Here’s another look at the yard’s first monarchs, this time in a video/time lapse shot by my husband…
In the Yard
From the Summer Archive
Today’s winter storm should bring nothing more than miserably cold rain and a few flurries to our area, but I decided to stay inside anyway. I dug out my digital to-do list, pulled on my favorite socks, and settled in for an afternoon of computer work. Mid-way through organizing my 2014 photo archive, I opened a forgotten folder and found a forgotten cache of summer.
These images don’t make my house warmer, and they won’t melt snow or ice, but they reminded me that summer is only a few months away.
It won’t be too long before spring rustles in — waking the yard’s flowers, urging birds to nest, and breathing life into new generations of insects.
Soon, sooner than February ever lets me imagine, it will be time to put away my favorite socks, turn off the heat, and open all the windows.
Soon…
The Yard’s First Monarch Butterflies
Butterfly metamorphosis is one of nature’s most spectacular spectacles. I’ve always wanted to see the whole cycle, and this fall the yard cooperated. It started with nine caterpillars feasting on the milkweed.
Five survived to maturity. One by one they stopped eating, anchored their last pair of legs with silk, and slipped into the characteristic upside-down pose that precedes a monarch caterpillar’s final molt.
Then they began their transformation.
One died before completing its molt…
…but the other four safely hardened into chrysalises, where they remained for the next two weeks.
Then:
One by one they emerged, the first during the morning of October 10th and the last close to noon on October 11th.
I was too excited to remember my camera, most of the time, so I only have a few photos for three of the four.
But I managed to capture a full sequence for one of the monarchs. The following slideshow covers a period from September 25th to October 11th.
All four butterflies struggled in their first moments of flight, crashing a few times as they tested their wings.
But after a few hours of short flights with long rests between, all four took to the air and fluttered off in search of nectar.
I wished, in the moments after watching them leave the yard, that they might stay a while longer. Then I took a deep breath and wished them warm winds to ease their southward journey.
Whatever fate finds my four butterflies, their brief weeks in the yard contributed something permanent and lovely to my world. I hope they thrive during their long migration, and I hope they stop as often as possible, each time bringing something lovely into someone else’s world.
Northern Black Racer Snake (Ophidiophobia Alert!)
A few weeks ago, when the wren house was invaded by rodents, I half-jokingly said to my husband, “What we need is a snake.”
Apparently the yard was listening.
(My first instinct was to label these photos “Eastern Rat Snake.” A few clicks through the Virginia Herpetological Society’s website changed my mind, and their quick response to my e-mail ID request confirmed that our visitor was a Northern Black Racer.)
I gave the snake an hour or so, to recover from the fright of being photographed by a pajama-clad woman carrying a noisy camera, then I measured the fence with a ruler. Each board in the fence is a little over five inches wide…
…and the snake was about seven boards long.
Perhaps that’s big enough to tackle the wren house rats? Because after we took down the wren house, one of the rats moved into a small pile of branches we keep forgetting to haul away. Today, the snake moved into that same pile of branches.
The last time we had a rat problem, a hawk solved it. I think a snake is an equally elegant solution.
Praying Mantises
While I am fascinated with all insects, I have a special fondness for praying mantises. It started with Mother, with foggy memories of her passing bewildered mantises into my cupped hands and telling me to release them somewhere safe, somewhere beyond the reach of our hungry chickens.
It’s possible these memories aren’t real. It’s possible that I began saving praying mantises from the chickens without any prompting from Mother, though it’s the kind of lesson she would have taught.
Sadly, our yard is currently without chickens. (Sad for me, at least. The praying mantises probably don’t mind.) With no hungry chickens about, I no longer catch and move mantises when I find them. Instead I crawl after them with my camera — slow motion chases complicated by grass allergies, mosquitoes, and arachnophobia.
I’m a skeptic when it comes to animal symbolism, but many sources say praying mantises are symbols of patience and stillness, appearing when life has become too busy.
This summer has seen month after month pass with distractions ranging from minor to major. A series of household repairs. A trio of elderly cats, two in failing health. A new bout of depression and anxiety.
And now the yard is full of praying mantises. More praying mantises than ever before. In every flower bed, on every overhanging branch, even in the hanging baskets.
Perhaps I’m not such a skeptic after all.
Perhaps it’s time to slow down and try a different approach.
Rae Spencer 