Nature Connection: Royalty In Our Gardens

When I was a little girl, we had a big garden out behind our garage in Hyannis. My dad grew tomatoes, squash, peppers and corn. We rarely got to enjoy any corn, losing it to either corn borers or raccoons, but I loved hiding behind the tall plants while he mumbled and complained, trying to save at least a few ears of corn. Next to the garden was a patch of milkweed, and it was full of monarch butterfly caterpillars. 

There were so many caterpillars they stripped the milkweed plants in no time, and my dad would find unoccupied plants to cut and bring to the hungry caterpillars. He caught a few that he put in a big mayonnaise jar with a branch of milkweed that he refreshed daily. These branches were huge and stuck out of the jar, but caterpillars can’t fly and they stayed for the meal plan. 

One day there were no caterpillars but several green and gold jewel-like chrysalises hanging from the plant stalks. He told us the baby butterflies were inside, changing their clothes so they could be butterflies, and my little sister and I were entranced. We were of an age where fairies and magic seemed possible and plausible and here was some real-life proof that magic occurred right in our own backyard.

Every day we checked the chrysalises for activity and eventually they began to turn color and darken. Our dad showed us how the wing colors could be seen if we squinted our eyes. We spent a few days squinting until our eyes hurt, and our mom told us we’d go blind hoping to see the butterflies emerge. 

One morning, several of the butterflies had already emerged when we checked on them. They were nearby, perched on tall grasses in the sun, stretching out their wrinkled, damp wings. One, however, was just beginning to come out of its chrysalis and we watched as it spread out a foot, then part of a wing, then more of its body and more wing, until it hung like a soggy old leaf. 

Dad warned us not to touch, just watch, and as we stared at this crumpled insect, we saw the wings unfold, the body stretch out, and the feet and antennas solidify. Soon, it joined its siblings or cousins on the sunny grasses, slowly continuing to unfurl its wings. My sister and I went into the house for lunch and when we came back out, the butterflies were in flight. We had watched a miracle!

Many years passed before I learned of the awe-inspiring migrations some monarch butterflies make each fall. As even more years passed, and houses grew up in lots where milkweed and other wildflowers formerly proliferated, finding monarch caterpillars became much more difficult, and finding them with my own children and then my grandchildren became a game of luck. Even in areas where there was milkweed, we would find only a few eggs and tiny caterpillars. Occasionally we’d find half a dozen good-sized caterpillars but rarely a chrysalis.

These days many insects are in trouble. Birds, too, which isn’t surprising, since so many of them rely on insects for food. Habitat loss and the almost universal use of pesticides and herbicides have together rocked the ecosystems they rely on.

Efforts are in progress to have the monarch butterflies listed as a threatened species, but if you’ve been following environmental news, you know that isn’t too likely with all the cuts and changes to the endangered species acts, both federal and state. I’m sure people won’t give up, though, and already the public has begun to make noise about protecting these iconic butterflies as well as other insects, especially pollinators.

Monarch butterflies are easy to identify. They are bright orange and black with spots of white and are fairly large, averaging around three to four inches with their wings spread. We have other large butterflies such as swallowtails, but the coloration is different. 

Monarch adults nectar on many kinds of flowers, and you may find them on zinnias, coneflowers and other brightly colored blooms in your garden. They only lay eggs on milkweed, however, and their caterpillars must have milkweed leaves to eat or they won’t survive. Eating bitter milkweed leaves makes the caterpillars nasty tasting to birds and other critters that might want to eat them. Once a bird has tasted one and spit it out, they won’t eat another.

As many now know, the last generations of our summer monarchs will begin their long migration south and west by early fall. There they will rest for the winter before laying eggs of the next generation that will begin its way east. Multiple generations will occur through the spring and early summer migration, unlike that of the fall.

All butterflies have predators, can succumb to disease or simply fail to thrive. Many die from the poisons farmers use to control other species of Lepidoptera such as corn borers, gypsy moths, and so on. We can help them by not using poisons in our own yards and educating our neighbors and friends (kindly) about the benefits of helping our native pollinators.

Butterflies and moths are found all over the world, but their populations are plummeting. Monarch populations today are less than half of what they were just 20 years ago. Although we tend to enjoy them for the beauty they bring, they are important parts of the ecosystems and losing them will affect us in ways that you may find hard to imagine.

Raising a caterpillar or two to witness their metamorphosis is probably fine, but raising a large number has been shown to be less than beneficial as these captive raised butterflies often don’t migrate. 

These are the days to enjoy the flights of all butterflies, not just the monarchs. And don’t be fooled by the viceroy butterflies that mimic the monarchs but taste much better.