A couple years ago, my wife and I created a rain garden. We selected plants that liked their feet wet, to include a swamp milkweed. To our surprise, last August the milkweed was chock full of monarch caterpillars voraciously consuming it. They ate, and ate, and ate, until all that was left were the stalks. Not a leaf in sight. Then, as fast as they had appeared, they disappeared. Where did they go? A week later, we noted several green chrysalises in the garden. About ten of them. The caterpillars had alighted from the milkweed and found shelter in nearby ornamental grasses.
The chrysalises were beautiful, a deep green with a golden beaded band near the top. The green transformed after a week, it seemed overnight, to black, but in reality, the chrysalises were turning translucent. The black was the emergent butterfly, patches of fiery orange could also be seen through the translucent chrysalis. Any day or moment they would emerge, I thought.
By then I felt like an expectant father. Protective, pacing the gardens edge, counting the chrysalises, trying to divine when they would emerge. You see, there were no contractions to count, no water breaking, no nurses to explain.
Hourly I checked on them. I mostly missed the emergence of the monarchs over the next day and a half, stepping out to see new monarchs unfolding their wings, flapping them at times, but mostly, it seemed they rested, gaining strength and taking in the world and preparing for their journey. This was the generation that would return to Mexico this fall.
The next day, exactly at dawn, I came out of the house to check on the remaining chrysalises. I spied an emerging monarch. “No, no,” I thought, as I ran back into the house and got my camera, sporting a macro lens for this moment. No time for a tripod. Back out in a flash, I crouched in the garden, focusing the best I could in the low light. The slight breeze did not help as the monarch swayed.
The monarch was already outside the chrysalis and beginning to unfold its wings. Wow, I thought, they pop out damn quick. Given the low light and hand holding the camera I hoped the images were in focus. Some were, some weren’t. Over the course of two days, we counted about a dozen monarchs that emerged from known and unknown chrysalises.
This spring we planted two more swamp milkweeds, hoping to entice more monarchs to lay eggs. This August we counted abut 13 caterpillars, and like last year, after voraciously denuding the milkweeds, they disappeared. We only found and counted 4 chrysalises, however. Disappointed, we hoped we missed some, not finding them in the ornamental grasses.
Yesterday, two of the four chrysalises turned translucent. Learning from last year, I pre-staged my camera and tripod beside the front door. I was determined not to miss the emergence of this year’s batch of Monarchs.
This morning, when I checked them early, the Monarchs had not yet emerged. Them, around late morning, a summer shower ripped through. Heavy rains, winds and gusts, one of several storms pummeling central Virginia over these past few weeks. After lunch, I went back out to check and discovered both Monarchs had emerged.
Damn, missed the emergence again.
As I photographed and observed the two, to my surprise, four more Monarchs emerged from the grasses. A total of six, with two known chrysalises remaining. What a beautiful moment.
In this dreary time, with an angry Monarch spreading his wings across America, one must take in and relish the beautiful moments in life. I have written enough about these dark times and wanted to write about hope and the goodness that can still be found. I found it with these Monarchs.
Godspeed to these emerging Monarchs and wish them a safe journey back to Mexico where there they will produce a new generation of Monarchs to spread their wings and migrate north across this great continent.
