Friday, October 06, 2006
"No other animal is more typical of a healthy environment, nor more susceptible to change, than a butterfly" (Feltwell 1986).
I recently spent the better part of an afternoon chasing butterflies with my kids. A few years ago, we found a monarch caterpillar and were, happily, able to witness its emergence as a butterfly from the chrysalis it encased itself in. So, equipped with our pleasant memories and eagerness for new experience, we traipsed off to find some treasure.
We didn’t have a net on our recent expedition, but rather, decided upon the bare hand and jar approach. I think we knew deep down that the journey, itself, is often more valuable than the treasure sought, and so, we had very few expectations of grandeur to have to live up to.
After all, it was a sparklingly clear, crisp and sunny day, and warm, sunny days are cherished all the more in the fall, since winter can drop upon us suddenly and without warning. I was happy just to be outside enjoying the warmth and the company.
We noticed many winged creatures scattered along our path. Small birds glided just above and dipped into the low brush around us; there were bees of every size and type, many white, yellow and copper butterflies, and a few large dragonflies circling overhead.
But, the illusive monarch was what we were after that day. After closely inspecting all of the milkweed we found, we concluded that any caterpillars must have already transformed. Every so often, while taking in the deep, rich tones and colors stippled with late afternoon highlights around us, we would catch sight of one alighting on the goldenrod.
At first, we would approach with caution. Just when we would get close enough to almost touch one (and occasionally snap a quick photo) it would lift off and flutter away into the smiling eyes of the sun. What amazing aerial acrobatics these small, slight creatures could perform! In fact, monarch butterfly flight speeds have been measured at up to 30 miles per hour; that’s pretty swift.
So, our Plan A was a bust. Plan B was to run at full-force toward one as soon as we caught sight of it. The butterflies were well aware of the wake we created in the air as we moved toward them, however, and were gone long before we ever reached them. Highly perceptive and super-aware, they are, indeed. Butterflies use their senses of sight, touch, hearing, smell, and taste to survive in the world, find food and mates, lay eggs in an appropriate place, migrate, and avoid hungry predators. Caterpillars can sense touch, taste, smell, sound, and light. Setae (sensory hairs) on the insect's entire body (including the antennae) can feel the environment. They also give the insect information about the wind while it is flying.
Next, we tried a round-up approach where the kids would shoo the potential specimen toward me as I waited downhill a ways. The first time, I was so shocked that one was actually flying right at me, I didn’t know what to do and completely choked. I let it fly right into my head and up, up and away. Sly, smart, daring, and courageous, that one got me good.
Finally, we decided we enjoyed the chase so much we actually wanted to return empty handed (and empty-jarred.) As it turns out, we would save that moment and look forward to continuing it at another time. The memory was perfect as it was.
A while later, I noticed, while sitting at my computer monitor, downloading the photos I had taken, and dreamily gazing out the window, that monarchs were flying right past me at fairly regular intervals. After watching them fly by for a while, I realized they were moving in a southwesterly direction – migrating down to Central Mexico, to the Oyamel forests, no doubt. It is known that the monarchs fly east of the Great Lakes and south-southwest in areas west of the Great Lakes, but their exact migratory path is still being plotted, today.
What is it that guides them, I wondered? Do they follow the sun? Do they sense the ebbing of the summer warmth? Apparently, what the monarch butterflies sense is the changing amount of light present and the variability of day and nighttime temperatures. With the change of seasons from fall to winter comes the inevitable shortening of the days, longer nights, and also colder nighttime temperatures. When these characteristics show up, the monarchs leave for their overwintering sites as much as thousands of miles away.
Unfortunately, the monarchs are becoming more and more vulnerable in their overwintering sites in the high-altitude fir forests of the Transvolcanic Range of Mexico; only two of the eleven known roosting sites are well protected from logging. The oyamel trees on which the monarchs cluster are valuable lumber sources, and local people need additional sources of income. If the roost sites are destroyed, monarch populations are likely to decline drastically. Protecting the roost sites is difficult because preservation of the sites and the monarch butterfly will conflict with the increasing needs and changing priorities of a growing Mexican population Continued development may mean that a winter may soon come when the monarchs no longer have a place to rest.
Once the butterflies reach their roosting site, they cluster in large numbers in the branches and trunks of oyamel trees. While clustering they stay relatively still and maintain low metabolic rates. In mid-February, the monarchs at the roost sites become more active and mating behavior begins. By the end of February, some of the monarchs begin moving northward, and by mid-March the roost is usually depleted. This begins the spring migration. The spring migration starts out with only about half of the original roosting population. Forty to sixty percent of the monarchs die during their stay in Mexico. During the spring migration, the monarch butterflies return to their homes in Canada and the northern most parts of the United States. Along the way, they roost and reproduce, giving rise to new butterflies that will continue the spring flight back.
In Australia and New Zealand the monarch is known as the Wanderer Butterfly. It is now believed that the butterfly has evolved to follow the pattern of the growth of its larvae’s food source: milkweed.
Milkweed, the host plant of the monarch, has also become a serious concern. In Canada, milkweed has been declared a noxious weed. This means that the plant is considered illegal and cannot be allowed to grow on private or public lands in Canada. Although not labeled noxious in the states, farmers consider the plant a nuisance to crops and often use herbicides to control it along with other weeds. More and more roadsides are being planted in grass instead of being allowed to overgrow with wildflowers and weeds. The result is that butterflies have fewer places in the wild to find nectar and lay their eggs. The place the monarchs once knew as “the land of milkweed and nectar,” alas, is changing and now offers them an uncertain future, at best.
A few days after the big expedition, as I was walking to the mailbox to retrieve the day’s delivery, I noticed a monarch butterfly directly in front of me on a patch of newly blossoming asters. Instinctively, I knew this butterfly would not fly away as I approached it and held out my finger. As I suspected, it got right on and allowed me a moment to appreciate it before it flew away, joining other wanderers on their annual quest. No one really knows, for sure, what next year’s migration will bring. Will the monarchs find the winter sanctuary they seek and will they return, again, next spring? Their fate is uncertain, at best, so I remind myself to cherish the bright, warm memories that were created while the moments were allowed to unfold freely – without restrictions, conditions or expectations.
We didn’t have a net on our recent expedition, but rather, decided upon the bare hand and jar approach. I think we knew deep down that the journey, itself, is often more valuable than the treasure sought, and so, we had very few expectations of grandeur to have to live up to.
After all, it was a sparklingly clear, crisp and sunny day, and warm, sunny days are cherished all the more in the fall, since winter can drop upon us suddenly and without warning. I was happy just to be outside enjoying the warmth and the company.
We noticed many winged creatures scattered along our path. Small birds glided just above and dipped into the low brush around us; there were bees of every size and type, many white, yellow and copper butterflies, and a few large dragonflies circling overhead.
But, the illusive monarch was what we were after that day. After closely inspecting all of the milkweed we found, we concluded that any caterpillars must have already transformed. Every so often, while taking in the deep, rich tones and colors stippled with late afternoon highlights around us, we would catch sight of one alighting on the goldenrod.
At first, we would approach with caution. Just when we would get close enough to almost touch one (and occasionally snap a quick photo) it would lift off and flutter away into the smiling eyes of the sun. What amazing aerial acrobatics these small, slight creatures could perform! In fact, monarch butterfly flight speeds have been measured at up to 30 miles per hour; that’s pretty swift.
So, our Plan A was a bust. Plan B was to run at full-force toward one as soon as we caught sight of it. The butterflies were well aware of the wake we created in the air as we moved toward them, however, and were gone long before we ever reached them. Highly perceptive and super-aware, they are, indeed. Butterflies use their senses of sight, touch, hearing, smell, and taste to survive in the world, find food and mates, lay eggs in an appropriate place, migrate, and avoid hungry predators. Caterpillars can sense touch, taste, smell, sound, and light. Setae (sensory hairs) on the insect's entire body (including the antennae) can feel the environment. They also give the insect information about the wind while it is flying.
Next, we tried a round-up approach where the kids would shoo the potential specimen toward me as I waited downhill a ways. The first time, I was so shocked that one was actually flying right at me, I didn’t know what to do and completely choked. I let it fly right into my head and up, up and away. Sly, smart, daring, and courageous, that one got me good.
Finally, we decided we enjoyed the chase so much we actually wanted to return empty handed (and empty-jarred.) As it turns out, we would save that moment and look forward to continuing it at another time. The memory was perfect as it was.
A while later, I noticed, while sitting at my computer monitor, downloading the photos I had taken, and dreamily gazing out the window, that monarchs were flying right past me at fairly regular intervals. After watching them fly by for a while, I realized they were moving in a southwesterly direction – migrating down to Central Mexico, to the Oyamel forests, no doubt. It is known that the monarchs fly east of the Great Lakes and south-southwest in areas west of the Great Lakes, but their exact migratory path is still being plotted, today.
What is it that guides them, I wondered? Do they follow the sun? Do they sense the ebbing of the summer warmth? Apparently, what the monarch butterflies sense is the changing amount of light present and the variability of day and nighttime temperatures. With the change of seasons from fall to winter comes the inevitable shortening of the days, longer nights, and also colder nighttime temperatures. When these characteristics show up, the monarchs leave for their overwintering sites as much as thousands of miles away.
Unfortunately, the monarchs are becoming more and more vulnerable in their overwintering sites in the high-altitude fir forests of the Transvolcanic Range of Mexico; only two of the eleven known roosting sites are well protected from logging. The oyamel trees on which the monarchs cluster are valuable lumber sources, and local people need additional sources of income. If the roost sites are destroyed, monarch populations are likely to decline drastically. Protecting the roost sites is difficult because preservation of the sites and the monarch butterfly will conflict with the increasing needs and changing priorities of a growing Mexican population Continued development may mean that a winter may soon come when the monarchs no longer have a place to rest.
Once the butterflies reach their roosting site, they cluster in large numbers in the branches and trunks of oyamel trees. While clustering they stay relatively still and maintain low metabolic rates. In mid-February, the monarchs at the roost sites become more active and mating behavior begins. By the end of February, some of the monarchs begin moving northward, and by mid-March the roost is usually depleted. This begins the spring migration. The spring migration starts out with only about half of the original roosting population. Forty to sixty percent of the monarchs die during their stay in Mexico. During the spring migration, the monarch butterflies return to their homes in Canada and the northern most parts of the United States. Along the way, they roost and reproduce, giving rise to new butterflies that will continue the spring flight back.
In Australia and New Zealand the monarch is known as the Wanderer Butterfly. It is now believed that the butterfly has evolved to follow the pattern of the growth of its larvae’s food source: milkweed.
Milkweed, the host plant of the monarch, has also become a serious concern. In Canada, milkweed has been declared a noxious weed. This means that the plant is considered illegal and cannot be allowed to grow on private or public lands in Canada. Although not labeled noxious in the states, farmers consider the plant a nuisance to crops and often use herbicides to control it along with other weeds. More and more roadsides are being planted in grass instead of being allowed to overgrow with wildflowers and weeds. The result is that butterflies have fewer places in the wild to find nectar and lay their eggs. The place the monarchs once knew as “the land of milkweed and nectar,” alas, is changing and now offers them an uncertain future, at best.
A few days after the big expedition, as I was walking to the mailbox to retrieve the day’s delivery, I noticed a monarch butterfly directly in front of me on a patch of newly blossoming asters. Instinctively, I knew this butterfly would not fly away as I approached it and held out my finger. As I suspected, it got right on and allowed me a moment to appreciate it before it flew away, joining other wanderers on their annual quest. No one really knows, for sure, what next year’s migration will bring. Will the monarchs find the winter sanctuary they seek and will they return, again, next spring? Their fate is uncertain, at best, so I remind myself to cherish the bright, warm memories that were created while the moments were allowed to unfold freely – without restrictions, conditions or expectations.
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