We all live in the Quantenary period. From Wikipedia I quote a small piece:
It follows the Neogene Period and spans from 2.6 million years ago to the present.
I don’t know about you but 2.6 million years ago (Ma) seems like a very long time. But then the prior period was the Neogene that went from 2.6 Ma to 23 Ma.
But if one wants to think ‘old’ then try the Ordovician period:
The Ordovician spans 41.6 million years from the end of the Cambrian Period 486.85 Ma (million years ago) to the start of the Silurian Period 443.1 Ma.
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Just to put us humans into context, human evolution is very much shorter. I have it from six million years onwards. But here are two videos, courtesy of YouTube. The first one is a short one:
Scientists use fossils to reconstruct the evolutionary history of hominins—the group that includes modern humans, our immediate ancestors, and other extinct relatives. Today, our closest living relatives are chimpanzees, but extinct hominins are even closer. Where and when did they live? What can we learn about their lives? Why did they go extinct? Scientists look to fossils for clues.
The second video is a 54-minute one from PBS.
They have both been watched thousands of times.
Now on to today’s post.
ooOOoo
Giant ground sloths’ fossilized teeth reveal their unique roles in the prehistoric ecosystem
Harlan’s ground sloth fossil skeleton excavated and displayed at the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles. Larisa DeSantis
A two-toed sloth at the Nashville Zoo. Larisa R. G. DeSantis
Imagine a sloth. You probably picture a medium-size, tree-dwelling creature hanging from a branch. Today’s sloths – commonly featured on children’s backpacks, stationery and lunch boxes – are slow-moving creatures, living inconspicuously in Central American and South American rainforests.
But their gigantic Pleistocene ancestors that inhabited the Americas as far back as 35 million years ago were nothing like the sleepy tree huggers we know today. Giant ground sloths – some weighing thousands of pounds and standing taller than a single-story building – played vital and diverse roles in shaping ecosystems across the Americas, roles that vanished with their loss at the end of the Pleistocene.
In our new study, published in the journal Biology Letters, we aimed to reconstruct the diets of two species of giant ground sloths that lived side by side in what’s now Southern California. We analyzed remains recovered from the La Brea Tar Pits of what are colloquially termed the Shasta ground sloth (Nothrotheriops shastensis) and Harlan’s ground sloth (Paramylodon harlani). Our work sheds light on the lives of these fascinating creatures and the consequences their extinction in Southern California 13,700 years ago has had on ecosystems.
Dentin dental challenges
Studying the diets of extinct animals often feels like putting together a jigsaw puzzle with only a portion of the puzzle pieces. Stable isotope analyses have revolutionized how paleoecologists reconstruct the diets of many ancient organisms. By measuring the relative ratios of light and heavy carbon isotopes in tooth enamel, we can figure out what kinds of foods an animal ate – for instance, grasses versus trees or shrubs.
Drilling teeth provides a sample for stable isotope analyses. Aditya Kurre
But the teeth of giant ground sloths lack enamel, the highly inorganic and hard outer layer on most animal teeth – including our own. Instead, sloth teeth are made primarily of dentin, a more porous and organic-rich tissue that readily changes its chemical composition with fossilization.
Stable isotope analyses are less dependable in sloths because dentin’s chemical composition can be altered postmortem, skewing the isotopic signatures.
Another technique researchers use to glean information about an animal’s diet relies on analyzing the microscopic wear patterns on its teeth. Dental microwear texture analysis can infer whether an animal mostly ate tough foods such as leaves and grass or hard foods such as seeds and fruit pits. This technique is also tricky when it comes to sloths’ fossilized teeth because signs of wear may be preserved differently in the softer dentin than in harder enamel.
Prior to studying fossil sloths, we vetted dental microwear methods in modern xenarthrans, a group of animals that includes sloths, armadillos and anteaters. This study demonstrated that dentin microwear can reveal dietary differences between leaf-eating sloths and insect-consuming armadillos, giving us confidence that these tools could reveal dietary information from ground sloth fossils.
Distinct dietary niches revealed
Previous research suggested that giant ground sloths were either grass-eating grazers or leaf-eating browsers, based on the size and shape of their teeth. However, more direct measures of diet – such as stable isotopes or dental microwear – were often lacking.
Our new analyses revealed contrasting dental wear signatures between the two co-occurring ground sloth species. The Harlan’s ground sloth, the larger of the two, had microwear patterns dominated by deep pitlike textures. This kind of wear is indicative of chewing hard, mechanically challenging foods such as tubers, seeds, fungi and fruit pits. Our new evidence aligns with skeletal adaptations that suggest powerful digging abilities, consistent with foraging foods both above and below ground.
The fossil teeth of the Harlan’s ground sloth typically showed deeper pitlike textures, bottom, while the Shasta ground sloth teeth had shallower wear patterns, top. DeSantis and Kurre, Biology Letters 2025
In contrast, the Shasta ground sloth exhibited dental microwear textures more akin to those in leaf-eating and woody plant-eating herbivores. This pattern corroborates previous studies of its fossilized dung, demonstrating a diet rich in desert plants such as yucca, agave and saltbush.
Next we compared the sloths’ microwear textures to those of ungulates such as camels, horses and bison that lived in the same region of Southern California. We confirmed that neither sloth species’ dietary behavior overlapped fully with other herbivores. Giant ground sloths didn’t perform the same ecological functions as the other herbivores that shared their landscape. Instead, both ground sloths partitioned their niches and played complementary ecological roles.
Extinctions brought ecological loss
The Harlan’s ground sloth was a megafaunal ecosystem engineer. It excavated soil and foraged underground, thereby affecting soil structure and nutrient cycling, even dispersing seed and fungal spores over wide areas. Anecdotal evidence suggests that some anachronistic fruits – such as the weird, bumpy-textured and softball-size Osage orange – were dispersed by ancient megafauna such as giant ground sloths. When the Pleistocene megafauna went extinct, the loss contributed to the regional restriction of these plants, since no one was around to spread their seeds.
The broader consequence is clear: Megafaunal extinctions erased critical ecosystem engineers, triggering cascading ecological changes that continue to affect habitat resilience today. Our results resonate with growing evidence that preserving today’s living large herbivores and understanding the diversity of their ecological niches is crucial for conserving functional ecosystems.
Studying the teeth of lost giant ground sloths has illuminated not only their diets but also the enduring ecological legacies of their extinction. Today’s sloths, though charming, only hint at the profound environmental influence of their prehistoric relatives – giants that shaped landscapes in ways we are only beginning to appreciate.
As has been mentioned previously, my dear wife and her Parkinson’s means that we go to bed early and get up early the following morning. Thus a recent item on The Conversation fascinated me and it is shared with you now.
ooOOoo
Does the full moon make us sleepless? A neurologist explains the science behind sleep, mood and lunar myths
Have you ever tossed and turned under a full moon and wondered if its glow was keeping you awake? For generations, people have believed that the Moon has the power to stir up sleepless nights and strange behavior – even madness itself. The word “lunacy” comes directly from luna, Latin for Moon.
The answer is, of course, more nuanced than folklore suggests. Research shows a full moon can modestly affect sleep, but its influence on mental health is much less certain.
I’m a neurologist specializing in sleep medicine who studies how sleep affects brain health. I find it captivating that an ancient myth about moonlight and madness might trace back to something far more ordinary: our restless, moonlit sleep.
What the full moon really does to sleep
Several studies show that people really do sleep differently in the days leading up to the full moon, when moonlight shines brightest in the evening sky. During this period, people sleep about 20 minutes less, take longer to fall asleep and spend less time in deep, restorative sleep. Large population studies confirm the pattern, finding that people across different cultures tend to go to bed later and sleep for shorter periods in the nights before a full moon.
The changes are modest. Most people lose only 15 to 30 minutes of sleep, but the effect is measurable. It is strongest in places without artificial light, such as rural areas or while camping. Some research also suggests that men and women may be affected differently. For instance, men seem to lose more sleep during the waxing phase, while women experience slightly less deep and restful sleep around the full moon.
Modern science adds an important twist. Research is clear that sleep loss itself is a powerful driver of mental health problems. Even one rough night can heighten anxiety and drag down mood. Ongoing sleep disruption raises the risk of depression, suicidal thoughts and flare-ups of conditions like bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.
But here’s the catch: When researchers step back and look at large groups of people, the evidence that lunar phases trigger psychiatric crises is weak. No reliable pattern has been found between the Moon and hospital admissions, discharges or lengths of stay.
But a few other studies suggest there may be small effects. In India, psychiatric hospitals recorded more use of restraints during full moons, based on data collected between 2016 and 2017. In China, researchers noted a slight rise in schizophrenia admissions around the full moon, using hospital records from 2012 to 2017. Still, these findings are not consistent worldwide and may reflect cultural factors or local hospital practices as much as biology.
In the end, the Moon may shave a little time off our sleep, and sleep loss can certainly influence mental health, especially for people who are more vulnerable. That includes those with conditions like depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia or epilepsy, and teenagers who are especially sensitive to sleep disruption. But the idea that the full moon directly drives waves of psychiatric illness remains more myth than reality.
The sleep/wake cycle is synchronized with lunar phases.
The gravitational forces that move oceans are far too weak to affect human physiology, and studies of geomagnetic and atmospheric changes during lunar phases have yielded inconsistent or negligible results. This makes sleep disruption from nighttime light exposure the most plausible link between the Moon and human behavior.
Why the myth lingers
If the science is so inconclusive, why do so many people believe in the “full moon effect”? Psychologists point to a concept called illusory correlation. We notice and remember the unusual nights that coincide with a full moon but forget the many nights when nothing happened.
The Moon is also highly visible. Unlike hidden sleep disruptors such as stress, caffeine or scrolling on a phone, the Moon is right there in the sky, easy to blame.
Screen-time habits are far more likely to have detrimental effects on sleep than a full moon. FanPro/Moment via Getty Images
Lessons from the Moon for modern sleep
Even if the Moon does not drive us “mad,” its small influence on sleep highlights something important: Light at night matters.
Our bodies are designed to follow the natural cycle of light and dark. Extra light in the evening, whether from moonlight, streetlights or phone screens, can delay circadian rhythms, reduce melatonin and lead to lighter, more fragmented sleep.
In our modern world, artificial light has a much bigger impact on sleep than the Moon ever will. That is why many sleep experts argue for permanent standard time, which better matches our biological rhythms.
So if you find yourself restless on a full moon night, you may not be imagining things – the Moon can tug at your sleep. But if sleeplessness happens often, look closer to home. It is likely a culprit of the light in your hand rather than the one in the sky.
Ever since I have been an adult I have wondered what the purpose was of daylight time and standard time. The University of Colorado have the history of the time change and, as I suspect, it was brought about by the war; World War I.
Here’s part of that article:
It was first introduced in Germany in 1916 during World War I as an energy saving measure, according to CU Boulder sleep researcher Kenneth Wright. The U.S. followed suit, adopting DST in 1918. Initially implemented as a wartime measure, it was repealed a year later.
Daylight saving time was reinstituted in 1942 during World War II. The next couple decades were a free-for-all, when states and localities switched between DST and standard time (ST) at will. To put an end to the clock chaos, Congress finally passed the Uniform Time Act in 1966, which standardized daylight saving time and its start and end dates across the country — with the exception of Hawaii and Arizona, which opted to keep standard time year-round.
Learning from Dogs 