 95% confidence interval (CI) ranges. More

  • in

    Cities should respond to the biodiversity extinction crisis

    1.
    IPBES. Global Assessment Report on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (eds. Brondizio, E.S., Settele, j., Díaz, s. & Ngo, H.T.) (IPBES Secretariat, Bonn, Germany, 2019).
    2.
    Champness, B. S., Palmer, G. C. & Fitzsimons, J. A. Bringing the city to the country: relationships between streetscape vegetation type and bird assemblages in a major regional centre. J. Urban Ecol. 5, juz018 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    3.
    Frantzeskaki, N. et al. Nature-based solutions for urban climate change adaptation: linking the science, policy and practice communities for evidence based decision-making. BioScience 69, 455–566 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    4.
    Willeme, A. Rotterdam drops €233 million on green spaces—and they look INCREDIBLE. DutchReview. https://dutchreview.com/cities/rotterdam-drops-233-million-on-green-spaces-and-they-look-incredible/ (18 June 2020).

    5.
    Díaz, S. et al. The IPBES Conceptual Framework – connecting nature and people. Curr. Opin. Environ. Sustain. 14, 1–16 (2015).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    6.
    Elmqvist, T. et al. (eds). Urbanization, Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services: Challenges and Opportunities. A Global Assessment (Springer, Dordrecht, 2013).

    7.
    Ives, C. et al. Cities are hotspots for threatened species. Glob. Ecol. Biogeograph. 25, 117–126 (2016).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    8.
    Parris, K. M. & Hazell, D. L. Biotic effects of climate change in urban environments: the case of the grey-headed flying-fox (Pteropus poliocephalus) in Melbourne, Australia. Biol. Conserv. 124, 267–276 (2005).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    9.
    Prévot, A. C., Cheval, H., Raymond, R. & Cosquer, A. Routine experiences of nature in cities can increase personal commitment toward biodiversity conservation. Biol. Conserv. 226, 1–8 (2018).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    10.
    ICLEI CBC. Edinburgh Process for Subnational and Local Governments on the Development of the Post 2020 Global Biodiversity Framework (ICLEI, 2020). https://cbc.iclei.org/edinburgh-process-for-subnational-and-local-governments-on-the-development-of-the-post-2020-global-biodiversity-framework/.

    11.
    Nilon, C. et al. Planning for the future of urban biodiversity: a global review of city-scale initiatives. BioScience 67, 332–342 (2017).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    12.
    Garrard, G. E., Williams, N. S. G., Mata, L., Thomas, J. & Bekessy, S. A. Biodiversity sensitive urban design. Conserv. Lett. 11, e12411 (2018).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    13.
    Bush, J. & Doyon, A. Building urban resilience with nature-based solutions: how can urban planning contribute? Cities 95, 102483 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    14.
    Prober, S. M., Doerr, V. A. J., Broadhurst, L. M., Williams, K. J. & Dickson, F. Shifting the conservation paradigm: a synthesis of options for renovating nature under climate change. Ecol. Monog. 89, e01333 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    15.
    Canaway, J. Unveiling the misunderstood magical mistletoes of Australia. ABC Life. https://www.abc.net.au/life/the-misunderstood-magical-mistletoes-of-australia/11505510 (20 December 2019).

    16.
    Burgin, S. What about biodiversity? Redefining urban sustainable management to incorporate endemic fauna with particular reference to Australia. Urban Ecosys. 19, 669–678 (2016).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    17.
    Rigolon, A. A complex landscape of inequity in access to urban parks: a literature review. Landsc. Urban Plann. 153, 160–169 (2016).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    18.
    Fuller, R. A. et al. Psychological benefits of greenspace increase with biodiversity. Biol. Lett. 3, 390–394 (2007).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    19.
    Sugiyama, T., Carver, A., Koohsari, M. J. & Veitch, J. Advantages of public green spaces in enhancing population health. Landsc. Urban Plann. 178, 12–17 (2018).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    20.
    Hockings, M. et al. COVID-19 and protected and conserved areas. Parks 26.1, 7–24 (2020).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    21.
    Frantzeskaki, N. Seven lessons for planning nature-based solutions in cities. Environ.Sci. Pol. 93, 101–111 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    22.
    Ahern, J. From fail-safe to safe-to-fail: sustainability and resilience in the new urban world. Landsc. Urban Plann. 100, 341–343 (2011).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    23.
    Kabisch, N., van den Bosch, M. & Lafortezza, R. The health benefits of nature-based solutions to urbanization challenges for children and the elderly—a systematic review. Environ. Res. 159, 362–373 (2017).
    CAS  Article  Google Scholar 

    24.
    Tengö, M. et al. Weaving knowledge systems in IPBES, CBD and beyond—lessons learned for sustainability. Curr. Opin. Environ. Sustain. 26–27, 17–25 (2017).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    25.
    Davies, C. & Lafortezza, R. Transitional path to the adoption of nature-based solutions. Land Use Pol. 80, 406–409 (2019).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    26.
    Mumaw, L. M. & Bekessy, S. A. Wildlife gardening for collaborative public–private biodiversity conservation. Austral. J. Environ. Manage. 24, 242–246 (2017).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    27.
    Eilam, E. & Garrard, G. E. Perception of space among children studying their local grasslands: examining attitudes and behavioural intentions. Sustainability 9, 1660 (2017).
    Article  Google Scholar 

    28.
    ICLEI. 6th Global Biodiversity Summit of Local and Subnational Governments. Event Report (2018) https://cbc.iclei.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Egypt-Summit-EVENT-REPORT-FINAL-digital_compressed.pdf. More

  • in

    Emergent vulnerability to climate-driven disturbances in European forests

    Observed forest disturbances
    We focused on the vulnerability of European forests to three major natural disturbances: forest fires, windthrows and insect outbreaks (bark beetles, defoliators and sucking insects). In order to identify/calibrate/validate vulnerability models (details on model development in the following sections) we used a large number of records of forest disturbances collected over the 2000–2017 period (Supplementary Fig. 1, step1). Fires were retrieved from the European Forest Fire Information System (EFFIS, https://effis.jrc.ec.europa.eu/) and count 15,818 records. Windthrows were acquired from the European Forest Windthrow dataset62 (FORWIND, https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.9555008) with 89,743 records. Insect outbreaks were retrieved from the National Insect and Disease Survey (IDS, http://foresthealth.fs.usda.gov) database of the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) which includes 50,777 records. Each disturbance record is represented by a vector feature describing the spatial delineation of the damaged forest patch obtained by visual photointerpretation of aerial and satellite imagery or field surveys.
    Even if the study focuses on Europe, for insect diseases we used the IDS-USDA database due to the lack of an analogous monitoring system and related dataset for Europe. Therefore, the models of vulnerability to insect outbreaks were identified/calibrated/validated on US data and then applied in predictive mode to Europe (see following sections for details). To assure the transferability of such models, we developed models for functional groups instead of working on species-specific models. For this purpose, we classified records based on functional groups of the pest (bark beetles, defoliators and sucking insects) and on the PFT of the host tree species. Records were considered if the host plant belonged to the following PFTs: broadleaved deciduous, broadleaved evergreen, needle leaf deciduous and needle leaf evergreen.
    Reconstruction of annual biomass time series
    In order to evaluate the biomass loss expected given a disturbance event occurs, multi-temporal information of biomass is required. However, there is still no single technology for direct and continuous monitoring of such variable in time. In order to reconstruct the temporal variations in biomass over the 2000–2017 period we integrated a static 100-m above ground biomass map acquired for the year 2010 from multiple Earth Observation systems63 with forest cover changes derived from the Global Forest Change (GFC) maps recorded at 30-m spatial resolution from Landsat imagery21. The GFC maps include three major layers: “2000 Tree Cover”, “Forest Cover Loss” and “Forest Cover Gain”. “2000 Tree Cover” (TC2000) is a global map of tree canopy cover (expressed in percentage) for the year 2000. “Forest Cover Loss” is defined as the complete removal of tree-cover canopy at the Landsat pixel scale (natural or human-driven) and is reported annually. “Forest Cover Gain” reflects a non-forest to forest change and refers to the period 2000–2012 as unique feature without reporting the timing of the gain.
    The data integration approach built a on the assumption that changes in biomass are fully conditioned by the changes in tree cover. First, we quantified the percentage of tree cover in 2010 (TC2010) by masking out all pixels where forest loss occurred over the 2000–2010 period from the TC2000 map.
    Then, in order to characterize to what extent an increase or decrease in tree cover may affect biomass, we quantified the density of biomass per percentage of tree cover lost (ρloss) and gained (ρgain) as follows:

    $$rho _{mathrm{{loss}}} = frac{{B_{2010}}}{{{mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{loss}}}}}},$$
    (1)

    $$rho _{mathrm{{gain}}} = frac{{B_{2010}}}{{{mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{gain}}}}}},$$
    (2)

    where (B_{2010}) is the static biomass map available for the year 2010 (ref. 63). ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{loss}}}}) is the ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010}) masked over the pixels where there has been a forest loss during the 2011–2017 period. This filtering provides a picture of forests that were intact in 2010 but removed since then. Similarly, ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{gain}}}}) is the ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010}) masked over the pixels where there has been a forest gain and identifies the reforested and afforested areas. Since the map of forest gain is a binary map referring to the year 2012, forest gain pixels lack any information on their tree cover as their value in 2000 is zero. We therefore associated to forest gain pixels the maximum of tree cover percentage computed in a moving window with a radius of 2.5 km. This value represents the maximum potential tree cover in the local environmental conditions and refers to the whole 2000–2012 period (({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2012,{mathrm{{gain}}}})). Then, we assumed that forest gain proceeds at a constant rate over time and that the associated tree cover thus grows linearly:

    $$frac{{{mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{gain}}}}}}{{left( {2010 – 2000} right)}} = frac{{{mathrm{{TC}}}_{2012,{mathrm{{gain}}}}}}{{left( {2012 – 2000} right)}} to {mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{gain}}}} = 0.83 cdot {mathrm{{TC}}}_{2012,{mathrm{{gain}}}},$$
    (3)

    Both ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{loss}}}}) and ({mathrm{{TC}}}_{2010,{mathrm{{gain}}}}) were resampled to the (B_{2010}) spatial resolution (100 m). Supplementary Figure 13 shows the frequency distribution of (rho _{mathrm{{loss}}}) and (rho _{{mathrm{{gain}}}}) over a test area in Southern Finland. As expected, the density of biomass associated with forest losses is higher than that one associated to forest gain. Indeed, biomass of new forest plantations is generally lower than the biomass of an old one (e.g. a forest that is typically harvested).
    The obtained maps of (rho _{{mathrm{{loss}}}}) and (rho _{{mathrm{{gain}}}}) in Eqs. (1) and (2) refer to sparse and isolated pixels where there have been forest gain or loss. To obtain continuous fields, such density values were spatialized by computing their median over a 0.1° grid. Annual maps of biomass were finally obtained at 100 m spatial resolution as follows:

    $$B_t = B_{2010} + alpha cdot rho _{{mathrm{{loss}}}} cdot {mathrm{{TC}}}_{t,{mathrm{{loss}}}} – rho _{{mathrm{{gain}}}} cdot {mathrm{{TC}}}_{t,{mathrm{{gain}}}} cdot frac{{left( {2010 – t} right)}}{{10}},$$
    (4)

    where t is the year (over the 2000–2017 period) and α takes the value of +1 for t  5% were selected (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 3). In the case of windthrows, we noted that maximum wind speeds retrieved from 0.5° spatial resolution of reanalysis data may largely underestimate effective maximum winds. This was particularly evident for tornado events, given their limited spatial extents compared to the grid cell, and the storm event Klaus that occurred in 2009 and for which we noticed an underestimation of the effective wind speed of the 78% (retrieved ~12 ms−1 instead of observed maximum wind speed of 55 ms−1 (ref. 67)). Therefore, such events were excluded from our analysis.
    Possible missing data in the environmental variables were corrected by the median value of the variable-specific distributions (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 4). Potential effects of spatial dependence structure in the observational datasets were reduced by resampling ({mathrm{{BL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}), F, C and L along the gradients of the three principal components (PC) derived from the initial set of predictors. To this aim, we used 20 bins of equal intervals for each PC dimension spanning the full range of values. The resampling procedure was stratified by splitting the records in training and testing sets. For each year between 2000 and 2017, we randomly extracted 60% of the records. The extracted subset (({mathrm{{BL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}), F, C and L) was then binned in the PC space using the average as aggregation metric weighted by the areal extents of each disturbance record. The remaining 40% of records were similarly processed and used as a separate validation set (Supplementary Fig. 1, steps 5–7). The cover fraction of each PFT was resampled using the same approach and renormalized within each bin. Only bins with at least three records were retained for model development.
    The resampled training and testing sets were used to calibrate and validate an “approximate” RF model using the full set of variables (A) as predictors initially identified based on literature review (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 8 and Supplementary Table 1). With the RF algorithm importance scores for each environmental variable can be calculated31. These scores reflect how important each covariate is in determining the fitted values of relative biomass loss. The RF implemented here uses 500 regression trees, whose depth and number of predictors to sample at each node were identified using Bayesian optimization. To reduce potential redundancy effects across predictors and facilitate the interpretability of results, we implemented a feature selection procedure. Based on the “approximate” RF model the importance of each predictor was quantified. We then computed the Spearman correlation between each pair of predictors and when it exceeded 0.8, the predictor with the lower variable importance was excluded (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 9 and Supplementary Table 1). The remaining predictors (I) were then used for a second set of RF runs, in which we iteratively evaluated RF performance on a reduced set of predictors, excluding in each new run the less important variable computed on the new reduced set of features. The set of predictors which maximizes the R2 was finally selected (Q hereafter for short) (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 10 and Supplementary Table 1). The implemented iterative feature selection procedure identifies a reasonable compromise between computing cost and model performance. The general equation describing the vulnerability is as follows:

    $${mathrm{{BL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}} = vleft( {{Q}} right),$$
    (6)

    where v is the vulnerability model implemented in the RF regression algorithm, and describes the relative biomass losses as a function of a selected Q set of environmental variables.
    Such automatic feature selection process was complemented with visual interpretation of the PDPs68 based on the RF algorithm. PDP is used to visualize the relationship between explanatory covariates (environmental predictors) and ({mathrm{{BL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}), independent of other covariates (Supplementary Figs. 2–4). PDP results were analysed in combination with a detailed study of the literature and allowed us to understand and interpret the response functions to natural disturbances (see details in the main text and Fig. 2). Consistency of PDPs at the boundaries of the observational ranges was carefully checked to reduce possible artefacts generated when the models are used to extrapolate outside the range of training conditions.
    Vulnerability models were further refined by retrieving v functions separately for each PFT. For PFT-specific vulnerability models, only resampled records in the PC space with a cover fraction >5% were retained and used for the model development (Supplementary Fig. 1, step 11). Model performances were ultimately evaluated on the testing set in terms of coefficient of determination (R2), root mean square error (RMSE), percent bias (PBIAS)69 and RE.
    Regarding the insect-related disturbance, we initially implemented specific RF models for different insect groups (bark beetles, sucking insect and defoliators). However, due to the limited sample size of the first two groups, RF was not able to represent their effects on biomass losses reliably. We therefore opted to merge all three groups in a unique insect disturbance class (hereafter referred as insect outbreaks). We recognize that different ecological processes may characterize each insect group and therefore the use of a unique insect class may potentially mask some distinctive features. The resulting vulnerability models can therefore identify only drivers and patterns common to all groups (e.g., susceptibility to temperature anomalies70,71).
    Interacting processes
    The co-occurrence of multi-dimensional environmental factors resulting from the combination of interacting physical processes (compound events) may amplify or dampen ecosystem responses29. Tree-based models consider all variables together in the model and account for nonlinear feature interactions in the final model31,68. The inherent ability of RF models to detect interacting variables allows avoiding the prescription of specific relations between variables based on “a priori” knowledge—as for instance required in parametric regression frameworks—by letting the model learn automatically these relations from data.
    In order to detect feature interactions and assess their strength in the developed RF-based vulnerability models we computed the Friedman’s H-statistic50. Here, we derived the H-statistic to assess second-order interactions by quantifying how much of the variation of the prediction depends on two-way interactions. To speed up the computation, we sampled 50 equally spaced data points over the environmental gradients.
    We complemented this analysis by estimating the amplification or dampening effect (({Delta}{{P}})) associated to each feature interaction. To this aim, we quantified the difference in the peak values between the response function which incorporates interacting processes (two-way partial dependences) and those ones decomposed without interactions (one-dimensional partial dependences) and expressed in terms of relative variations.
    The H and ({Delta}{{P}}) metrics were computed for each pair of features, and averaged for different combinations of predictor categories (forest, climate, landscape).
    Spatial and temporal patterns of vulnerability and its key drivers
    The RF models were used to evaluate the vulnerability of forests annually between 1979 and 2018 for each grid cell (0.25°) of the spatial domain covering the geographic Europe (including Turkey and European Russia). To this aim, vulnerability models were used in predictive mode using as input spatial maps of predictors, preliminary resampled to the common resolution, and with results expressed in terms of potential relative biomass loss (({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}})). Estimates of ({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}) are obtained as the average from all trees in the RF ensemble. The ongoing changes in climate features were also accounted for in our framework. Climate predictors were kept dynamic for backward RF runs, while the remaining forest and landscape features were fixed to their current values averaged over the 2009–2018 period. Doing so, we implicitly assume that the sampling of response variables and predictors is representative for the whole temporal period. However, over longer time periods (from decades to century) additional ecosystem processes may play a role, such as adaptation phenomena driven by species change and shifting biomes, which could also affect vulnerability trends. The lack of multi-temporal monitoring of most of the forest and landscape predictors hampered the integration of their dynamics in the backward RF runs.
    Results of PFT-specific vulnerability models were averaged at grid-cell level with weighting based on the cover fractions of PFTs (Supplementary Fig. 1, steps 12–13). This resulted in annual maps of vulnerability to each natural disturbance. Spatial and temporal variations in vulnerability were both expressed in relative and absolute terms. Absolute biomass losses were retrieved by multiplying estimates of potential relative biomass loss by the available biomass. Therefore, vulnerability values in a given grid cell reflect the biomass (relative or absolute) that would be affected if exposed to a disturbance under its specific local and temporal environmental conditions.
    Grid-cell uncertainty of predicted vulnerability values were quantified in terms of standard error (SE) derived by dividing standard deviations of the computed responses over the ensemble of the grown trees of the model by the square root of the ensemble size (Supplementary Fig. 7).
    We then calculated the “current” vulnerability as the average vulnerability over the 2009–2018 period. To factor out the local dependence of the current vulnerability on each predictor we retrieved the Individual Conditional Expectation72 (ICE) for each grid cell. ICE plots show the relationship between the predicted target variable (({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}})) and one predictor variable for individual cases of the predictor dataset. In our application, an individual case is a specific combination of F, C and L data for a given grid cell. To summarize and map the ICE of each grid cell in a single number, we fitted by linear regression the partial dependence of ({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}) versus the corresponding predictor variable and mapped the slope of this regression, hereafter referred as “local sensitivity” (Supplementary Figs. 5–7), similarly to the approach presented in ref. 30. The marginal contribution ((Z_{mathrm{{marg}}})) of each environmental category of predictors (F, C and L, hereafter referred as X for short) on the current vulnerability was derived as follows:

    $$Z_{{mathrm{{marg}}},X} = 100 times frac{{mathop {sum }nolimits_{i in X} left| {s_i} right|}}{{mathop {sum }nolimits_{j in Q} left| {s_j} right|}},$$
    (7)

    where s represents the slope of ICE, i runs over all predictors of X, whereas j runs over all available predictors Q. Therefore (Z_{mathrm{{marg}},X}) values range between 0 (no dependence of current vulnerability on X predictors) and 100% (full dependence of current vulnerability on X predictors).
    Long-term linear trends in vulnerability ((delta {mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}})) were quantified over the 1979–2018 period for each grid cell and their significance evaluated by the two-sided Mann–Kendall test. In order to isolate the key determinants of the emerging trends in vulnerability, a set of factorial simulations was performed. To this aim, we estimated the vulnerability due to the temporal variations in a given k climate predictor (({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}^k)), by applying the RF models to a data array in which the k climate variable is dynamic while all the remaining features are kept fixed to their “current” value (average value over 2009–2018). The resulting trends in vulnerability associated to the k factor (({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}^k)) are then calculated by linear regression and subject to the Mann–Kendall test.
    Spatial and temporal patterns were visualized at grid-point scale and averaged over geographic macro-regions (Supplementary Fig. 14 and Supplementary Tables 2 and 3). Zonal statistics were obtained by averaging grid-cell results weighted by their forest areal extent. Forests with cover fraction lower than 0.1 were excluded from the analyses. Uncertainty in spatial averages were based on the 95% bootstrap confidence interval computed with 100 bootstrap samples.
    In order to derive statistics minimally affected by potential extrapolation errors of the RF models, we replicated the aforementioned analyses by excluding areas outside the observational ranges of climatological temperature and precipitation (Supplementary Fig. 8).
    Combining forest vulnerability to multiple natural disturbances
    To quantify the total vulnerability to multiple disturbances we defined the OVI, similarly to the multi-hazard index developed in ref. 73. We assumed that the considered disturbances are independent and mutually non-exclusive and the potential biomass loss of single disturbances is spread homogeneously within each grid cell. From the inclusion-exclusion principle of combinatorics the potential biomass loss associated to the OVI can be expressed for a given year as follows:

    $${mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}left( {{mathrm{{OVI}}}} right) = mathop {bigcup}nolimits_{p = 1}^D {{mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}},p}} = mathop {sum }limits_{q = 1}^D left( {left( { – 1} right)^{q – 1} cdot mathop {sum }limits_{{G subset left{ {1, ldots ,D} right}} atop {left| G right| = q} } {mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}},G}} right),$$
    (8)

    where p refers to the disturbance-specific ({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}}}), D is the number of disturbances considered, the last sum runs over all subsets G of the indices {1, …, D} containing exactly q elements, and

    $${mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}},G}: = mathop {bigcap}nolimits_{p in I} {{mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}},p}} ,$$
    (9)

    expresses the intersection of all those ({mathrm{{PBL}}}_{{mathrm{{rel}}},p}) with index in G. Maps of current overall vulnerability and trends were ultimately analysed following the approach adopted for single disturbances.
    This approach does not account for the potential reduction in exposed biomass following the occurrence of a given disturbance. Furthermore, possible amplification/dampening effects due to interacting disturbances could also occur3,74. A strong interaction effect has been documented for instance between windthrows and bark beetle disturbances. Uprooted trees are virtually defenseless breeding material supporting the build-up of beetle populations and the consequent increase in vulnerability to insect outbreaks3,59. Insect outbreaks, in turn, may potentially affect the severity of subsequent forest fires by altering the abundance of available fuel60. The magnitude of these effects varies with insect type and outbreak timing. Despite the relevance of these interactions, the lack of reference observational data of compound events hampered the integration of their effects in our modelling framework. Therefore, estimates of OVI can only partially capture the overall vulnerability resulting from multiple disturbances and should be viewed in light of these limitations.
    Spatial maps of current overall vulnerability and trends in OVI were then normalized separately based on the min–max method and combined by simple multiplication into a single index, hereafter referred as space-time integrated OVI. High values of space-time integrated OVI depict forest areas that are currently susceptible to multiple disturbances and their vulnerability have experienced a substantial increase over the 1979–2018 period. The space-time integrated OVI is used to identify currently fragile ecosystems that might in the future become even more susceptible to natural disturbances.
    Reporting summary
    Further information on research design is available in the Nature Research Reporting Summary linked to this article. More

  • in

    Sublethal concentrations of clothianidin affect honey bee colony growth and hive CO2 concentration

    Syrup preparation
    Control (0 ppb clothianidin) sucrose solution was mixed at 1:1 w:w (e.g. 500 g sucrose:500 mL distilled water). Sucrose was added to distilled water in a 5-gallon bucket and mixed using an electric drill with a mortar mixing attachment until sugar was completely dissolved. Sucrose solution for solutions with clothianidin (PESTANAL, CAS# 210880-92-5) was mixed in the same manner but 50 mL was withheld (thus “short”) to allow for the added volume of respective clothianidin spikes. 500 g of sugar is dissolved in 450 mL of distilled water to allow for the addition of a 50 mL spike to achieve 1 kg of treatment solution. 950 g of “short” sugar solution was transferred to a Nalgene bottle, then the spike added to each individual bottle. A 10 ppm clothianidin stock solution was made by dissolving 1.0 mg of clothianidin, in 100 mL of distilled water, using a mixing bar but without heat. To avoid problems with static electricity, the clothianidin was weighed into a small, nonreactive plastic receptacles and those receptacles were placed in the solution, the solution stirred, and the receptacles removed after confirming the clothianidin had dissolved. For the 5-ppb solution: 0.5 mL of the stock solution was mixed into 49.5 mL of distilled water to achieve 50 mL of spike solution, which was then added to 950 g of the short sucrose solution to achieve 1 kg of 5-ppb clothianidin syrup. For the 20-ppb solution (only in 2nd experiment) 2.0 mL of stock solution was mixed into 48.0 mL of distilled water, and that solution added to 950 g of the short solution to achieve 1 kg of 20-ppb clothianidin syrup.
    AZ 2017 experiment
    On 20 April, 2017, 24 bee colonies were established from packages of Italian honey bees (A. mellifera ligustica) (C.F. Koehnen & Sons, Inc., Glenn, CA 95,943) of approximately 1 kg honey bees in painted, 10-frame, wooden Langstroth boxes (43.7 l capacity) (Mann Lake Ltd., Hackensack, MN) with migratory wooden lids. At establishment, each colony was given 4 full or partial frames of capped honey, 2 frames of drawn but empty comb, 2 frames of partially drawn with some capped honey, 3 frames of foundation and a 1-frame feeder. Queens were marked, and during the course of the studies any queen replacements, such as for supersedure queens, was done with queens from the same breeder. Hives were placed on stainless steel electronic scales (Tekfa model B-2418 and Avery Weigh-Tronix model BSAO1824-200) (max. capacity: 100 kg, precision: ± 20 g; operating temperature: − 30 °C to 70 °C) and linked to 16-bit dataloggers (Hobo UX120-006 M External Channel datalogger, Onset Computer Corporation, Bourne, MA) with weight recorded every 5 min. The scales were powered by deep-cycle batteries connected to solar panels. The system had an overall precision of approximately ± 20 g. Hives were arranged in a circular pattern around a central box that contained the batteries and electronic gear. Hives within such a group were 0.5- 1 m apart and groups were > 3 m apart. During the course of the experiments the power systems had occasional malfunctions, resulting in short periods of missing data for some hives.
    Colonies were all fed 2 kg sugar syrup (1:1 w:w) and 250 g pollen patty, made at a ratio of 1: 1: 1 corbicular pollen (Great Lakes Bee Co.): granulated sugar: drivert sugar (dry fondant sugar with approximately 8% invert sugar) (Domino Foods, Yonkers, NY). On 10 July a temperature sensor (iButton Thermochron, precision ± 0.06 °C) enclosed in plastic tissue embedding cassettes (Thermo Fisher Scientific, Waltham, MA) was stapled to the center of the top bar on the 5th frame in the bottom box of each hive and set to record every 15 min. The same day, pieces of slick paperboard coated with petroleum jelly and covered with mesh screens were inserted onto the hive floor to monitor Varroa mite fall within the hive58. The boards were removed 2 days later, and the number of mites counted on each board. Infestation levels of Varroa were again monitored during and post-treatment. Colonies were treated with amitraz (Apivar, Arysta LifeScience America Inc., New York, NY) on 19 October.
    Hives were assessed on 12 July, and approximately every 5–6 weeks thereafter until November, the again 13 February 2020 and finally on 29 March using a published protocol21,28. Briefly, the hive was opened after the application of smoke, and each frame was lifted out sequentially, gently shaken to dislodge adult bees, photographed using a 16.3 megapixel digital camera (Canon Rebel SL1, Canon USA, Inc., Melville, NY), weighed on a portable scale (model EC15, OHaus Corp., Parsippany, NJ), and replaced in the hive. Frame photographs were analyzed later in the laboratory (see below). During this first assessment (but not subsequent assessments), all hive components (i.e. lid, inner cover, box, bottom board, frames, entrance reducer, internal feeder) were also shaken free of bees and weighed to yield an initial mass of all hive components. At the initial inspection, 3–5 g of wax and honey were collected from each hive into 50 ml centrifuge tubes and stored at − 80 °C; samples collected in September, prior to treatment, were pooled and subjected to a full panel analysis for residues of pesticides and fungicides, from all major classes, by the Laboratory Approval and Testing Division, Agricultural Marketing Service, USDA. Wax samples were collected only at the initial assessment in order to establish a baseline exposure—the lack of agriculture or landscaping within foraging distance excluded the possibility of further exposure. Honey samples from later assessments were pooled within treatment group and subjected only to neonicotinoid residue analysis.
    Newly-emerged bees (NEBs) were sampled by pressing an 8 cm × 8 cm × 2 cm cage of wire mesh into a section of capped brood, then returning the following day to collect NEBs that had emerged within the cage over the previous 24 h. The NEBs were then placed in a 50 mL centrifuge tube, frozen on dry ice, and stored at − 80 °C. At the laboratory, 5 bees per hive per assessment date were placed in Eppendorf tubes, weighed, dried for 72 h at 60 °C, then re-weighed to determine average wet and dry weight per bee. NEBs were collected on 12 July and 24 August 2017 (brood levels were too low in October 2017 for sampling).
    After the first assessment, hives were ranked with respect to adult bee mass and then randomly assigned to treatment group, ensuring that the average bee masses per group were approximately equal and after eliminating assignments that resulted in excessive spatial clumping of the colonies. Just prior to treatment all broodless frames containing honey and/or pollen were replaced with frames of empty drawn comb collected earlier from the same apiary. Colonies were then fed 2–3 kg syrup twice per week from 14 July to 21 August, with clothianidin concentrations depending on their treatment group. Syrup consumption per colony was recorded. Hives were assessed approximately every 5–6 weeks thereafter until November, and again in February and March. At each of those subsequent assessments, the same protocol was followed but only the frames, hive lid and inner cover were weighed. The hive lid and inner cover weights were compared to previous values and used to correct for moisture content changes in the hive components and improve estimates of adult bee mass. Food resources in the colonies were very low by mid-November so all colonies were provided with an additional 2 kg sugar syrup at that time.
    AZ 2018 experiment
    The 2017–2018 experiment was conducted in the same manner, with the same or similar equipment and using the same bee suppliers. Varroa mite fall onto adhesive boards was monitored 6–9 July, and hives were assessed and sampled on 5 July in the same manner as before. NEBS were sampled on 6 July, 23 August and 4 October, 2018. CO2 probes (Vaisala Inc., Helsinki, Finland), calibrated for 0–20% concentrations, were installed in five hives in each treatment group and set to record CO2 concentration every 5 min. Colonies were fed 3 kg sugar syrup twice per week from 12 July to 20 August with the same pesticide concentrations as the previous year and assessed as before, with the experiment ending in February. Varroa infestation levels were monitored at the end of August and again at the beginning of November. Colonies were treated with amitraz (Apivar) on 19 October. Unlike the previous year, colonies were found to have sufficient resources to last to spring and so they were not fed any additional syrup after the treatment period.
    MS 2018 experiment
    Full bee colonies, each comprised of two “deep” boxes as described above, were obtained from a local bee supplier (Gunter Apiaries, Lumberton MS) as nucleus colonies the previous year. Queens were bred locally and subspecies was unspecified. Colonies were placed on hive scales (Tekfa model B-2418) on 16 May 2018. Colonies were assessed, using the methods described above, on 11 July 2018 and temperature sensors (iButtons) were installed on 12 July 2018. Frames of honey were removed on 18 July and colonies were randomly placed in treatment groups. Treatment feeding commenced 24 July, lasting 31 August, using the same concentrations and amounts as described above. Colonies were not fed pollen patty because sufficient pollen was available. Colonies were assessed again 18 September 2018 and finally on 27 March 2019. Samples of 300 bees were collected on 7 May 2018, washed in 70% ethanol and the Varroa mites counted. Colonies were treated for Varroa (Checkmite, Mann Lake Ltd) on 28 June 2018. The apiary site was assessed using the National Agricultural Statistical Service (NASS) Cropscape web site (https://nassgeodata.gmu.edu/ CropScape) to obtain acreage estimates for all land use categories within an approximately 1.8 km radius of the apiary. Bees can forage beyond that distance; the radius was chosen to provide a sufficient area ( > 1000 ha) to be representative of the forage available to the bees.
    Data analysis
    The total weight of the adult bee population was calculated by subtracting the combined weights of hive components (i.e. lid, inner cover, box, bottom board, frames, entrance reducer, internal feeder) obtained at the start of the experiment (model EC15, OHaus) from the total hive weight recorded the midnight prior to the inspection. The area of sealed brood per frame was estimated from the photographs using ImageJ version 1.47 software (W. Rasband, National Institutes of Health, USA) or CombCount59; this method has been described elsewhere20,28. Food resources in the colonies were calculated as the total frame weight, less (1) the mass of the brood (calculated at 0.77 g/cm2) and (2) the mass of an empty frame of drawn comb (555 g)28.
    Honey bee colony survivorship was analyzed using Proc LifeReg (SAS Inc. 2002). Survivorship curves were generated for each treatment group within each experiment. Treatments compared using ANOVA (α = 0.05) (Proc Glimmix, SAS Inc. 2002), with experiment as a random factor, with respect to three parameters: (1) the 30th percentile; (2) the 50th percentile; and 3) a shape variable calculated by subtracting the 40th from the 30th percentile.
    Daily hive weight change was calculated as the difference between the weight at midnight of a given day to the weight 23 h 55 min later. Continuous temperature data were divided into daily average data and within-day detrended data. Detrended data were obtained as the difference between the 24 h running average and the raw data. Sine curves were fit to 3-day subsamples of the detrended data, taken sequentially by day28. Curve amplitudes, representing estimates of daily variability, were reduced to a data point every 3 days, to ensure no overlap between data subsamples, for repeated measures MANOVA analyses. CO2 concentration data were treated in the same fashion.
    Adult bee masses , brood surface area, and total food resources for the 1st sampling occasion after treatment were analyzed across all three experiments using ANOVA (Proc Glimmix, SAS Inc. 2002). Further analyses were conducted among the Arizona experiments across multiple sampling occasions using repeated-measure MANOVA (Proc Glimmix, SAS Inc. 2002). A similar approach was taken with newly-emerged bee weights, i.e. initial analysis across AZ 2017 and AZ 2018 using ANOVA for a single sampling occasion, then for AZ 2018 using MANOVA across two sampling occasions. Daily hive weight change, internal hive temperature average and variability (i.e. amplitudes of fit sine curves) and CO2 concentration average and variability were used as response variables in repeated-measures MANOVA with treatment, sampling date, experiment and day, and all 2-way interactions, as fixed effects and with pre-treatment values as a covariate to control for pre-existing differences. Proc Univariate was used with all response variables to inspect the data for normality. Log transformations were conducted where necessary to improve normality. Analyses of hive weight and temperature were limited to approximately 3 months after the end of treatment to focus on the active season, and consisted of omnibus tests that initially included all three field experiments followed by analyses within each experiment. The reason for this is that effects that are significant in one trial might not be so in another, or might be significant but in a contrary fashion. CO2 concentration data were only collected in AZ 2018.
    NEB data were analyzed with Treatment, Sampling date and their interaction, with the July values as a covariate. Varroa fall were analyzed within each Arizona experiment, with the pre-treatment values used as covariates where applicable. Varroa alcohol wash data for MS 2018 were analyzed separately.
    Rainfall, and ambient temperature and CO2 data, were obtained for the Arizona site: AmeriFlux US-SRM Santa Rita Mesquite, https://doi.org/10.17190/AMF/1246104; and temperature and rainfall data for Mississippi: National Environmental Satellite, Data, and Information Service, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Poplarville Experimental Station, MS US USC00227128. More

  • in

    Response of soil N2O emission and nitrogen utilization to organic matter in the wheat and maize rotation system

    Study site
    The study site (N 38° 49′, E 115° 26′) is located in the Guanzhuang Village in Baoding City of Hebei Province, China, in the humid temperate and monsoon climatic zone with the average annual air temperature of 13 °C, annual rainfall of 500 mm, and frost-free period is 210 days. Although the experiment was a one-year, the distribution of precipitation (488.50 mm) and temperature (13.45 °C) during the experimental period (2014–2015) were close to the the latest 10-year averages (2005–2015) (500.19 mm and 13.61 °C) (Fig. 1). Determine the basic nutrient indexes of the 0–20 cm surface soil in the test plot. The soil type is silty loam, consists with 22.55% sand, 71.09% silt and 6.36% clay. Analysis of soil basic characteristics showed that it has a pH of 8.3, and its content of organic matter, total N, available phosphorus (P) and available potassium (K) was 11.27 g kg−1, 1.47 g kg−1, 25.49 mg kg−1 and 127.43 mg kg−1, respectively.
    Figure 1

    Monthly precipitation and average temperature during the experimental year (2014–2015) and the mean values in the last ten years (2005–2015) in the test area. Data was from meteorological station.

    Full size image

    Experiment materials
    The planting mode of the experimental site was a winter wheat-summer maize rotation, the winter wheat variety was ‘Jinnong 6’ that verage thousand weight was 47.6 g. The summer maize variety was ‘Zhengdan 958′ that average thousand weight 330 g.
    Test fertilizers include inorganic fertilizer, organic fertilizer, soil conditioner, compound bateria, amino acid liquid fertilizer and nutrient agent. Inorganic N, P and K in the tested fertilizers were provided by urea (N 46%), superphosphate (P2O5,16%) and potassium chloride (K2O, 54%), respectively, as well as in the form of zinc and humic acid urea which is mainly a combination of N with humic acid (N 46% and HA 1.2%). The organic fertilizer used in the experiment was mainly decomposed chicken manure. But the N content in the chicken manure is 1.32% in wheat season and 4.48% in maize sason. Soil conditioner mainly containing calcium (Ca) and magnesium (Mn), Compound bacteria could fix N potentially, promote root growth, decompose cellulose lignin and thus rapidly to degrade. The number of living bacteria reached 2 billion per gram. Amino acid liquid fertilizer and nutrient agent sprayed according to crop growth to provide the required amino acids and trace elements for plant growth.
    Experiment design
    Field experiment consisted of five treatments with 3 replicates. The experiment uses a completely randomized block setting, the plot size was 79.2 m2 (13.2 m × 6 m). Before the experiment, no crops were planted in the area and it was idle for more than one year. The five treatments were: CK (zero N), FN (farmers’ traditional inorganic N rate, through mass surveys on actual production), RN (recommended inorganic-N rate, according to the experimental results of many scholars, combined with the local soil N supply, crop straw returning in the previous season as well as wheat or maize N demand for target yield in the current season)22,23, HAN (zinc and humic acid urea, the N supply same as RN), RN40% + HOM (40% inorganic N rate of RN (RN40%) with homemade organic matters (HOM). HOM was an organic control measure, it including organic fertilizer, soil conditioner compound bacteria, amino acid liquid fertilizer and nutrient agent. these constituents and amount according to Shu et al24 (Table 1).
    Table 1 Rates of pure N and organic matters in different fertilization treatments.
    Full size table

    For wheat, N fertilizer was broadcast for ratio of 4:3 (basal to topdressing) in RN40% + HOM, whereas for the rest N treatments the ratio was 1:1. During maize planting, N ratio (basal to topdressing) for all treatments was 2:3.The N, P and K fertilizers for wheat were applied in the form of urea, single superphosphate and potassium chloride, respectively. The amount of N fertilizer applied in different treatments of different crops is different, specific application amount reference Table 1. Except for treatment RN40% + HOM, all treatments have the same amount of single superphosphate and potassium chloride. Single superphosphate (120 kg P2O5 ha−1)and potassium chloride (150 kg K2O ha−1)were used in winter wheat season. For maize, single superphosphate (90 kg P2O5 ha−1) and potassium chloride (150 kg K2O ha−1) were used. P and K fertilizers were applied once before sowing. For the doses of P and K in RN40% + HOM brought by organic fertilizer were firstly assessed (48.4 kg P2O5 ha−1 and 149.3 kg K2O ha−1 for winter wheat; 87.2 P2O5 ha−1 and 19.1 kg K2O ha−1 for maize), remaining amounts were supplemented with chemical P and K fertilizers.
    Wheat at a rate of 187.5 kg ha−1 with a row space of 15 cm, was sown on 12 October 2014 and harvested at 7 June 2015. Then, at the same wheat plot, Maize of 37.5 kg ha−1 with a row space of 57 cm, was sown on 18 June 2015 and harvested at 5 October 2015.
    N2O sampling and measurements
    N2O gas was collected using a closed static chamber from sowing to harvest of wheat and maize25. The sampling box was divided into two parts and made by PVC material: a box body and a base. The upper part of the box body was provided with a gas sampling port sealed with a rubber plug, and a thermometer probe was arranged inside the box body to monitor the soil surface temperature. The box body is 15 cm high and the bottom diameter is 25 cm. The base was ring shaped, and buried into the soil. Gas collection was performed from 9:00 to10:00 am. A 30 mL of air sample was collected at 0, 8, 16 min after closure26. The air samples were taken once at an interval of 7 days in general and subsequently continuous 5 days following fertilization or precipitation. Continue to collect gas samples from the beginning of the experiment. No gas samples are collected during the freezing of wheat field soil in February and March every year. At the same time, the air temperature was measured by a thermometer and the soil moisture in the 0–5 cm depth was measured by soil moisture tester (TK3-BASIC). Gas concentrations were analyzed by using a gas chromatography (Agilent 7890 A, USA), fitted with a 4 mm by 3 m stainless steel column packed with Porapack Q and N2 was used as the carrier gas. The column and the detector temperatures were set at 70 °C and 300 °C, respectively. The standard N2O was supplied from National Center of Standard Measurement.
    N2O flux was calculated using the following equation (Wang et al.27).

    $${text{F}} = rho times {text{H}} times T_{0} frac{{left( {c_{2} /T_{2} – c_{1} /T_{1} } right)}}{Delta t}$$
    (1)

    where F is N2O emission flux, ρ = m/22.414, ρ is the density of gas in airtight box, m is molecular weight, H is the height of the static chamber, T0 is 273 K, c1 and c2 are the gas concentration in time of t1and t2, respectively, T1and T2 are gas temperatures, ∆t = t2 − t1 ,where t2 and t1are times.
    Cumlative N2O emissions were from the growth season was calculated by the equation:

    $${text{T = }}sum {left[ {{{left( {{text{F}}_{{text{i + 1}}} {text{ + F}}_{{text{i}}} } right)} mathord{left/ {vphantom {{left( {{text{F}}_{{text{i + 1}}} {text{ + F}}_{{text{i}}} } right)} {2}}} right. kern-nulldelimiterspace} {2}}} right]} times left( {{text{D}}_{{text{i + 1}}} – {text{D}}_{{text{i}}} } right) times {{{24}} mathord{left/ {vphantom {{{24}} {{1000} times {667} times {15} times {10}^{{ – {6}}} }}} right. kern-nulldelimiterspace} {{1000} times {667} times {15} times {10}^{{ – {6}}} }}$$
    (2)

    where T is the total amount of N2O emissions from the growth stage (kg N ha−1), Fi and Fi+1 denote the N2O flux of the i and i + 1 sub-sampling (μg N m−2 h−1); Di and Di+1 represent sampling days (d)26.
    N2O emission coefficient (EF) was estimated with equation28:

    $$EF(% ) = left[ {left( {{text{Cumulative}};{text{N}}_{{2}} {text{O}};{text{emissions}};{text{from}};{text{fertilized}};{text{plots}} – {text{control}};{text{plots}}} right)/{text{N}};{text{fertilizer}};{text{rate}}} right] times 100$$
    (3)

    Soil sampling and measurements
    At wheat and maize maturity, soil samples were collected from depths of 0–20, 20–40 and 40–60 cm with a hand probe from three places in central rows of each plot and mixed together. Fresh soil samples were sieved through a 2 mm, extracted with 1 mol L−1 KCl and a soil-solution ratio of 1:10, and analyzed for inorganic N (mainly including NH4+–N and NO3−–N) contents with continuous flow analysis technique(AA3-HR, Germany)22. Soil moisture and density of each soil layer were measured simultaneously, and the soil residual N in 0–60 cm was calculated. Other soil sample was air-dried and sieved, organic matter and total N content were measured by agrochemical analysis method29.
    Plant harvest
    For wheat, plants with double rows (1 m length) in each plot were harvested and 20 spikes were selected to count the numbers of effective spikes. All the harvested plant samples were separated into straw (including stem, leaves and remaining of ears) and grains, and the grain yield was calculated to 12.5% moisture content (PM-8188, Japan). Three samples were chosen from each plot and weighted to get the average 1000-grain weight.
    For maize, two representative plants in each plot were harvested and separated into straw (including stems, leaves, tassels, husks, cobs) and grains in the central rows. Moreover, 20 ears were continuously selected to thresh and measured grain yield. Grain yield was calculated to 14% moisture content (PM-8188, Japan).
    All harvested wheat and maize samples were dried, weighed, ground into powder to measure the total N content using H2SO4–H2O2 Kjeldahl digestion method29.
    N balance and N efficiencies
    Total N input was comprised of N fertilizer, the initial inorganic N in soil before planting (including both NO3−–N and NH4+–N), pre-crop N straw return (no straw was returned when sowing wheat and the N uptake in maize stage was calculated from pre-wheat straw), N deposition from dry and wet atmosphere and mineralized N in soil. Atmospheric N deposition was derived from Research result by Liu et al.30. N output was comprised of crop uptake, post-harvest residual soil N and apparent N loss. This study calculated soil N to a depth of 0–60 cm. Mineralized soil N, apparent N loss, Nitrogen production effiency (NPE) , Nitrogen agronomic effiency (NAE) and Nitrogen use efficiency (NUE) were calculated as follows:

    $$begin{aligned} {text{Mineralized}};{text{N}}left( {{text{kg}},{text{ha}}^{ – 1} } right) & = {text{Crop}};{text{N}};{text{uptake}};{text{in}};{text{CK}} + {text{Post – harvest}};{text{residual}};{text{soil}};{text{N}};{text{in}};{text{CK}}{-}{text{Pre – planting}};{text{soil}};{text{N}};{text{in}};{text{CK}} \ & quad {-}{text{N}};{text{deposition}};{text{from}};{text{atmosphere}};{text{in}};{text{CK}} – {text{Pre – crop}};{text{straw}};{text{return}};{text{N}};{text{in}};{text{CK}} \ end{aligned}$$
    (4)

    $${text{Apparent}};{text{N}};{text{loss}}left( {{text{kg}},{text{ha}}^{ – 1} } right) = {text{Total}};{text{N}};{text{input}} – {text{crop}};{text{N}};{text{Uptake}} – {text{post – harvest}};{text{residual}};{text{soil}};{text{N}}$$
    (5)

    $${text{NPE}}left( {{text{kg}},{text{kg}}^{ – 1} } right) = {text{Plant}};{text{yield}}/{text{N}};{text{fertlizer}};{text{rate}}$$
    (6)

    $${text{NAE}}left( {{text{kg}},{text{kg}}^{ – 1} } right) = left[ {left( {{text{Plant}};{text{yield}};{text{with}};{text{N}};{text{application}} – {text{plant}};{text{yield}};{text{without}};{text{N}};{text{fertlizer}}} right)/{text{N}};{text{fertlizer}};{text{rate}}} right]$$
    (7)

    $${text{NUE}}left( % right) = left[ {left( {{text{N}};{text{content}};{text{in}};{text{plant}};{text{with}};{text{N}};{text{fertilizer}}{-}{text{N}};{text{content}};{text{in}};{text{plant}};{text{without}};{text{N}};{text{fertilizer}}} right)/{text{N}};{text{fertlizer}};{text{rate}}} right] times 100$$
    (8)

    Net income analyses
    Prices of fertilizers and grains as well as other costs in Chinese Yuan (RMB: 1 USD = 6.71 RMB in the experiment year) were based on local prices. Net income was calculated by the equation:

    $${text{Net}};{text{income}} = {text{Output}};{text{value}}{-}{text{fertilizer}};{text{cost}}{-}{text{other}};{text{field}};{text{management}};{text{costs}}$$
    (9)

    $${text{Output}};{text{value}} = {text{Grain}};{text{yield}} times {text{grain}};{text{price}}$$
    (10)

    where Fertilizer costs were composed of the prices of inorganic N (3.9 RMB kg−1), P2O5 (5.65 RMB kg−1), K2O (6.5 RMB kg−1), pure N in zinc and humic acid urea (5.0 RMB kg−1), decomposed chicken manure (0.5 RMB kg−1), soil conditioner (2.8 RMB kg−1), compound bacteria, amino acid liquid fertilizer and nutrient agent together (30 RMB kg−1). Other field management costs included seed, labor for fertilization, irrigation, mechanical sowing, etc. Grain prices of wheat and maize during the experiment were 2.2 and 1.8 RMB kg−1, respectively.
    Statistical analysis
    This research adopted SPSS Statistics 20.0 software (SPSS Inc., Chicago, IL, USA) to date analysis. Through least significant differences (LSD) method, the statistically significant differences were calculated. The differences level was prominent when P  More

  • in

    Jaw shape and mechanical advantage are indicative of diet in Mesozoic mammals

    Jaw shape variation and diet in small mammals
    Using 2D geometric morphometrics (Fig. 2a), we found that jaw shape is a good proxy for diet among small extant mammals. In Fig. 3, taxa with negative PC1 scores have shorter jaws, and taxa with positive PC1 scores have longer jaws; taxa with positive PC2 scores have taller ascending rami and taxa with negative PC2 scores have shorter ascending rami. Among extant mammals, most dietary categories (excluding omnivores) can be distinguished along PC1 (Fig. 3a): herbivores plot at the negative end of PC1, insectivores towards the positive end, and carnivores in between. These categories are also statistically different from each other (Table 2), showing that jaw shape can distinguish between most major dietary types. However, our data cannot distinguish between carnivores and omnivores.
    Fig. 2: Data acquired from the jaws of Mesozoic and extant small mammals.

    a Jaw landmarking regimen used in this study. Modified from ref. 12. In orange: six fixed landmarks; in blue: 58 sliding semi landmarks. b Moment arm measurements taken in this study. Modified from ref. 19.

    Full size image

    Fig. 3: Scatter plots of the principal component analysis (PCA) results (PC1 vs. PC2).

    a Extant taxa, b extinct taxa. Convex hulls shown for extant insectivores (yellow), carnivores (red), omnivores (purple) and herbivores (blue). Icon colors indicate known dietary categories of extant mammals and suggested dietary categories for Mesozoic mammals (obtained from the literature). See Table 1 for taxon names.

    Full size image

    Table 2 Summary of the Procrustes ANOVA (Type II, Conditional SS) performed for jaw shape data as a function of dietary group.
    Full size table

    Data on the jaw shape of Mesozoic mammals were projected onto the extant taxa morphospace (Fig. 3b). In order to determine whether jaw shape could be used as a dietary proxy in Mesozoic mammals, we obtained previous independent determinations of likely diets, which variously employed dental morphology, tooth wear facets and body size (e.g., see refs. 1,7,12,14,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31,32). We saw a very good correspondence between previous proposed diets for Mesozoic mammals and their position on the morphospace. See Supplementary Fig. 6 for a principal components analysis scatter plot which includes multituberculates and haramiyidans; these taxa were excluded from our study because the vast majority of them have jaw shapes dissimilar to the other extinct and extant mammals in our sample (i.e., allotherians have shorter jaws and thus more negative PC1 scores).
    Stem mammals
    Most stem mammals plot within the morphospace of extant insectivores and have positive PC1 scores. One exception is Sinoconodon (taxon #2, Fig. 3), which plots within the morphospace of extant carnivores; Sinoconodon is considered a carnivore based on dental morphology5. Haramiyavia (#1) is thought to have been a plant-dominated omnivore23 based on dental morphology, but here it plots within the morphospace of extant insectivores. Both morganucodontans in this study, Morganucodon (#3) and Dinnetherium (#4), have similar PC1 scores to extant insectivores, echoing the findings of Gill et al.14.
    Molar morphology indicates omnivorous or faunivorous diets for docodontans; here they mostly plot within the morphospace of extant insectivores, with the exception of Haldanodon (#6) and Docofossor (#7). Agilodocodon (#9) was previously considered a plant-dominated omnivore, with exudativorous dental features which indicated a diet mainly composed of plant sap33; more recently, Wible and Burrows34 challenged this hypothesis and suggested that the teeth of Agilodocodon most closely resemble those of extant insectivores. Here, Agilodocodon plots firmly within the morphospace of extant insectivores, close to the insectivorous dusky antechinus (Antechinus swainsonii, #61) and the elephant shrews (Elephantulus rufescens [#114] and E. brachyrhynchus [#115]), which are insect-dominated omnivores.
    According to Ji et al.28 the swimming docodontan, Castorocauda (#5), has dental features indicative of feeding on aquatic invertebrates and small vertebrates, like fish. Castorocauda is often depicted as being carnivorous and, particularly, piscivorous7,28,33. The jaw shape of Castorocauda is similar to that of modern day insectivores; this docodontan might have been feeding on “soft” aquatic invertebrates (Fig. 3). The other Mesozoic mammal in our sample proposed to have been semi-aquatic, Teinolophos (#13), plots in a similar area of the morphospace to Castorocauda. Our extant sample also includes a semi-aquatic carnivore, the water opossum (Chironectes minimus, #69), which plots in the middle of the carnivore morphospace, far away from Castorocauda and Teinolophos.
    Docofossor (#7) has skeletal features indicative of a fossorial lifestyle and a dentition similar to those of extant mammals foraging underground, such as moles, solenodons, and tenrecs35. This docodontan has previously been considered an insectivore7. Here, Docofossor plots within the morphospace of extant carnivores; however, it plots close to the burrowing Hispaniolan solenodon (Solenodon paradoxus, #109), which has an insectivorous diet. Among the extant insectivores in our sample, the burrowing vermivores (e.g., the hairy-tailed mole, Parascalops breweri [#108], and the Hispaniolan solenodon) have more negative PC1 scores than other insectivores (similar to that of Docofossor), and their PC1 values are more similar to those of carnivores.
    The dental morphology of Haldanodon (#6) is indicative of an insectivorous diet. Here, it plots within the carnivore morphospace (very near extant herbivores), because of its tall coronoid process and comparatively shorter jaw. Docodon (#8) likely ate insects and other small invertebrates27 and, based on its diminutive size36, Microdocodon (#10) was probably insectivorous. Both of these docodontans plot within the insectivore morphospace.
    Non-therian crown mammals
    The jaw shape of non-therian crown mammals varies widely, plotting mostly within the morphospace of insectivores and carnivores. Fruitafossor (#11), a fossorial mammal with teeth similar to extant armadillos, has been considered an omnivore eating insects, small invertebrates and some plants26. Here, it plots within the insectivore morphospace, closely to the insectivorous and fossorial hairy-tailed mole (Parascalops breweri, #108), and shares similar PC1 scores with other fossorial taxa, such as Docofossor (#7) and the Hispaniolan solenodon (#109).
    Extant monotremes eat insects and other small invertebrates. It has been proposed that the Early Cretaceous monotreme Teinolophos (#13) had a semiaquatic lifestyle (on the basis of its enlarged mandibular canal37) and ate in a similar manner to the insectivorous Kuehneotherium38. Here Teinolophos, and the australosphenidan Henosferus (#12), have PC1 scores similar to insectivores and omnivores.
    The eutriconodontans are a very diverse group of insectivores and carnivores which had a wide range of body sizes, including some of the largest Mesozoic mammals known1. Here all eutriconodontans fall within or very close to the extant carnivore morphospace. In particular, Triconodon (#16) and Argentoconodon (#19) plot within the carnivore morphospace, Trioracodon (#17) and Volaticotherium (#18) plot between the carnivore and insectivore morphospaces, and Yanoconodon (#15) plots within the insectivore morphospace. Both gobiconodontids, Gobiconodon (#20) and Repenomamus (#21), have more negative PC1 scores and plot closer to the herbivore morphospace, but still remain within or close to the carnivore morphospace. Triconodon, Trioracodon, Gobiconodon, and Repenomamus are all considered carnivores based on craniodental morphology and body size1,7,31; additionally, there is direct evidence for the carnivorous diet of Repenomamus from fossilized stomach contents4. Yanoconodon and Volaticotherium are considered insectivores7.
    “Symmetrodontans” like Spalacotherium (#22), Zhangheotherium (#24) and Maotherium (#25) have often been considered insectivores based on their craniodental morphology1,7 (note “symmetrodontans” likely do not represent a monophyletic group, but are often grouped together based on their tooth morphology1). Here, all “symmetrodontans” plot within the insectivore morphospace. Dryolestids are also commonly considered insectivorous1,29. Here, Crusafontia (#26) plots between the morphospace of extant carnivores and insectivores, while Amblotherium (#27) plots within the insectivore morphospace.
    Vincelestes (#29) has previously been considered a carnivore on the basis of jaw shape12. Here, it plots near the morphospaces of both omnivores and herbivores. Bonaparte24 considered the incisor wear of Vincelestes reminiscent of Cenozoic carnivores, and Rougier25 considered its jaw morphology indicative of a forceful bite enabling the incorporation of tough plant matter into a primarily carnivorous/insectivorous diet.
    Therian crown mammals
    Extant marsupials have a large diversity of diets, including herbivory, but the extinct metatherians in our sample are considered to have been limited in diet to insectivory and carnivory (note that there are some putatively herbivorous/omnivorous extinct metatherians, like Glasbius and polydolopimorphians39,40). Their jaw shape is very similar to that of extant carnivores and insectivores (Fig. 3). Dental morphology indicates that Eodelphis (#32) and Deltatheridium (#30) were carnivorous, Didelphodon (#31) durophagous or molluscivorous31,32, and Alphadon (#33) is considered to have been insectivorous, on the basis of its jaw shape and body size12. Dental microwear indicates a broad diet consisting of vertebrates, plants, and hard-shelled invertebrates for Didelphodon; biomechanical analyses of its skull and jaw points towards a durophagous diet15,16. Biomechanical analyses of the resistance to bending and torsion of Eodelphis jaws, points to a durophagous diet in Eodelphis cutleri and non-durophagous faunivory for Eodelphis browni16. Here, Eodelphis, Deltatheridium and Didelphodon plot closely to the extant carnivores, while Alphadon plots closely to the extant insectivores.
    Extant placentals also have a wide range of diets, but many of the extinct eutherians in this study (i.e., Sinodelphys [#34], Juramaia [#35], Eomaia [#36], Kennalestes [#40], Barunlestes [#44], and Kulbeckia [#43]) are considered insectivorous7,12. Here, we corroborate this hypothesis (Fig. 3): all extinct eutherians plot within the insectivore morphospace, with the exception of Asioryctes (#38) which plots in the insectivore/carnivore morphospace, and Juramaia and Sinodelphys, which plot just outside the insectivore morphospace.
    Using jaw shape to infer diet in Mesozoic mammals
    We performed a phylogenetic flexible discriminant analysis (phylo FDA) following Motani and Schmitz41 to determine the posterior probability of the Mesozoic taxa belonging to one of three dietary categories: insectivore, carnivore, or herbivore (we omitted omnivores as they are not well discriminated in Fig. 3). We used the first seven PC scores (of the PCA of Procrustes coordinates of jaw shape), which together accounted for 81.39% of the variance. The results of the analysis can be seen in Fig. 4 and the posterior probability values can be seen in Supplementary Data 1. We used the extant taxa of known diets as the training dataset for the discriminant analysis: these taxa were classified correctly 89.19% of the time. For the most part, we see a good separation between dietary groups among extant mammals (Fig. 4a), with some exceptions: the primarily herbivorous olingo (Bassaricyon gabbii, #94) plots with the carnivores (although mainly frugivorous, it can consume small vertebrates), and a couple of insectivores plot very near the carnivores (i.e., the little brown bat [Myotis lucifugus, #104] and the Hispaniolan solenodon [Solenodon paradoxus, #109]). These three taxa, alongside the carnivorous greater bulldog bat (Noctilio leporinus, #101), were the only extant taxa misclassified by the discriminant analysis.
    Fig. 4: Phylogenetic flexible discriminant analysis results, showing discriminant axis 1 (DA1) and two (DA2), of all taxa in this study.

    Extinct taxa are color coded based on their posterior probability of belonging to one of the established dietary categories. Convex hulls show the position of the extant taxa in the plot and are color coded based on their dietary categories.

    Full size image

    The Mesozoic mammals included in our sample have largely been considered faunivorous and the results of the phylo FDA (Fig. 4b) corroborate this hypothesis. The majority of them are classified as insectivorous, including most stem mammals, australophenidans, “symmetrodontans” and eutherians, among others. Among the eutriconodontans, Argentoconodon, Gobiconodon, Repenomamus, and Trioracodon, are classified as carnivores, Triconodon and Yanoconodon are classified as insectivores, but with moderate support (posterior probabilities: 48% and 52%, respectively), and Phascolotherium and Volaticotherium are more confidently classified as insectivores (posterior probabilities: 60% and 73%, respectively). Among the metatherians, Didelphodon and Eodelphis are classified as carnivores, while Alphadon and Deltatheridium are classified as insectivores with moderate support (posterior probabilities: 54% and 52%, respectively). The stem mammals, Haramiyavia, Sinoconodon, and Docofossor are all confidently classified as carnivores (posterior probabilities over 80%), and the crown mammals Crusafontia and Kennalestes are also classified as carnivores, but with moderate support (posterior probabilities: 54% and 52%, respectively). Two taxa in the analysis are classified as herbivores, because of their relatively tall ascending rami: Vincelestes (#29) and Haldanodon (#6). The dental morphology of Vincelestes points to a primarily faunivorous diet24, but it has been previously noted that its jaw morphology is indicative of a forceful bite; Rougier25 suggested that this jaw morphology might have enabled Vincelestes to incorporate tough plant matter into its diet, but it might also be indicative of durophagy. The dental morphology27 and body size of Haldanodon point towards an insectivorous diet; in this analysis, the posterior probability of Haldanodon being a herbivore is not high (only 40.3%). The evidence thus far suggests Haldanodon had a faunivorous diet; its jaw morphology might be indicative of the incorporation of tougher food sources into its diet.
    Mechanical advantage of the jaws of small mammals
    We obtained mechanical advantage (MA) data to test whether extant mammals of different dietary groups have distinct MA values (Table 3). The mechanical advantage measurements were standardized across all jaws to account for differences in jaw morphology (e.g., presence or absence of the angular process) (Fig. 2b); the outlever was measured at the anterior end of the jaw and at the first lower molar (m1). When measuring mechanical advantage at the jaw tip and considering extant taxa only, we find statistically significant differences in the mechanical advantage of the masseter (MAM) values in all pairwise dietary combinations except for carnivore-insectivore (Table 3). The mechanical advantage of the temporalis (MAT) is statistically distinct only between herbivores and insectivores, and carnivores and insectivores (Table 3). Herbivores and carnivores do not have statistically distinct MAT values. This may differ in a sample of larger ( > 5 kg) therians. When measuring the outlever at the m1, we find statistically significant differences in all pairwise comparisons of MAM between dietary groups, except for herbivore–omnivore and carnivore–insectivore. When considering MAT, we only find significant differences between omnivores and carnivores, insectivores and herbivores, and insectivores and carnivores.
    Table 3 Pairwise p values (uncorrected significance) of one-way PERMANOVAs of the mechanical advantage values of the masseter (MAM) and temporalis (MAT) obtained in this study on extant taxa of known dietary preferences only (permutation N = 9999).
    Full size table

    Figure 5 shows the mechanical advantage of the masseter (left) and temporalis (right), measured at the jaw tip, in a phylogenetic context (see also Supplementary Fig. 7 for individual taxon names). Phylogeny appears to have a large influence on the mechanical advantage and diet of the jaws of small mammals. Most Mesozoic taxa have low (blue) to intermediate (green) MAM values. Most stem mammals have intermediate (green) to high (red) MAM values and non-therian crown mammals have low MAM values, with the exception of Fruitafossor and Vincelestes (the latter has the highest MAM value of all taxa, both extinct and extant). Most eutherians, both extinct and extant, have intermediate to low MAM values, with the exception of the relatively high values (yellow to orange) seen in elephant shrews (order Macroscelidea) and the four-toed hedgehog (order Eulipotyphla, Atelerix albiventris). Some members of the orders Carnivora (including canids and euplerids) and Afrosoricida have some of the lowest MAM values. Metatherians have MAM values ranging from low to intermediate (in the orders Dasyuromorphia and Didelphimorphia, as well as in the Mesozoic metatherians) to some of the highest in the order Diprotodontia (e.g., the sugar glider [Petaurus breviceps], the woylie [Bettongia penicillata], the cuscus [Phalanger orientalis]).
    Fig. 5: Mechanical advantage values of the masseter and temporalis when biting at the jaw tip visualized in the context of the phylogeny used in this study.

    See Supplementary Fig. 7 for individual taxon names.

    Full size image

    Most taxa have intermediate MAT values (Fig. 5 and Supplementary Fig. 7). Very low MAT values are seen in the extinct non-therian crown mammals Teinolophos and Zhangheotherium and a few extant taxa, including marsupials like the Western barred bandicoot (Perameles bougainville) and the numbat (Myrmecobius fasciatus), and placentals such as the striped treeshrew (Tupaia dorsalis) and the short-snouted elephant shrew (Elephantulus brachyrhynchus). The highest MAT values belong to members of the order Carnivora, including skunks (Mephitis macroura and Conepatus humboldtii), the least weasel (Mustela nivalis) and the tayra (Eira barbara). Some diprotodontians like the common ringtail possum (Pseudocheirus peregrinus) and the sugar glider (Petaurus breviceps) also have relatively high MAT values. Some extinct taxa also have relatively high MAT values, including the stem mammal Docofossor, and the non-therian crown mammals, Triconodon and Vincelestes.
    Figures 6 and 7 present a visualisation of the mechanical advantage of the masseter and the temporalis (x axis, outlever measured at the jaw tip) and the PC1 scores of Fig. 3 (y axis, mainly describes jaw length) because, as previously mentioned, this is the axis in which dietary categories among extant mammals are best discriminated. In the y axis of Figs. 6a and 7a, herbivores have short jaws, carnivores have short to intermediate-length jaws and insectivores have intermediate-length to long jaws. In Fig. 6a, insectivores and carnivores have low mechanical advantage values of the masseter (i.e., when biting: less forcefulness, more speed), and herbivores have higher mechanical advantage values (i.e., when biting: more forcefulness, less speed). In Fig. 7a, insectivores have lower mechanical advantage values of the temporalis, while carnivores and herbivores have higher mechanical advantage values. Note that most carnivores have intermediate MAT values, but some mustelids (i.e., the least weasel [Mustela nivalis, #99], the American badger [Taxidea taxus, #96], and the North American river otter [Lontra canadensis, #98]), have the highest MAT values among extant mammals. Also note that, among insectivores, those with the highest MAT values are burrowing vermivores (i.e., the short-tailed shrew tenrec [Microgale brevicaudata, #111], the hairy-tailed mole [Parascalops breweri, #108], and the Hispaniolan solenodon [Solenodon paradoxus, #109]). By using a combination of their MAM and MAT values (as well as their jaw length), we can distinguish dietary categories among extant mammals. We decided to omit omnivores from these figures because, as seen in Fig. 3, they cannot be distinguished from other dietary groups on the basis of jaw shape.
    Fig. 6: Scatter plot of the mechanical advantage of the masseter (x axis) vs. PC1 scores from Fig. 3 (y axis), which mainly describes jaw length.

    a Extant taxa, b extinct taxa. Colors indicate known dietary categories of extant mammals and suggested dietary categories for Mesozoic mammals (obtained from the literature). Ovals indicate where extant taxa of known dietary categories plot, as in part a.

    Full size image

    Fig. 7: Scatter plot of the mechanical advantage of the temporalis (x axis) vs. PC1 scores from Fig. 3 (y axis), which mainly describes jaw length.

    a Extant taxa, b extinct taxa. Colors indicate known dietary categories of extant mammals and suggested dietary categories for Mesozoic mammals (obtained from the literature). Ovals indicate where extant taxa of known dietary categories plot, as in part a.

    Full size image

    We also obtained additional mechanical advantage measurements, in which the outlever was measured at the first lower molar (m1), rather than the jaw tip (Supplementary Figs. 8, 10, 11, and 13). We made this alternative measurement because Grossnickle17 found that the length of the posterior portion of the jaw (measured from the jaw joint to the m1) is a strong predictor of diet in mammals. Compared to the mechanical advantage (MA) measurements at the jaw tip (Figs. 6a and 7a), we see a less clear distinction between dietary groups among extant mammals. There is considerable overlap between dietary groups in Supplementary Fig. 10 (jaw length~MAM). In Supplementary Fig. 11 (jaw length~MAT), there is a better separation between dietary groups.
    Based on previous likely determinations of diet of Mesozoic mammals (see Supplementary Data 1 for the full list of sources), most taxa plot where it is “expected” of them, with some exceptions (Figs. 6b and 7b): 1) about half of the stem mammals (i.e., Haramiyavia, Sinoconodon, Morganucodon, Haldanodon, and Docofossor), most of which are thought to have been faunivorous, have higher MAM values than modern insectivores and carnivores, and 2) the docodontan Castorocauda has MAM and MAT values consistent with an insectivorous diet, as opposed to the carnivorous diet proposed for this taxon7,28,33. Most Mesozoic mammals have mechanical advantage values similar to modern insectivores, a few taxa are similar to carnivores (e.g., Sinoconodon, Triconodon, Trioracodon, Argentoconodon, Gobiconodon, Repenomamus, Deltatheridium, Didelphodon, and Eodelphis), and some are more similar to herbivores (e.g., Vincelestes and Fruitafossor). More

  • in

    Modelling the spatiotemporal complexity of interactions between pathogenic bacteria and a phage with a temperature-dependent life cycle switch

    Model equations
    We introduce a spatiotemporal model to describe the bacteria-phage interaction in the upper part of the soil with the depth H (we consider (H=1) m) in a typical agricultural field. Here we consider a 1D model where all abiotic and biotic components depend on time t and vertical coordinate h. The biotic component of the model consists of 4 compartments: phage-free bacteria (S) susceptible to infection by the phage, bacteria infected by the phage in its lysogenic ((I_1)) and lytic ((I_2)) states, and free phages (P). The total density of the host bacterial populations N is defined as (N = S + I_1 + I_2). The schematic diagram illustrating bacteria-phage interactions is similar to that of Egilmez and co-authors16. The local species interactions are described based on the classical modelling approach6,19. Our spatiotemporal model is of reaction-diffusion type and is described by the following equations

    $$begin{aligned} begin{aligned} frac{partial S(t,h)}{partial t}&= D_b frac{partial ^2 S(t,h)}{partial h^2} +alpha (T) S(t,h) Big [1-frac{N(t,h)}{C(h)}Big ] – K_S S(t,h)P(t,h), \ frac{partial I_1(t,h)}{partial t}&= D_b frac{partial ^2 I_1(t,h)}{partial h^2} + {overline{alpha }}(T) I_1(t,h) Big [1- frac{N(t,h)}{C(h)}Big ] + K_1(T) S(t,h) P(t,h) – lambda _1(T) I_1(t,h), \ frac{partial I_2(t,h)}{partial t}&= D_b frac{partial ^2 I_2(t,h)}{partial h^2} + K_2(T) S(t,h) P(t,h) + lambda _1(T) I_1(t,h) – lambda _2 I_2(t,h), \ frac{partial P(t,h)}{partial t}&= D_P frac{partial ^2 P(t,h)}{partial h^2} -K N(t,h) P(t,h) – mu P(t,h) + b lambda _2 I_2(t,h). end{aligned} end{aligned}$$
    (1)

    In the above model, we parameterise the growth of susceptible bacteria via a standard logistic growth function6, where (alpha) is the maximal per capita growth rate and C is the carrying capacity of the environment; we assume that C(h) varies with depth. Infection of S by phages P at low temperatures results in lysogeny which is described by a mass action term (K_s S(t,h) P(t,h)). The growth of lysogenic bacteria (I_1) is described by a logistic function as in the case of S; however, with a different maximal growth rate ({overline{alpha }} (T)) as detailed in the next subsection. At high temperatures, the transition from the lysogenic to the lytic cycle of infection occurs: this is described by the term (lambda _1 (T) I_1(t,h)). Infection by the phage via the lytic cycle is modelled by the term (K_2 (T)S(t)P(t)). The death rate of infected bacteria due to lysis is modelled by (lambda _2 (T) I_2). The lysis of a bacterium results in the release of b new phages, the the burst size6. In the equation for P, KN(t)P(t) stands for the loss of phage due to binding to any type of bacteria (for simplicity, we assume that there is no saturation in binding). Finally, (mu P(t,h)) is the natural mortality or deactivation of phages.
    According to this framework, the vertical displacement of the phage and bacteria are modelled by a diffusion term (first term in each equation), where (D_b) and (D_P) are the diffusion coefficients of bacteria and phage, respectively. The variation of the temperature T across the soil is described by the heat equation

    $$begin{aligned} frac{partial T(t,h)}{partial t} = D_h frac{partial ^2 T(t,h)}{partial h^2}, end{aligned}$$
    (2)

    where (D_h) is the diffusion coefficient of heat transfer (see more detail in the next section). Models (1)–(2) should be supplied with appropriate boundary conditions. We assume that the model has the zero-flux boundary condition for all biotic components (bacteria and phage) at (h=0) and (h=H). For the temperature, we consider Dirichlet boundary conditions such that (T(t,0)= T_s (t)) and (T(t,H)= T_H), where (T_s (t)) is the surface temperature and (T_H) is a constant temperature in deeper soil layers.
    Parameterisation of equation terms
    Next we describe the functional forms of the dependence of model parameters on the temperature and the depth. Following the previous study16, we assume that the maximal bacterial growth rates (alpha (T)) and ({overline{alpha }}(T)) are described by

    $$begin{aligned} alpha (T)= & {} exp left (-frac{(T-T_0)^2}{2sigma ^2}right )alpha _{text {max}}, end{aligned}$$
    (3)

    $$begin{aligned} {overline{alpha }}(T)= & {} alpha (T) left [1-frac{T^n}{T_1^n + T^n}right ] = alpha _{text {max}}exp {left (-frac{(T-T_0)^2}{2sigma ^2}right )} left [1-frac{T^n}{T_1^n + T^n}right ], end{aligned}$$
    (4)

    where (T_0=38.2 ^circ text {C}) is the optimal temperature; (T_1=34.8 ^circ text {C}) is the temperature corresponding to the switch between the lytic and the lysogenic cycles; (alpha _{text{max}}=23 text {day}^{-1}) is the maximal possible growth, (sigma =9.1 ^circ text {C}) describes the decay of growth with temperature T16,20.
    In the equation for ({overline{alpha }}(T)), we assume that at a high temperature normal cell division of (I_1) stops since there is a transition to a lytic state in bacteria. In the soil bacteria grow anaerobically or microaerophillically, and the growth rates of B. pseudomallei under such conditions are yet to be studied. For simplicity they are assumed to be the same as under aerobic conditions. Realistic values of the above parameters are listed in Table 1. Note that in the model both (alpha (T)) and ({overline{alpha }}(T)) are in fact effective growth rates of the bacterial populations, i.e. they incorporate the replication of cells and as well as their mortality.
    Table 1 Parameters used in the model along with their units and ranges.
    Full size table

    The overall adsorption rate of the phage K is estimated as (2 times 10^{-7} text {ml}^{-1} text { day}^{-1}) from Egilmez et al.16. The adsorption constants (K_1 (T)), (K_2 (T)) and the transition rate from lysogenic to lytic cycle (lambda _1(T)) depend on temperature as follows16:

    $$begin{aligned} K_1(T)&= left(1-frac{T^n}{T_1^n + T^n}right) K_S, nonumber \ K_2(T)&= frac{T^n}{T_1^n + T^n} K_S, nonumber \ lambda _1(T)&= frac{T^n}{T_1^n + T^n} {lambda _1}_{text {max}} , end{aligned}$$
    (5)

    where (K_S) is the maximal phage adsorption constant ((K_S=epsilon K) where (epsilon =0.3) is the adsorption efficiency) and (lambda _{1_text {max}}=23 text {day}^{-1}) is the maximal transition rate which is assumed to be equal to the maximal growth rate of the bacteria16. The lysis rate of bacteria (lambda _2=20 text {day}^{-1}) (depending on 50 min latency time13) and the burst size (b = 100) in the model are assumed to be constant16. The temperature dependence of (alpha (T)), ({overline{alpha }}(T)), (K_1 (T)), (K_2 (T)) and (lambda _1(T)) are shown in Fig. 2. The mortality rate of phages (mu) is high near the surface due to ultraviolet radiation, but the role of ultraviolet radiation becomes negligible starting from a depth of a few centimetres because sunlight cannot penetrate the soil. For the above reason, we can assume (mu =3 text {day}^{-1}) to be constant.
    Figure 2

    (a) Temperature dependence of the adsorption constants (K_i) ((i=1,2)) of the phage (measured in (text {ml}^{-1} text {day}^{-1})). (b) Growth rates of susceptible (alpha (T)) and lysogenic ({overline{alpha }}(T)) bacteria and the transition rate (lambda _1(T)) from the lysogenic cycle to the lytic cycle (measured in (text {day}^{-1})). The corresponding analytical expressions for the temperature dependence are given by (3)–(5).

    Full size image

    The carrying capacity C of the bacteria varies with the depth of the soil, according to empirical observations21,22,23. This can be explained by the fact that the humus, oxygen, nitrogen contents, or/and water content in the soil generally decrease with depth24. We use a combined approach to parameterise C(h) based on the available empirical data. We assume that in the absence of phages, the bacteria achieve numbers close to the carrying capacity at a given depth. Firstly, we parameterise the dependence of the overall bacterial load on depth in paddy soils in Southern Asia using the existing data22. Then we re-scale the obtained curve based on the available observations of B. pseudomallei at a depth (h=30 text {cm})25,26. We approximate C(h) using the following simple Gaussian-type curve

    $$begin{aligned} C(h)=(C_text {surf} -C_0)exp (-B h^2)+C_0, end{aligned}$$
    (6)

    where (C_text {surf}) gives the maximal number of bacteria near the surface (h), B determines how fast the bacterial abundance decreases with depth, (C_0) is background bacterial density which takes into account the fact that bacteria can survive even at large depths (e.g. (h=100 text {cm})). Based on our estimates (see supplementary material SM1 for more detail), we will use the following parameter values as defaults: (C_text {surf} = 1 times 10^6) (text {cell/ml}), (B=7.5 times 10^{-4}) (1/{text{cm}}^2), (C_0=10^4) (text {cell/ml}) . One can easily see that C(h) has a maximum at the surface and monotonically decreases with depth. We assume that the carrying capacity of the environment is not influenced by seasonal variation.
    The coefficient (D_h) in the equation for the temperature distribution can be estimated as follows. Generally, (D_h) is related to (rho _s), (C_{rho s}) and (k_s) which are the bulk density, specific heat and thermal conductivity in soil, respectively, i.e. (D_h=k_s/(rho _s C_{rho s)}). We use the estimates for (rho _s), (C_{rho s}) and (k_s) from27 which gives (rho _s=110.52 text {kg}/text{m}^3), (C_{rho s} = 1130) (text {J/kg K}) and (k_s = 0.0967) (text {W/m K}) and, for the diffusion coefficient (D_h=7.7 times 10^{-8}) (text {m}^2 text{s}^{-1}). The variation of (T_s)—the surface temperature—is obtained from the historical weather report for the surface16. The bottom boundary temperature (T_H) at (h=H=1 text {m}) is considered to be (22 ^circ text{C}). The initial value of the temperature distribution (T_s (0)) is assumed to be linear, but this assumption does not affect long-term temperature dynamics.
    The paddy fields in which we model the bacteria-phage interactions are flooded lands, where the soil is either mud or muddy water. Many factors can affect vertical dispersal of bacteria and phages in such soil. For instance, rain water can carry bacteria and phage up or down in the soil, which can be mathematically modelled by adding an advection term; however, for simplicity we ignore such effects in this paper. We also assume the phage and bacteria vertical diffusion coefficients to be constant; however, it is rather hard to provide accurate estimates for (D_p) and (D_b). In water, the diffusion coefficient of bacteria and phages can be estimated as (3.6times 10 ^{-10} text {m}^2 text{s}^{-1}= 0.3 text {cm}^2 text{day}^{-1}) and (2.8 times 10^{-12} text {m}^2 text{s}^{-1}= 0.002 text {cm}^2 text{day}^{-1}), respectively28, but the diffusivity in soil should be smaller than this. As such, these values should be considered as upper limits for (D_P) and (D_b), with the actual coefficients being orders of magnitude smaller. We undertook simulations with different combinations of diffusion coefficients in this range, and found that the patterns of vertical distribution do not largely depend on the diffusion coefficients provided (D_P< 10^{-3} text {cm}^2 text{day}^{-1}) and (D_b < 10^{-2} text {cm}^2 text{day}^{-1}), due to the strong external forcing of the system by temperature (see “Results” section for details). In our numerical simulations, we use both explicit and implicit numerical schemes. We take a 0.1 cm spatial step size to get a proper resolution. We separately compute the heat equation to define T(t) with a smaller time resolution and then apply the temperature obtained to model bacteria-phage interactions for a larger time resolution (for example, (Delta t cong 7 times 10^{-5}) day). We compute the average densities of the species (both in terms of spatial and temporal averaging) using a numerical right Riemann sum. The accuracy of our numerical simulation was verified by reducing both time and space steps and comparing the results obtained. We use daily and seasonal variation of temperatures (for the period of 2013–2016) in the provinces of Nakhon Phanom and Sa Kaeo in Thailand to parameterise the model (http://www.worldweatheronline.com). The unit of the densities of bacteria and phages are cells/ml. The summary of model parameters as well their values are provided in Table 1. More

  • in

    Continent-wide tree fecundity driven by indirect climate effects

    Elements of TA
    Identifying biogeographic trends within volatile data required several innovations in the MASTIF model20, building from multivariate state-space methods in previous applications41,52. Standard modeling options, such as generalized linear models and their derivatives, do not accommodate key features of the masting processes. First, multiple data types are not independent. Maturation status is binary with detection error, CCs are non-negative integers, also with detection error, and STs require a transport model (dispersal) linking traps to trees, and identification error in seed identification. Of course, a tree observed to bear seed, now or in the past, is known to be mature now. However, failure to observe seed does not mean that an individual is immature because there are detection errors and failed crop years41,64.
    Second, seed production is quasiperiodic within an individual (serial dependence), quasi-synchronous between individuals (“mast years”), [and] there is dependence on environmental variation, and massive variation within and between trees41,53,65. Autoregressive error structures (AR(p) for p lag terms) impose a rigid assumption of dependence that is not consistent with quasiperiodic variation that can drift between dominant cycles within the same individual over time43. It does not allow for individual differences in mast periodicity.
    Third, climate variables that affect fecundity operate both through interannual anomalies over time and as [a] geographic variation. The masting literature deals almost exclusively with the former, but our application must identify the latter: the potentially smooth variation of climate effects across regions must be extracted from the many individual time series, each dominated by local “noise.”
    Finally, model fitting is controlled by the size classes that dominate a given site and thus is insensitive to size classes that are poorly represented. Large trees are relatively rare in eastern forests, making it hard to identify potential declines in large, old individuals41,53. Conversely, the shade-intolerant species that dominate second-growth forests often lack the smaller size classes needed to estimate maturation and early stages where fecundity may be increasing rapidly.
    Several of the foregoing challenges are resolved in the MASTIF model by introducing latent states for individual maturation status and tree-year seed production. The dependent data types (maturation status, CCs, STs) become conditionally independent in the hierarchical MASTIF model (e.g., ref. 66). The serial dependence is handled as a conditional hidden Markov process for maturation that combines with CCs and STs by way of stochastic (latent) conditional fecundity. Maturation status and conditional fecundity must be estimated jointly, that is, not with separate models. The latent maturation/fecundity treatment avoids imposing a specific AR(p) structure. In the MASTIF model there is a posterior covariance in maturation/fecundity across all tree-year estimates that need not adhere to any specific assumption20. The dependence across individuals and years is automatic and available from the posterior distribution.
    Separating the spatial from temporal components of climate effects is possible here, not only because the entire network is analyzed together but also because predictors in the model include both climate norms for the individual sites and interannual anomalies across sites35,52. TA depends on both of these components.
    Extracting the trends from volatile data further benefits from random individual effects for each tree and the combination of climate anomalies and year effects over time. A substantial literature focuses on specific combinations of climate variables that best explain year-to-year fecundity variation, including combinations of temperature, moisture, and water balance during specific seasons over current and previous years19,25,41. Results vary for each study, presumably due to the differences in sites, species, size classes, duration, data type, and modeling assumptions. For TA, the goal is to accommodate the local interannual variation to optimize identification of trends in space and time. Thus, we include a small selection of important climate anomalies (spring minimum T of the current year, summer T of the current and previous year, and moisture D of the current and previous year). The climate anomalies considered here do not include every variable combination that could be important for all size classes of every species on every site. For this reason, we combine climate anomalies with year effects. Year effects in the model are fixed effects within an ecoregion and random between ecoregions (ecoregions are shown in Fig. 2 and listed in Supplementary Data 2). They are fixed within an ecoregion because they are not interpreted as exchangeable and drawn at random from a large population of possible years. They are random between ecoregions due to the uneven distribution of sites (Supplementary Data 1)20.
    To optimize inference on size effects, the sampling of coefficients in posterior simulation is implemented as a weighted regression. This means that the contribution of tree diameter to fecundity is inversely proportional to the abundance of that size class in the data. This approach has the effect of balancing the contributions of abundant and rare sizes. Identifying size effects further benefits from the introduction of opportunistic field sampling, which can target the large individuals that are typically absent from field study plots.
    MASTIF data network
    Data included in the analysis come from published and unpublished sources and offer one or both of the two data types, CCs and STs (Supplementary Data 1). Both data types inform tree-year fecundity; they are plotted by year in Fig. 6.
    Fig. 6: Distribution of observation trees by year in the North American region of the MASTIF network.

    Sites are listed by ecoregion in the Supplementary Data 2.

    Full size image

    CCs in the MASTIF network are obtained by one of three methods. Most common are counts with binoculars that are recorded with an estimate of the fraction of the crop that was observed. A second CC method makes use of seeds collected per ground surface area relative to the crown area. This method is used where conspecific crowns are isolated and wind dispersal is limited. The crop fraction is the ratio of ground area for traps relative to the projected crown area. Examples include HNHR67 and BCEF68.
    A third CC method is based on evidence for past cone production that is preserved on trees. This has been used for Abies balsamea at western Quebec sites69, Pinus ponderosa in the Rocky Mountains70, and for Pinus edulis at SW sites27.
    ST data include observations on individual trees that combine with seed counts from traps. Because individual studies can report different subcategories of seeds, and few conduct rigorous tests of viability, we had to combine them using the closest description to the concept of “viable”. For example, we do not include empty conifer seeds. A dispersion model provides estimates of seeds derived from each tree. ST and CC studies are listed in Supplementary Data 1. The likelihoods for CCs and STs are detailed in ref. 20. Individually and in combination, the two data types provide estimates, with full uncertainty, for fecundity across all tree-years.
    Fitted species had multiple years of observations from multiple sites, which included 211,146 trees and 2,566,594 tree-years from 123 species. Sites are shown in Fig. 2 of the main text by ecoregion, they are named in Fig. 1 and summarized in Supplementary Data 1. For TA the fits were applied to 7,723,671 trees on inventory plots. Mean estimates for the genus were used for inventory trees belonging to species for which there were not confident fits in the MASTIF model, which amounted to 7.2% of inventory trees. Detailed site information is available at the website MASTIF.
    Covariates
    Covariates in the model include as main effects tree diameter, tree canopy class (shading), and the climate variables in Fig. 1 of the main text and described in Table 1. A quadratic diameter term in the MASTIF model allows for changes in diameter response with size52. Shade classes follow the USDA Forest Inventory and Analysis (FIA)/National Ecological Observation Network (NEON) scheme that ranges from a fully exposed canopy that does not interact with canopies of other trees to fully shaded in the understory. Shading provides information on competition that has proved highly significant for fecundity in previous analyses41,52.
    Table 1 Predictors in the model, not all of which are important for all species.
    Full size table

    To distinguish between the effects of spatial variation versus interannual variability, spring T and moisture D are included in the model as site means and site anomalies35. Spring minimum T affect phenology and frost risk during flowering and early fruit initiation. Summer mean T (June–August) is included both as a linear and quadratic term. Mean summer T is linked to thermal energy availability during the growing season, with the quadratic term allowing for potential suppression due to extreme heat. Moisture D (cumulative monthly PET-P (potential evapotranspiration[-] minus precipitation) for January–August) is included as a site mean and an annual anomaly. Moisture D is important for carbon assimilation and fruit development during summer in the eastern continent and, additionally, from the preceding winter in the western continent. For species that develop over spring and summer, anomalies incorporate the current and previous year. We did not include longer lags in covariates. For species that disperse seed in spring (Ulmus spp. and some members of Acer), only the previous year was used. Temperature anomalies were included for spring, but not summer, simply to reduce the number of times that temperature variables enter the model, and these two variables tended to be correlated at many sites.
    Climate covariates were derived from gridded climate products and combined with local climate monitoring where it is available. Terraclimate71 provides monthly resolution, but it is spatially coarse. For both norms and trends, we used the period from 1990 to 2019 because global temperatures have been increasing consistently since the 1980s, and this span broadly overlaps with fecundity data (Fig. 6). CHELSA72 data are downscaled to a 1 km grid, but it does not extend to 2019. Our three-component climate scaling used regression to project CHELSA forward using Terraclimate, followed by downscaling to 1 km with CHELSA, with further downscaling to local climate data. Even where local climate data exist, they often do not span the full duration of field studies, making the link to gridded climate data important. Local climate data were especially important for mountainous sites in the Appalachians, Rockies, Sierra Nevada, and Cascades.
    Of the full list of variables, a subset was retained, depending on species (some have narrow geographic ranges) and deviance information criteria of the fitted model (Supplementary Data 2). Year effects in the model allow for the interannual variation that is not absorbed by anomalies20.
    Model fitting and TA
    As mentioned above, model fitting applied the hierarchical Bayes model of ref. 20 to the combination of time series and opportunistic observations summarized in Fig. 1. Posterior simulation was completed with Markov chain Monte Carlo based on direct sampling, Metropolis, and Hamiltonian Markov chain. Model fitting used 211,146 trees and 2,566,594 tree-years from 123 species (Supplementary Data 2). Only species with multiple observation years were included.
    The climate variable referenced as C in Eq. (1) of the main text is, in fact, a vector of climate variables described in the previous section, spring minimum T, summer mean T, and moisture D (Table 1). The anomalies and year effects in the fitted model contribute to the trends not explained by biogeographic variation as γ in Eq. (1). For main effects in the model, the partial derivatives are fitted coefficients, an example being the response to spring minimum temperature (partial f/partial {T}_{mathrm{sp}}={beta }_{{T}_{mathrm{sp}}}). For predictors involved in interactions, the partial derivatives are combinations of fitted coefficients and variables. For example, the response to moisture D, which interacts with tree size, is (partial [F], f/partial {D}={beta }_{{D}} + beta_{GD}G). The response to diameter G, which is quadratic and interacts with D, is (partial f/partial G={beta }_{G}+2{beta }_{{G}^{2}}G ,+{beta }_{GD}D).
    Trend decomposition applied the fitted model to every tree in forest inventories from the USDA FIA program, the Canada’s National Forest Inventory, the NEON, and our MASTIF collaboration. Each tree in these inventories has a species and diameter. For trees that lack a canopy class, regression was used to predict it from distances and tree diameters based on inventories that include both location and canopy class, including NEON, FIA, and the MASTIF network. Although inventories differ in the minimum diameter they record, few trees are reproductive at diameters below the lower diameter limits in these surveys, so the effect on fecundity estimates is negligible. For the indirect effects of climate coming through tree growth rates, the same covariates were fitted to growth as previously defined for fecundity, using the change in diameter observed over multiple inventories. A Tobit model was used to accommodate the fact that a second measurement can be smaller than an earlier measurement. The Tobit thus treats negative growth as censored at zero. TA to inventory plots used 7,717,677 trees. Because not all species in the inventory data are included in the MASTIF network, mean fecundity parameters for the genus were used for unfitted species. Species fitted in the MASTIF network accounted for >90% of trees in inventory plots (Supplementary Data 2).
    From the predictive distributions for every tree in the inventory data, we evaluated predictive mean trends aggregated to species and plot in Fig. 2b. We extracted specific terms that comprise the components in Fig. 4 and aggregated them too to the plot averages.
    General form for TA
    Equation 1 simplifies the model to highlight direct and indirect effects. Again, climate variables and tree size represent only a subset of the predictors in the model that are collected in a design vector ({{bf{x}}}_{t}=[{x}_{1,t},ldots ,{x}_{Q,t}]^{prime}), where the q = 1, …, Q predictors include shading from local competition, individual size, and climate and habitat variables (Table 1). On the proportionate scale, Eq. (1) can be written in terms of all predictors, including main effects and interactions, as

    $$frac{{mathrm{d}}f}{{mathrm{d}}t}=mathop{sum }limits_{q=1}^{Q}left(frac{partial f}{partial {x}_{q}}+sum _{q^{prime} in {I}_{q}}frac{partial f}{partial ({x}_{q}{x}_{q^{prime} })}{x}_{q^{prime} }right)frac{{mathrm{d}}{x}_{q}}{{mathrm{d}}t}+gamma$$
    (2)

    where Iq are variables that interact with xq. In this application, interactions include tree diameter with moisture deficit and diameter squared. Each term in the summation consists of a main effect of xq and interactions that are multiplied by the rate of change in variable xq. For the simple case of only two predictors, Eq. (2) is recognizable as Eq. (1) of the main text, where x1, x2 have been substituted for variables G and C. In our application, predictors include additional climate and shading (Table 1).
    Recognizing that environmental variables affect not only fecundity but also growth rate, we extract the size effect, that is, the xq that is G, and incorporate these indirect effects (through growth) by expanding g = dG/dt in Eq. (1) of the main text as

    $$g=mathop{sum }limits_{q=1}^{Q}left(frac{partial g}{partial {x}_{q}}+mathop{sum}limits _{q^{prime} in {I}_{q}}frac{partial g}{partial ({x}_{q}{x}_{q^{prime} })}{x}_{q^{prime} }right){x}_{q}+nu$$
    (3)

    where ν is the component of growth that is not accommodated by other terms. This expression allows us to evaluate the full effect of climate variables, including those coming indirectly through growth.
    Connecting fitted coefficients in MASTIF to TA
    This section connects the continuous, deterministic Eq. (1) to the MASTIF model20 with the interpretation of responses, direct effects, and full effects of Fig. 5. To summarize key elements of the fitted model20, consider a tree i at site j that grows to reproductive maturity and then produces seed depending on its size, local competitive environment, and climate. We wish to estimate the effects of its changing environment and condition on fecundity using a model that includes spatial variation in predictors that are tracked longitudinally over years t. Fecundity changes through maturation probability ρij(t), which increases as trees increase in size, and through conditional fecundity ψij(t), the annual seed production of a mature tree. Let zij(t) = 1 be the event that a randomly selected tree i is mature in year t. Then, ρij(t) is the corresponding probability that the tree is mature, E[zij(t)] = ρij(t)(ρ is not to be confused with the probability that a tree that is now immature will make the transition to the mature state in an interval dt = 1. That is a different quantity detailed in the Supplement to ref. 41). Fecundity has expected value Fij(t) = ρij(t)ψij(t). On a proportionate (log) scale,

    $${f}_{ij}(t)={mathrm{log}},{F}_{ij}(t)={mathrm{log}},{rho }_{ij}(t)+{mathrm{log}},{psi }_{it}(t)$$
    (4)

    The corresponding rate equation is

    $$frac{{mathrm{d}}f}{{mathrm{d}}t}=frac{{mathrm{d}},{mathrm{log}},rho }{{mathrm{d}}t}+frac{{mathrm{d}},{mathrm{log}},psi }{{mathrm{d}}t}$$
    (5)

    The discretized and stochasticized version of Eq. (1) is

    $$frac{{mathrm{d}}{F}_{ij}}{{mathrm{d}}t} = , frac{{F}_{ij,t+{mathrm{d}}t}-{F}_{ij,t}}{{mathrm{d}}t}+{epsilon }_{ij,t}\ = , {{Delta }}{F}_{ij,t}+{epsilon }_{ij,t}$$
    (6)

    where dt = 1 and ϵij,t is the integration error. When applied to a dynamic process model, this term further absorbs process error (see above), which is critical here to allow for conditional independence where observations are serially dependent. In simplest terms, ϵ is model miss-specification that allows for dependence in data.
    The MASTIF model that provides estimates for TA is detailed in ref. 20. Elements of central interest for TA are

    $${F}_{ij,t} = , {z}_{ij,t}{psi }_{ij,t}\ left[{z}_{ij,t}=1right] sim , {{Bernoulli}}left({rho }_{ij,t}right)\ {rho }_{ij,t} = , {{Phi }}({{boldsymbol{mu }}}_{ij,t})\ mathrm{log},{psi }_{ij,t} = ,{{bf{x}}}_{ij,t}^{prime}{boldsymbol{beta }}+{h}_{t}left(Tright)+{epsilon }_{ij,t}$$

    where μij,t = α0 + αGGij,t describes the increase in maturation probability with size, Φ(⋅) is the standard normal distribution function (a probit), ϵij,t ~ N(0, σ2), and ht(T) can include year effects, h(T) = κt, or lagged effects, (h(T)=mathop{sum }nolimits_{k = 1}^{p}{kappa }_{k}{psi }_{ij,t-k}), that contribute to γ in Eq. (1) of the main text. If year effects are used, then γ includes the trend in year effects. (The generative version of this model writes individual states at t conditional on t − 1 and is given in the Supplement to ref. 20.). If an AR(p) model is used, then γ = κ1 (provided data are not detrended). Random individual effects in the fitted model are marginalized for prediction of trees that were not fitted, meaning that σ2 is the sum of model residual and random-effects variance. Again, the length-Q design vector xij,t includes individual attributes (e.g., diameter Gij,t), local competitive environment, and climate (Table 1). There is a corresponding coefficient vector β.
    Moving to a difference equation (rate of change) for conditional log fecundity,

    $${{Delta }}{f}_{ij,t}={{Delta }}mathrm{log},{rho }_{ij,t}+{{Delta }}mathrm{log},{psi }_{ij,t}$$

    where

    $${{Delta }}mathrm{log},{psi }_{ij,t} =mathrm{log},{psi }_{ij,t+1}-mathrm{log},{psi }_{ij,t}\ ={{Delta }}{{bf{x}}}_{ij,t}^{prime}{boldsymbol{beta }}+{gamma }_{ij,t}+{nu }_{ij,t}\ {{Delta }}{{bf{x}}}_{ij,t} ={{bf{x}}}_{i,t}-{{bf{x}}}_{ij,t-1}\ {nu }_{ij,t} sim N(0,2{sigma }^{2})$$

    The variance in the last line is the variance of the difference Δϵij,t.
    Elements of basic theory in Eq. (1) of the main text are linked to data through the modeling framework as

    $${{Delta }}{f}_{ij,t}= +{beta }_{{T}_{sp}}{{Delta }}{T}_{sp,j}\ +left({beta }_{T}+2{beta }_{{T}^{2}}{T}_{j}right){{Delta }}{T}_{j}\ +left({beta }_{D}+{beta }_{GD}{G}_{ij,t}right){{Delta }}{D}_{j}\ +left({alpha }_{G}frac{phi ({{boldsymbol{mu }}}_{ij,t})}{{{Phi }}({{boldsymbol{mu }}}_{ij,t})}+{beta }_{G}+2{beta }_{{G}^{2}}{G}_{ij,t}+{beta }_{GD}{D}_{j}right){{Delta }}{G}_{ij}\ +{gamma }_{ij,t}+{nu }_{ij,t}$$
    (7)

    where ϕ(⋅) is the standard normal density function that comes from the rate of progress toward maturation. Again, the anomalies do not appear in this expression for trends because trends in the anomalies and year effects enter through γ.
    The first four lines in Eq. (7) are, respectively, the effects of trends in spring minimum temperatures ΔTsp,j, summer mean temperature ΔTj, moisture deficit ΔDj, and size ΔGij, where the latter comes from growth on inventory plots. The contribution of maturation to change in fecundity is the first term in the fourth line, αGϕ(μij,t)/Φ(μij,t). A map of this term in Fig. 7b shows the strong contribution to fecundity in the East due to the young (Fig. 7a) and/or small (Fig. 4b) trees there. The sum of these terms dominates the patterns in Fig. 3c.
    Fig. 7: Size and maturation effects on fecundity.

    a Stand age variable in FIA data and b positive effect of maturation for increasing fecundity in the eastern continent. In the West, maturation does not contribute to rising fecundity because large trees are predominantly [mature] larger.

    Full size image

    All terms in Eq. (7) have units of mean change in proportionate fecundity, and these are mapped in figures of the main text. We focus on proportionate fecundity because it reflects the full effect of climate as opposed to total fecundity, which would often be dominated by one or a few trees of a single species. However, from proportionate fecundity we can obtain change in fecundity as ΔFij,t = Fij,t × Δfij. Stand-level effects on fecundity change at site j can be obtained from individual change as

    $${{Delta }}{F}_{j}=mathop{sum }limits_{i=1}^{{n}_{j}}{{Delta }}{F}_{ij}=mathop{sum }limits_{i=1}^{{n}_{j}}{F}_{ij}{{Delta }}{f}_{ij,t}$$

    Again, maps in Fig. 5 show mean proportionate effects for all trees on an inventory plot.
    Reporting summary
    Further information on research design is available in the Nature Research Reporting Summary linked to this article. More