Our hot, humid summer is turning brittle around the edges
It’s reassuring, really, how fall arrives
Even after the hottest of summers
I will miss the months of extravagance
But not for long
Because spring is assured, even after the coldest of winters
Yesterday a new species of swallowtail butterfly visited the yard. This zebra swallowtail stopped a while to explore the butterfly bush, letting me snap a few photos before it wandered off. Now I’m reviewing my plans for the yard, trying to find a place to plant pawpaw…
I ended yesterday’s post about Black Swallowtail Butterflies with a few questions:
I wonder if there is enough summer left for them? Will they emerge and mate this year? Or will they wait until spring, pausing the cycle as they sleep through winter’s dreary interlude?
This morning, the yard answered with uncharacteristic directness. There is definitely enough summer left — plenty of time for another generation of swallowtails.
Of all the remaining chrysalises, why should the one I photographed yesterday be the one to open today?
Maybe because I had some time available today, for research? Why else would she allow me to photograph the strange fork at the end of her proboscis? I’ve noticed something similar before, but not on all of the butterflies. What’s going on here?
This afternoon I learned that many species of butterflies emerge with their proboscises incompletely fused. After emerging, they mechanically connect the two halves, forming a tube. This has to be done fairly quickly, or the butterfly may end up with a permanently divided (and therefore non-functional) proboscis. In the above photo (taken only minutes after emergence), the process simply wasn’t complete.
The following enlargement, cropped from one of yesterday’s emergence photos, shows the groove that results when the two halves of the proboscis are properly connected. (The tip of this proboscis had a tiny fork remaining, evidence that the butterfly still had a bit of work to do.)
So much complexity, packed into so small a creature. Wonders and miracles in every detail.
The yard’s swallowtail cycle went into high gear through the early weeks of August. Which meant that, for a while, there were more caterpillars than the predators could eat. (And then the caterpillars ate faster than the parsley and fennel could grow, which meant another trip to the garden store.)
At one point there were so many caterpillars on the parsley, and so many eggs being laid, that mistakes were made.
Since I had a container ready, I decided to collect “a few more” caterpillars. (As it turned out, twenty-two was a few too many, forcing yet another trip to the garden store.)
I dreamed of waking one day to a container full of butterflies. An unlikely dream, yes, but a lovely one!
(Unlikely because only three of my first thirteen caterpillars survived to become butterflies. Some died of unknown causes, some were destroyed when a predator broke into their enclosure, and three fell victim to what I suspect was a parasitoid.)
I was thrilled when twenty-one of the twenty-two caterpillars survived to become chrysalises.
And, while the butterflies haven’t emerged in a coordinated swarm, they have begun to emerge. Twelve, so far, of the twenty-one. (Including two this morning.)
This is a vast improvement over three of thirteen!
Thrilled with this success, and having a bit of parsley left over, I’m still collecting caterpillars. Last weekend four of the latest group roamed until they were exhausted, then settled into chrysalises.
I wonder if there is enough summer left for them? Will they emerge and mate this year? Or will they wait until spring, pausing the cycle as they sleep through winter’s dreary interlude?
Today was a fretful day for the hummingbirds. At least three were trying to stay close to the honeysuckle and the feeders, vying for a favored pair of branches in the pear tree. They chirped testily, launching attacks from far less desirable perches in the wax myrtles, occasionally looping the house in frustration.
They didn’t seem to mind my noisy camera, even when I moved to a chair beneath the tree. They were too busy guarding their airspace.
It seemed to me that every calorie they gleaned from the honeysuckle and the feeders, they quickly spent on aggression.
Watching them, I realized that I have often lived in similar fashion. Wasting my energy on ambition and envy, when it would have been wiser to sit still and enjoy the sunshine.
Rae Spencer 