If we were to write a fable to get this moral across, it would have to star the freshwater cnidarian called the hydra. Because in the hydra, the question of butts connects to the ambiguities of immortality, which in turn relates to the befuddling matter of sexual reproduction.

Oomycetes are one of the more unusual-looking microbes we’ve seen in the microcosmos. It looks more like a coral reef painted by an artist inspired by Gustav Klimt and a pile of trash. And if you saw that painting hanging in the museum, you might pass it by without thinking much of its subject.

The microcosmos is home to many unusual partnerships. Life is, after all, just relationships, each of which build upon one another like strokes of paint in an epic tableau of ecology, epidemics, and yogurt?

There’s a few things that give Beggiatoa away. The first is the simple serpentine shape of their bodies, and the second are those little dots inside of them. They look like bubbles, but they’re actually sulfur granules.

A little while ago, James found himself with a bit of a problem. He was keeping some wheat grains at home to use as food for the microbes that he cultures and films for our enjoyment. But before he could feed the grains to his microbes, they became infested with the larvae.. of moths.

When you hear the phrase “brain-eating amoebas,” is there a particular image that comes to mind? Whatever you envision, it's probably not what the notorious brain-eating amoeba that strikes fear in our hearts actually looks like.

Usually we’re looking into pond water or whatever other fascinating bit of nature that James, our master of microscopes, usually looks at. But right now, our sights are coming to us directly from the kitchen and from a different master of microscopes.

Under the microscope, mosquitos undergo a metamorphosis sculpted in gold. The buzzing body takes on a life of its own, its usual role as menace lying far beyond the margins of the screen.

This video is all about James, who many of you know as our master of microscopes. He is the scientist, and the artist, behind just about everything we are able to see in our collective journey through the microcosmos.

When was the last time you saw a puddle? Was it recent—perhaps some time in the past week, fresh from a downpour? Or has it been a long time since you’ve seen rain, and so an even longer time since your path has crossed a puddle?

One of the spectacular details of animals in our world is just how varied their colors can be. When you look at birds, for example, you’ll see everything from mundane grays to iridescent blues. So why don’t we shine with the same iridescence of birds?

When you think of bees, you probably don’t think of single-celled eukaryotes. What could an insect have in common with, say, a ciliate?

When you think of bees, you probably don’t think of single-celled eukaryotes. What could an insect have in common with, say, a ciliate?

An ambiguously long time ago, there was this theory of medicine. An idea that if you came across a plant that looked like a body part, that meant it was meant to treat ailments that targeted said part. And this put a lot of pressure on liverwort, simply because it resembled the liver.

In the 1820s, a man named Dr. R. Brandes walked through a meadow on a quest to try and answer a centuries-old question about a mysterious gelatinous substance on the ground known as “star jelly.”

Our master of microscopes is always looking for rare ciliates that live in areas low in oxygen. But when he puts those samples under a growth light, his tubes quickly turn the color of the green sulfur bacteria that thrive in those anaerobic conditions.

In the middle of the 19th century, a scientist stared into the microscope and found, staring back at him, a vampire.

Of all the animals that we’ve examined in the microcosmos, leeches are probably one of the few that can be used as a verb, to leech off someone—to take and take from them, like a worm consuming someone’s blood.

If you have been following Journey to the Microcosmos for some time, this might sound like a familiar story.| Consider this a proper slasher movie sequel.

Can life be created spontaneously? Well, a year and a half ago, our master of microscopes, James, was inspired by the idea of spontaneous generation and set up his own little experiment.

We Found Some Things We Can't Explain Today's episode has one particular theme: a bunch of funny things going on in the microcosmos.

Imagine that you aren’t watching the microcosmos right now. Instead you’re living in the world as it existed around one billion years ago, and you are the ancestor of this red algae.

In the northeast Atlantic Ocean, plankton populations aren’t looking like they used to. And at the center of it all are tiny, photosynthetic bacteria called picocyanobacteria who may just outlast us all.

We don’t know if there are many rites of passage institutionalized among amateur microscopists. But we have to imagine that, as people find themselves navigating the microcosmos for the first time, they’re often on the lookout for tardigrades.

When you think of kombucha, you might think of a nice, refreshing, healthy drink, one that’s exceptionall good for your microbiome. What we here at Journey to the Microcosmos think of is a terrarium…a place where a whole ecosystem exists, trapped in glass.

After an absence of almost 90 years, we’ve found a rare ciliate last written about about in 1933.

In the microcosmos—where the organisms vastly outnumber us, where what we find in a single pool of water can change from day to day—it makes us as what it mean for a microbe to be rare?

One of the fascinating aspects of microscopy is the way you can look so deeply into something that it becomes unrecognizable. What could look like a stained glass window could actually turn out to be... a hopping shrimp?

It’s hard to count how many times we’ve encountered diatoms on Journey to the Microcosmos. However, we've always talked about the more colorful variety of diatom, and not the ones that are colorless.

If you’ve clicked on this video, we assume it’s because you read the title, “We fed our microbes blood so you don’t have to,” and immediately asked the question everyone asks when a youtuber says they did something so you don’t have to: but why?

If you were asked to describe what a sea slug is, you might be tempted to go with the straightforward response: it’s a slug that lives in the sea. And you know, you wouldn’t be wrong.

Usually on Journey to the Microcosmos, we spend our time delving into the microscopic world and the surprising things that microbes have to teach us. But today, we would like to talk about Hank Green, and what was his cancer.

Today James, our master of microscopes, is using a microscopy slide as a cutting board, chopping away at the slide to end up with a bunch of individual stentors.

This amoeba has a shell around it, which seems like a pretty good idea. The world at large is full of predators, and shells seem like a straightforward strategy to ward those predators off. But what if this amoeba’s shell wasn’t just a form of protection? What if it was actually dangerous?