Thirty-Eight Sparks of Soul
Good morning, my beautiful migrator. I see your orange wings through your black chrysalis shell. Are you ready to fly today?
In the nursery in a mesh butterfly crate, your friends are eclosing from their chrysalises and getting ready to fly. They were the last to join the nursery and they’ll be the last to leave. There’s plenty of food for everyone in the fields of asters and goldenrod, and you have an early start for your journey.
I’ll miss you, dear children, but you need to leave. I don’t expect you to wave goodbye, but when this day warms, you’ll flutter your wings and cling to the sunny south of your habitat. I’ll put you in a lidded bowl with soft tissue padding and carry you to the edge of the field. I’ll open the lid and off you’ll go. I hate saying goodbye, but the summer is ending. I’m grateful you thrived in an inhospitable world.
I’ll miss you, sweet ones, but it’s time for your heroic adventure to your winter home in Mexico.
***
I hadn’t seen one adult Monarch all summer until a handsome fellow landed on a milkweed plant in my flower garden on July 19. I imagined more the next day, an egg laying female or two. I was sure of it, but I was wrong. I didn’t see another adult until July 30. Another male.
My friend and helper Matt cut trails through the milkweed fields, mowing a few mature plants that had already flowered. I first inspected the plants to make sure there were no caterpillars. There were none.
A few weeks later, tender sprouts emerged from the mowed milkweed below my barn. My dog Disco and I wandered the paths, and I found a few eggs each the size of a sesame seed. I didn’t see the female who laid them. Every morning, I turned over fresh young milkweed leaves and usually there was nothing, but occasionally bingo. I gathered five eggs in an hour one day and for another week, but when it rained, there were none. Spiders, ladybugs, and ants were searching, too, so I hurried to get there early before they arrived to eat the eggs and early caterpillars.
In a month, I gathered almost 50 eggs and 38 hatched into tiny Monarch caterpillars less than ¼ inch long. Each tiny caterpillar felt like royalty. I gave them fresh milkweed leaves in small individual jars in my back porch. They like their greens tender, just like we do. As they ate and grew, I moved them into communal crates with other caterpillars and more milkweed.
By mid September, I released more than two dozen adult Monarchs with ten more maturing in their crate. In the past, I housed over 100 by late summer, but climate change has been hard for Monarchs and many insects.
When I awaken in the morning, I hustle to my back porch to visit the butterflies. “Will you fly today?” I ask the darkening chrysalises. Some mornings I see Monarchs nectaring in the asters near my porch and wonder if I raised them or if they’re migrating from Canada to Mexico.
Monarchs are my soul friends. When they fly, I fly, too.
A Monarch Farewell Haiku by Deborah Gregory
Wings flutter, last dance
In silence, Mama watches
Farewell, gentle soul
***
Do you have a summer nature passion? One of my son has about twenty hummingbird feeders and the other has a huge flower garden. I grieve for the scarcity of Monarchs in most places in the United States. There’s a possibility that could change because females are prodigious egg layers, but I don’t count on it. For a post about how I’ve raised Monarchs in previous years, see Dancing with Monarchs, Defying Despair. With gratitude to my friend, the poet Deborah Gregory.
September 27, 2024 at 12:13 pm
Lin Gregory
I love to read about your process in gathering and hatching the monarchs – you have such a wonderful dedication to them and their survival Elaine. And I learn new things along the way – I didn’t realise the caterpillars were so tiny…such delicate, compact packages for a thing of such beauty, Wishing them warm winds behind them on their journey south.
September 28, 2024 at 10:06 am
Elaine Mansfield
The World Wildlife Fund estimated there were 21 million Monarchs in their winter home in the biophere reserve in Mexico 2023 and it was an extremely low population year–so my few dozen Monarchs doesn’t help much with the world population, but it helps me to be with them and observe their magic. The caterpillars are tiny and vulnerable and almost invisible when they emerge from the eggs and then they begin eating. They’re prodigious eaters of only one food (milkweed leaves), but increase their weight 2000 to 2500% in 2 weeks. Another way they’re magical. They are chubby little caterpillars by the time they become a chrysalis. This year they had to navigate a hurricane to reach their winter home but they could do that by going around it to either the east or west. I hope the weather is calmer for the next few weeks so they can have a quieter trip to Mexico.
September 27, 2024 at 10:23 am
Aladin Fazel
That is such an endearing story, dear Elaine. You did a great job helping these beautiful creatures proceed with their lives. Of course, we know Mother Nature never needs our help, but I know you have a very secret relationship with those Monarchs. Now, you must wait through the dark again until next year. I believe it will pass sooner than we can imagine, and they will come on time! Take care and be blessed.
September 28, 2024 at 9:53 am
Elaine Mansfield
They’re beautiful and endangered. They teach me about the power of miraculous transformation and survival. I wonder how they did with that huge hurricane right in their migration path. It’s been a hard year for the earth and her wild and human life. Blessings to you, Aladin, and all of us. We live in such an angry world.
September 26, 2024 at 3:47 pm
Susan Scott
38 Sparks of Joy! What a lovely and fitting title Elaine. I admire your loving dedication in helping these souls come into being fewer though they are. Helping even one is one-derful. I can only imagine your joy in seeing these winged wonders come into being. There’s something so beautiful in seeing these small creatures flutter by. I always smile inwardly –
September 26, 2024 at 8:23 pm
Elaine Mansfield
There is so much joy in finding these tiny eggs and watching them evolve from egg to caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly over a period of about 6 weeks. I love protecting and watching their process, so it helps me as much as it helps them. Along with many others in this country, I’m grateful for The Kiffness. He made a big effect with humor at an importantmoment. Isn’t life surprising!
September 26, 2024 at 11:16 am
Jean Raffa
We have a nearby empty lot in our suburban island neighborhood that’s surrounded by waterways and wetlands. We mow it in the fall and winter to keep the weeds down and the neighbors happy. But, inspired by your wonderful posts, we stop mowing through the spring and summer to let the milkweed grow. In the past the neighbors enjoyed bringing their children there in the summer to see the joyous display of monarchs and other butterflies . Last week, the new neighbor next to the lot complained about its overgrown, unsightly condition, so we finally mowed it. The man who mowed it saw all kinds of critters scurrying away to the nearby wetlands but no caterpillars or butterflies. I hope to goodness the last ones were already on their way to wherever they go from here. My efforts are minute compared to yours, but thanks to you, I’m doing what I can for Florida’s butterfly population.
September 26, 2024 at 12:20 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Ah, neighbors. I don’t have to worry about close neighbors because there are none. We have such different growing seasons from FL that I’m not sure my experience is helpful. We mow the fields once in fall after a hard frost when most plants in the northeast stop growing to keep a few aggressive brambles from taking over and that works well. In recent years, my helper on the land and I found selective mowing works best just once later in the summer, so maybe mowing around the edges of your field would work with some paths through the middle. The young plants that emerge after mowing look less weedy and the Monarch females like them the best for laying eggs. You could always contact a wildlife education group (county government?) in your area and ask for advice–after the hurricane. May all be well and may you be safe!
September 25, 2024 at 6:57 am
Marian Beaman
Deborah calls you Mama Monarch and I think that name fits. I remember back in June you feared you’d have no butterfly babies, but now you’re saying “Goodbye” once again to those dear children. Life marches on, seasons change, and you can look forward to next year, Elaine! 😀
September 25, 2024 at 11:51 am
Elaine Mansfield
Thank you, Marian. I’m trying to stay positive about their chances of survival, but they need to get to the mountains of Mexico (despite the hurricane) and have a winter there with adequate rain and flowers and good breeding opportunities. They’re survivors, so I have hope for them, but they have a wild life. My fretting does no good, of course. Be well and be safe.
September 24, 2024 at 10:47 am
Deborah Gregory
Dear Mama Monarch, “Monarchs are my soul friends. When they fly, I fly, too.” With your beautiful, poetic last line Elaine, you say it all, you really do! Please know that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading all about your Monarch nursery over the past eight, possibly nine summers as well as this one, alongside your amazing butterfly photos throughout the years! From the first moment you spot Monarchs in your meadow, to gathering their eggs, to observing the development of caterpillars into chrysalises, to those magickal eclosing and release days.
Oh, no wonder you’ve titled this post, “Thirty Eight Sparks of Joy”. What a glorious summer it must’ve been for you and knowing that you were flying on happy wings makes me fly on happy wings too, my dear friend. As for the haiku, well I was so moved by your words, wisdom, beauty, and kindness a few days ago when you released your last beautiful Monarch that I wrote a tiny haiku on the spot, for you, her Mama. I’m delighted that you enjoyed it. Goodbye little ones, until we meet again. I’m already hoping and praying that next summer, even if they’re late again, the Monarchs will return to your meadow and your heart will fly again. Love and light, Deborah.
September 24, 2024 at 12:00 pm
Elaine Mansfield
Thank you, Deborah. They inspire me with their magical transformations. In the wild, caterpillars are prey to all kinds of parasites and diseases, but once an egg gathered while still attached to its milkweed leaf hatches in my nursery, they almost always stay healthy. This year, every one of them grew, transformed, and flew. The heading south began just a few days ago, right before the rain began and temperatures cooled. Their timing isn’t always this good, but it was perfect this year. (My early posts include my fretting, too. Where are they? Why are they so late? Why are there so few?) I hope they have an abundant winter in Mexico with adequate moisture and nectar flowers, because they need a rebound to avoid extinction.
I love your haiku, dear poet. It captures the joy and magic of my intimate relationship with these creatures. Thank you. I hope and pray for them, too. They need adequate rains and a healthy fir tree forest in their BioReserve in Mexico and warm temperature and helpful winds for their journeys. It’s remarkable they survive in this changing world. If they come, I’ll protect and feed them. I’ll have my eye on the milkweed fields in early June 2025. Sending love and a comfortable winter to you across the sea.