A KALEIDOSCOPE OF MONARCHS

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Isn't Jungle Red amazing? The other day–and you may have seen it–there as a comment on the blog from Margo, who talked about raising monarch butterflies.

When I read it, I stopped in my tracks.

I had to know more!

I tracked Margo down--and asked her: could you please tell us more about this?

Well, Reds and readers, within a day, she'd sent this brilliant and charming and entertaining and educational and inspiring essay, WITH PHOTOS!

And I am so honored to share with with you!

A KALEIDOSCOPE OF MONARCHS

Hi, my name is Margo Patrick, and I am delighted to have been asked to tell you a bit about our life with Monarch butterflies. Our family has always shared our world with nature. I wanted to study Botany at university in the late 60’s, but since only 5 people wanted it that year, it was cancelled so I moved to Biochemistry. I guess that makes me a frustrated botanist. 

Marriage took me to Quebec & Ontario for 30 years, where we farmed, gardened, and shared our home with kids, baby raccoons, skunks, cats, dogs, turtles, rabbits and a crow. We moved back to Nova Scotia to retire in 2003 (and moved a lot of that foolishness with us), and since moving here have developed many new interests.

When we were kids and had our cottages next door in the summer, my father and his brother would often tend to get a bit ribald when the ‘Kool-aid’ was flowing freely (not the kind in a package, but something similar to it with perhaps a flavour enhancer). In order to put a stop to ‘that’ conversation, Aunt Myrtle would suggest that we should talk about the monarch butterfly of which there were none other than the nature shows on telly. Who would have thought that now it would not only become a real part of the conversation, but a reality where we live?

We went back to Ontario one summer to bring home the seed pods from the Common Milkweed plant, which is a nuisance in farmer’s fields there. It took us 5 years to finally get a milkweed patch growing enough plants to attract Monarch Butterflies. The Monarchs are a rare sighting in this area and in most of the Maritimes. We saw a butterfly and a few larvae one year (2017), only a few butterflies on year 2. 

A few years ago, we noticed that the eggs would hatch, and then the larva would disappear, which meant there were no butterflies to go through to next year.

We were already hooked on the butterflies and were now watching eagerly for their arrival in July. By then the milkweed would be flourishing and in flower, and attracting bees and other insects. However, the loss of the butterfly in the early part of their life cycle bothered us. 

We searched the internet for things that ate monarch larva. One of these was earwigs, and since the milkweed was in my vegetable garden, we did not want to let the chickens peruse the patch in search of bugs since they were more likely to eat the vegetables than the earwigs. Jack started going through the milkweed a few times a day with a dish of hot soapy water and a pair of tweezers – brutality at its worse – and retirement at its most foolish.

Then we took an old aquarium, added some soil to the bottom, and then tossed in some milkweed leaves and some larva. The caterpillars grew and grew and after 2 weeks would crawl to the screening on the top. 

 Here they attached themselves with a bit of spit-glue known as a button, hung upside down in the form of a ‘J’, and proceeded to make a green cocoon around themselves. They would soon decorate their cocoon with a beautiful gold necklace, and just hang around metamorphosizing for 2 weeks. 

As their time came closer to emergence, this would look black. What really happens is the cocoon goes transparent, so that you can see the black of the wings inside. The bottom pops open, and the butterfly squeezes out – shrunken and misshapen, but ready to meet the world just the same. This whole process takes about a minute, so you have to be on guard to see it.

After about 2 hours of flexing and beginning to flap, the wings are dry enough and strong enough to head to the skies. It is at this point that we release them.

We have had our grandkids here, as well as other kids and lots of adults. There is a magic in their eyes as they feel the gentle feet of the butterfly as it sits on their hand and then poof and it is off soaring into the universe.

This year the monarch was declared an endangered species, at least in Canada. We are lucky to now have 175 milkweed plants in the garden. We built 2 new incubators, which although they worked well, still have a few design flaws to be fixed next year. Never the less, we have already released about 50 adults. There are about 60 more pupa to go, and more larva growing up.

The next generation that should be born in mid-September are the ones that should go south. They seem to determine this by the temperature of the evenings (below 57F) and the shortening length of the days to trigger them to go from a reproductive butterfly to a migrating one.

 For the first time I have some tags, so will be learning that next phase of the operation. It is a little paper dot that you place carefully on their wing with a toothpick. Should anyone see this butterfly it will be traceable to where it originated, hopefully generating more information on this magnificent bit of nature.

So, if you look up, or feel a whisper on your arm, you can wonder if this bit of magic came from Eastern Canada on its way to a tree in a forest in Mexico. Wish it bon voyage, in the anticipation that we may see its next generation whisk its way back here next summer. Hope springs eternal. May there be a kaleidoscope of monarchs next year.

HANK: Oh, I have now read this about a million times, and I am again transported. Thank you, thank you, Margo! A kaleidoscope of Monarchs. I am...in awwwww. And in awe.

(We have a patch of milkweed in our back yard, and we have seen  at least two Monarchs. They are so instantly eye-catchingly gorgeous.)

How about you, Reds and readers? And OH! Margot! This is absolutely wonderful. Thank you!