Category: Protists

  • Foraminifera: The Marsh’s Memory Keepers

    Foraminifera: The Marsh’s Memory Keepers

    What microscopic shells along Topsail and Surf City tell us about ancient seas, living marshes, and the future coastline

    On a winter walk along the marsh edge in Topsail or Surf City, the landscape feels quiet. Cordgrass has faded to straw, tidal creeks run clear, and storm tides have pulled back layers of sediment that were hidden just months ago. Winter slows the marsh, but it also reveals it. Along exposed creek banks and tidal flats, the smallest residents of these ecosystems leave behind subtle traces — grains, spirals, and pin-sized shells that most people would mistake for sand.

    These are the remains of foraminifera, key marsh indicators, and they carry a record far older than the marsh itself (Murray, 2006; Scott et al., 2001).

    What Are Foraminifera?

    Foraminifera, often called forams, are single-celled marine organisms — not animals, but protists — that live in oceans, estuaries, and salt marshes around the world (Murray, 2006). Despite their microscopic size, most foraminifera build protective shells, known as tests, made either from calcium carbonate or from tiny grains of sediment cemented together (Scott et al., 2001; Debenay & Guillou, 2002).

    Different species occupy very specific zones within a marsh. Some live high in the intertidal, others closer to open water. Their distribution reflects precise environmental conditions such as salinity, tidal elevation, oxygen availability, and sediment type (Edwards et al., 2004; Culver & Horton, 2005). Because of this tight ecological coupling, foraminifera respond quickly when conditions change (Debenay & Guillou, 2002).

    Peneropolis proteus is the one of three most dominant species of fossil foraminifera in the Onslow Bay area, occurring in about 15% of samples (Schnitker, 1971).
    Peneropolis proteus is the one of three most dominant species of fossil foraminifera in the Onslow Bay area, occurring in about 15% of samples (Schnitker, 1971).

    Why Winter Reveals the Record

    In summer, marsh surfaces are busy and obscured. Dense vegetation, algae, burrowing organisms, and constant sediment mixing make it difficult to see what lies beneath. In winter, vegetation thins, biological activity slows, and storm tides rework creek edges and tidal flats. Fine sediments are redistributed, exposing layers that formed years, decades, or even centuries earlier (Scott et al., 2001; Gehrels, 1994).

    Winter does not create this record — it simply makes it visible (Murray, 2006).

    Size, Stability, and Ancient Seas

    Some fossil foraminifera grew to the size of coins, while most living forms today are no larger than grains of sand (Murray, 2006). This contrast reflects the environments they evolved within. In ancient shallow seas, conditions were often warm, stable, and chemically consistent for long periods of time. Temperature, salinity, and carbonate availability changed slowly, allowing foraminifera to grow over many years, build thick and complex shells, and, in some cases, form partnerships with symbiotic algae — similar to the relationship between corals and the algae that live within their tissues — which provided an additional energy source through photosynthesis (Hallock, 1981; Murray, 2006). These systems favored persistence and size.

    Over time, coastlines shifted and sea levels changed, giving rise to the highly dynamic estuaries and marshes we see today. In these modern environments, conditions can fluctuate over hours or seasons. Salinity rises and falls, oxygen levels vary, sediments are rearranged, and water chemistry responds quickly to storms and freshwater input (Debenay & Guillou, 2002; Culver & Horton, 2005). Under such variability, smaller foraminifera that grow rapidly and tolerate change are more likely to survive. Because foraminifera respond directly to these environmental conditions, even subtle shifts can reorganize their communities, altering shell size, composition, and diversity in ways that can persist in sediments long after the initial change has occurred (Edwards et al., 2004; Kemp et al., 2013).

    Tiny Shells, Deep Time: How Marshes Remember

    Foraminifera are among the most powerful tools scientists use to reconstruct ancient coastal ecosystems because the conditions they live in are permanently recorded in their shells. Individual species occupy narrow ecological ranges defined by salinity, tidal elevation, oxygen availability, temperature, and sediment type. Because of this specificity, the particular mix of foraminifera preserved in a layer of marsh sediment reflects the environmental conditions present when that layer formed.

    When scientists extract sediment cores from marshes, they are not looking for isolated snapshots in time, but for transitions. As layers accumulate, changes in species composition, shifts between calcium-based shells and sediment-built shells, and variations in diversity reveal how marsh conditions evolved. These biological signals can indicate changes in flooding frequency, sediment stability, freshwater influence, and tidal reach — often aligning with known shifts in sea level or shoreline position.

    What makes foraminifera especially valuable is that they record change continuously. Each generation reflects the conditions it experienced, leaving behind a layered biological archive that links past marshes to present ones — comparable to how sedimentary layers exposed in the Grand Canyon record changing environments over deep time.This continuity allows scientists to distinguish gradual environmental adjustment from more abrupt change and to assess whether modern conditions resemble states marshes have previously endured — or represent departures from historical patterns.

    Quinqueloculina seminula is the one of three most dominant species of fossil foraminifera in the Onslow Bay area, occurring in about 20% of samples (Schnitker, 1971).Quinqueloculina seminula is the one of three most dominant species of fossil foraminifera in the Onslow Bay area, occurring in about 20% of samples (Schnitker, 1971).
    Quinqueloculina seminula (left) and Plancopsilina confusa (right) are the top three most dominant species of fossil foraminifera in the Onslow Bay area, each occurring in about 20% of samples (Schnitker, 1971).

    What Lives in a Handful of Marsh Sand

    If you scoop a small handful of sand or mud from a North Carolina marsh and let it dry, it looks ordinary—grains, bits of plant matter, flecks of shell. Where sediment cores reveal depth at the scale of decades and centuries, living marsh surfaces show that same pattern compressed into just a few centimeters. But research from the Outer Banks suggests that even this unremarkable material holds a surprisingly rich living community.

    Foraminifera under biological microscope with sand
    Foraminifera under biological microscope with sand.

    In a detailed study of marsh sediments along the North Carolina coast, scientists examined not just which foraminifera were present, but which ones were alive at the time of sampling. What they found was not a thin layer of life resting at the surface, but a vertically structured community extending down into the sediment itself (Culver, 2005).

    Some foraminifera lived right at the surface, where tides regularly wash over the marsh. Others occupied sediments a centimeter or more below, in darker, less oxygenated layers. In total, more than twenty species were documented living within marsh sediments, their distributions shaped by subtle differences in tidal flooding, salinity, and marsh elevation (Culver, 2005).

    Not all species were equally widespread. A few, including Jadammina macrescens and Tiphotrocha comprimata, appeared across multiple sites and depths, suggesting a tolerance for changing marsh conditions. Many others were more selective, occurring only in certain zones or at particular depths. This means that even small changes in where you stand—closer to a tidal creek or higher on the marsh platform—can correspond to a different microscopic community beneath your feet (Culver, 2005).

    Upper image: Jadammina macrescens under microscope.| Image credit: Parker, G. G., Phleger, et al. 1953. Cushman Found.Foram.Research Spec.Pub. (n.2): 15, pl.3,f.8.
Lower image: Tiphotrocha comprimata under microscope | Image credit: Hesemann, M., The Foraminifera.eu Database (2026). Accessed at http://www.foraminifera.eu. 
https://doi.org/10.13140/RG.2.2.22727.11680/1.
    Upper image: Jadammina macrescens under microscope.| Image credit: Parker, G. G., Phleger, et al. 1953. Cushman Found.Foram.Research Spec.Pub. (n.2): 15, pl.3,f.8.
    Lower image: Tiphotrocha comprimata under microscope | Image credit: Hesemann, M., The Foraminifera.eu Database (2026). Accessed at http://www.foraminifera.eu
    https://doi.org/10.13140/RG.2.2.22727.11680/1.

    As these organisms die, their shells remain. Layer by layer, those shells become part of the sediment, preserving a record of where tides reached, how often flooding occurred, and how stable the marsh surface was at that moment in time (Scott et al., 2001). What begins as a living community quietly becomes part of the marsh’s long-term record.

    Although the Outer Banks are not identical to the marshes behind Topsail and Surf City, the pattern holds across North Carolina’s coast: foraminifera respond to local conditions at very small scales. Their presence, abundance, and depth within the sediment shift from place to place, reflecting the marsh’s relationship with water, salt, and time (Edwards et al., 2004; Culver & Horton, 2005).

    Cibicidoides bradyi (horizontal scale bar = 200μm, vertical scale bar = 400μm) occur in less than 20 m at about 1% of samples in the Onslow County area (Schnitker, 1971).
    Cibicidoides bradyi (horizontal scale bar = 200μm, vertical scale bar = 400μm) occur in less than 20 m at about 1% of samples in the Onslow County area (Schnitker, 1971).

    For someone walking the marsh in winter, this means that the sand exposed along a creek bank carries more than the imprint of the last storm. It carries traces of countless tides before it—each one leaving behind shells small enough to escape notice, yet durable enough to remember.

    What Changes in Foraminifera Mean for the Ecosystem

    An example of how shifts in reef communities reflect shifts in foraminiferal communities below (Prazeres, Martínez-Colón & Hallock, 2020).
    An example of how shifts in reef communities reflect shifts in foraminiferal communities below (Prazeres, Martínez-Colón & Hallock, 2020).

    Foraminifera do not exist in isolation. They are part of the marsh food web, contributing to the transfer of energy and nutrients from microscopic primary producers to larger organisms (Murray, 2006). Many small invertebrates consume foraminifera directly, while others rely on the microbial communities and organic matter associated with their shells (Debenay & Guillou, 2002). In turn, these invertebrates support fish, crabs, and birds that depend on marsh productivity (Scott et al., 2001).

    When foraminiferal communities shift, the effects can ripple outward. A decline in diversity or a move toward stress-tolerant species often reflects changes in sediment stability, oxygen availability, or salinity — conditions that also influence marsh plants, benthic invertebrates, and juvenile fish habitat (Culver & Horton, 2005; Edwards et al., 2004). In this way, changes in foraminifera can foreshadow broader ecological adjustments, even when the marsh surface still appears healthy (Debenay & Guillou, 2002).

    Because foraminifera respond quickly to environmental change, they often register these shifts before larger organisms do. Their shells capture early signals of altered flooding patterns, reduced sediment input, or changing water chemistry (Gehrels, 1994; Kemp et al., 2013). What follows may be changes in plant community structure, altered nutrient cycling, or shifts in the species that use marshes as nursery grounds. Foraminifera do not cause these changes, but they reveal when the system’s internal balance begins to shift (Scott et al., 2001).

    Reading Change in Living Marshes

    Salt marshes are dynamic systems by nature. They grow, erode, migrate, and rebuild as sediment moves and sea level changes (Kemp et al., 2013). The challenge for scientists is distinguishing normal variability from directional change — shifts that push marshes beyond the conditions they have historically been able to tolerate. Foraminifera are especially useful in making that distinction because they respond quickly and directly to their surroundings (Debenay & Guillou, 2002).

    When marsh conditions move outside typical ranges — whether through altered hydrology, changes in sediment supply, or shifts in salinity — foraminiferal communities reorganize. Species diversity may decline, stress-tolerant forms can become dominant, and assemblages tied to specific tidal elevations may disappear (Culver & Horton, 2005). These changes often occur before larger, more visible signs of stress appear, such as widespread plant die-off or shoreline erosion (Edwards et al., 2004). In this sense, foraminifera act as early responders, recording change while the marsh still appears intact at the surface (Scott et al., 2001).

    Along the marshes behind Topsail and Surf City, this sensitivity gives foraminifera particular importance. They help establish local baselines for what healthy marsh conditions look like, provide context for interpreting present-day shifts, and preserve a record of the conditions that supported marsh stability in the past (Culver & Horton, 2005; Kemp et al., 2013). By linking modern observations to sedimentary records, foraminifera allow scientists to ask not only what is changing, but how quickly change is occurring and whether it remains within the range marshes have previously endured. Understanding marsh resilience in this way is not abstract or theoretical — it is grounded in the specific history and behavior of this coastline.

    Salt marsh in Surf City, NC. | Photo credit: Mitchell (2026)
    Salt marsh in Surf City, NC. | Photo credit: Mitchell (2026)

    Closing

    Standing at the marsh edge in winter, it is easy to miss the smallest details. Yet beneath the quiet surface, microscopic shells record centuries of change — how water moved, how shorelines shifted, and how marshes adapted (Murray, 2006). Foraminifera remind us that long before satellites or tide gauges, coastlines were already keeping their own records. All we have to do is learn how to read them.

    References

    Culver, S. J. (2005). Infaunal marsh foraminifera from the Outer Banks, North Carolina, U.S.A. The Journal of Foraminiferal Research, 35(2), 148-170. https://doi.org/10.2113/35.2.148 

    Debenay, J., & Guillou, J. (2002). Ecological transitions indicated by foraminiferal assemblages in paralic environments. Estuaries, 25(6), 1107-1120. https://doi.org/10.1007/bf02692208

    Edwards, R., Wright, A., & Van de Plassche, O. (2004). Surface distributions of salt-marsh foraminifera from Connecticut, USA: Modern analogues for high-resolution sea level studies. Marine Micropaleontology, 51(1-2), 1-21. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marmicro.2003.08.002

    Gehrels, W. R., & Kemp, A. C. (2021). Salt marsh sediments as recorders of Holocene relative sea-level change. Salt Marshes, 225-256. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781316888933.011

    Hallock, P. (1981). Algal symbiosis: A mathematical analysis. Marine Biology, 62(4), 249-255. https://doi.org/10.1007/bf00397691

    Kemp, A. C., Horton, B. P., Vane, C. H., Berhhardt, C. E., Corbett, D. R., Engelhart, S. E., Anisfeld, S. C., Parnell, A. C., & Cahill, N. (2013). Sea-level change during the last 2500 years in New Jersey, USA. Quaternary Science Reviews, 81(2013), 90-104. https://www.whoi.edu/cms/files/Kemp2013QSR_170144.pdf

    Murray, J. W. (2006). Ecology and applications of benthic foraminifera. Cambridge University Press.

    Schnitker, D. (1971). Distribution of Foraminifera on the North Carolina Continental Shelf. Tulane Studies in Geology and Paleontology, 8(4), 169-215. https://journals.tulane.edu/tsgp/article/view/560

    Scott, D. B., Medioli, F. S., & Schafer, C. T. (2001). Monitoring in coastal environments using foraminifera and Thecamoebian indicators. Cambridge University Press.

  • 5 Marine Myths Under the Mistletoe: Folklore and Real Creatures in North Carolina’s Waters

    5 Marine Myths Under the Mistletoe: Folklore and Real Creatures in North Carolina’s Waters

    Winter Stories Along the Water’s Edge

    Winter settles softly over Onslow County. The marshes turn the color of worn rope, the New River flows like cold steel between its banks, and the wind carries the sharp scent of salt and pine. December is the quiet season — the estuary’s heartbeat slows, nights stretch longer than tides, and the imagination grows louder than the surf.

    This is also when stories rise like mist from the water. Coastal families have passed down tales of mysterious shapes in winter surf, glowing wakes following skiffs, and ghostly sounds echoing across moonlit water. These legends don’t appear in ship logs or lighthouse reports — they survive instead in memories, dockside conversations, and the long tradition of storytelling that has shaped coastal community identity for generations (Cecelski, 2001; Carmichael, 2018).

    Yet behind every winter myth lies a real creature — moving, feeding, navigating the season’s challenges. The line between wonder and wildlife is thin along North Carolina’s coast. These are the marine myths under the mistletoe — stories rooted in an enchanted and scientifically alive winter sea.

    Mermaids of the Winter Shoals

    The shimmering ghosts of the inlet

    The Legend

    Stories collected from coastal residents sometimes describe pale forms just beyond the surf — long shapes rising from green water, a head here, an arm-like movement there, then gone. In fog or dusk, when horizon and water dissolve into the same dull light, figures appear closer to humans than animals.

    The Science — Manatees and Mirage Tricks

    Although uncommon, West Indian manatees (Trichechus manatus) occasionally visit North Carolina waters during warmer periods or anomalous Gulf Stream intrusions (Deutsche et al., 2003). Through Fata Morgana, a mirage formed when warm water meets cold air, large mammals in the water can look elongated or upright — a trick that has sparked mermaid sightings worldwide (Pinney, 2018).

    Reduced daylight, fatigue at sea, and the human brain’s pattern-seeking instincts complete the illusion.

    A legend, yes — but one that begins with a real, gentle giant in cold coastal waters.

    A pair of manatees resemble mermaids in the water
    A pair of manatees resemble mermaids swimming in the water

    The Kraken of Cape Lookout

    Monsters in the storm-worn deep

    The Legend

    When Atlantic gales hammered the coast, some fishermen believed immense tentacled beasts rose from deeper waters and brushed their vessels — massive, silent shapes that existed more in feeling than sight. Winter storms made the ocean seem alive with things too large to name.

    The Science — Giant Squid and Deep-Sea Drifters

    Off Cape Lookout, the continental shelf plunges sharply into canyon habitats that host large cephalopods. Giant squid (Architeuthis dux), while rarely seen alive, have been recorded washing ashore along the U.S. East Coast and retrieved from research and commercial nets in the broader Northwest Atlantic (Guerra et al., 2011; Roper et al., 2015; Roper & Boss, 1982).

    Winter nor’easters can dislodge deep-sea life, delivering strange shapes to shoals or leaving long white arms tangled in wrack.

    What was once interpreted as a monster was instead a rarely seen animal from the dark beneath winter waves.

    A deceased giant squid (Architeuthis dux) on Golden Mile Beach in Britannia Bay, South Africa | Image credit: Adéle Grosse
    A deceased giant squid (Architeuthis dux) on Golden Mile Beach in Britannia Bay, South Africa | Image credit: Adéle Grosse

    The Ghost Lights of Bogue Banks

    Blue sparks swirling under December stars

    The Legend

    Local night fishermen describe glowing water that erupts into blue light when a net drops or a school passes below — a phenomenon that feels supernatural under a new moon in the stillness.

    The Science — Bioluminescent Dinoflagellates

    The glow comes from dinoflagellates, such as Noctiluca scintillans, which emit bright light when disturbed. Warmer months, calmer seas and reduced sediment can make these flashes stand out like underwater meteors (Haddock, Moline & Case., 2010; Johnson & Allen, 2005).

    A natural process — but dazzling enough to inspire talk of spirits beneath the tide.

    U.S. Navy photo of bioluminesence | Photo credit: Specialist 3rd Class Devin M. Langer
    U.S. Navy photo of bioluminescence | Image Credit: Specialist 3rd Class Devin M. Langer

    The Siren of the Shoals

    Voices carried by cold seas

    The Legend

    Some boaters recall hearing a sound — a long moan or rising wail — seeming unmistakably like a human voice drifting over calm winter water. One sound can feel like a warning. Another, like grief.

    The Science — Migrating Whales and Phantom Songs

    Every winter, North Atlantic right whales (Eubalaena glacialis) migrate through waters off North Carolina, including Onslow Bay (Keller et al., 2012). Their massive bodies, seen at dusk, can resemble the curves of a human torso rising unexpectedly from the deep.

    But the haunting songs that travel tens of kilometers belong to humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) farther offshore (Dunlop, Cato & Noad, 2008; Handel, Todd & Zoidis, 2012). Sound refracts through cold, dense winter water — bending, echoing, transforming — until a distant whale becomes a mysterious voice in the marsh.

    A ghost in the story.
    A whale in the science.
    A song carried home by the sea.

    A breaching humpback whale
    A breaching humpback whale

    The Marsh Giant

    A slow breath in frozen reeds

    The Legend

    In winter stillness, some describe hearing something large moving in marsh grass — heavy, careful steps that push aside reeds, a dark back slipping between creek holes. Too cold for gators, they say — so what else could it be?

    The Science — North Carolina’s Cold-Tolerant Alligators

    The American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) reaches its northernmost range in coastal North Carolina. Even in winter, they can surface and move during brief warm spells — and they maintain openings in ice by pushing upward with their snouts (Brisban, Standora & Vargo, 1982).

    Slow movement in a hushed marsh can feel enormous.
    The “giant” is real — scaled and silent in the cold.

    Alligator in Onslow County, NC | Photo credit: G. Newman
    Alligator in Onslow County, NC | Photo credit: G. Newman

    Where Myth and Marsh Converge

    Winter strips the coast to its bones. Sound travels farther. Shapes blur quicker. The familiar becomes unfamiliar beneath cold air and low light.

    And so legends rise.

    Behind them:

    • a manatee distorted by mirage
    • a giant squid arm pushed ashore by storms
    • living lanterns beneath December water
    • whale voices refracted through the sea
    • an alligator surfacing to breathe through ice

    Folklore and biology share the same tides — wonder and curiosity driving us to explain what the winter coast reveals only in glimpses.

    Even in the quietest months, the estuary is alive with mystery that create marine myths under the mistletoe.

    Learn more about winter estuary ecology here.

    References

    Brisbin, I. L., Standora, E. A., & Vargo, M. J. (1982). Body temperatures and behavior of American alligators during cold winter weather. American Midland Naturalist, 107(2), 209. https://doi.org/10.2307/2425371

    Carmichael, S. (2018). Mysterious tales of coastal North Carolina. Arcadia Publishing.

    Cecelski, D. S. (2001). The waterman’s song: Slavery and freedom in maritime North Carolina.

    Deutsch, C. J., Reid, J. P., Bonde, R. K., Easton, D. E., Kochman, H. I., & O’Shea, T. J. (2003). Seasonal Movements, Migratory Behavior, and Site Fidelity of West Indian Manatees along the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Journal of Wildlife Management, 67(1), 1-77. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3830830

    Dunlop, R. A., Cato, D. H., & Noad, M. J. (2008). Non‐song acoustic communication in migrating humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae). Marine Mammal Science, 24(3), 613-629. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2008.00208.x

    Guerra, Á., González, Á. F., Pascual, S., & Dawe, E. G. (2011). The giant squid Architeuthis: An emblematic invertebrate that can represent concern for the conservation of marine biodiversity. Biological Conservation, 144(7), 1989-1997. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2011.04.021

    Haddock, S. H., Moline, M. A., & Case, J. F. (2010). Bioluminescence in the Sea. Annual Review of Marine Science, 2(2010), 443-493. https://www.annualreviews.org/content/journals/10.1146/annurev-marine-120308-081028

    Handel, S., Todd, S. K., & Zoidis, A. M. (2012). Hierarchical and rhythmic organization in the songs of humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae). Bioacoustics, 21(2), 141-156. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/09524622.2012.668324

    Johnson, W. S., & Allen, D. M. (2005). Zooplankton of the Atlantic and Gulf coasts: A guide to their identification and ecology. JHU Press.

    Keller, C., Garrison, L., Baumstark, R., Ward-Geiger, L., & Hines, E. (2012). Application of a habitat model to define calving habitat of the North Atlantic right whale in the southeastern United States. Endangered Species Research, 18(1), 73-87. https://doi.org/10.3354/esr00413

    Pinney, C. (2018). The waterless sea: A curious history of mirages. Reaktion Books.

    Roper, C. F., & Boss, K. J. (1982, April). The Giant Squid. Scientific American, a division of Nature America, Inc, 246(4), 96-105. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24966572

    Roper, C. F., Judkins, H., Voss, N. A., Shea, E., Dawe, E., Ingrao, D., Rothman, P. L., & Roper, I. H. (2015). A compilation of recent records of the giant Squid, Architeuthis dux (Steenstrup, 1857) (Cephalopoda) from the western North Atlantic Ocean, Newfoundland to the Gulf of Mexico. American Malacological Bulletin, 33(1), 78-88. https://doi.org/10.4003/006.033.0116