We are sorry to have been out of touch, but the sad fact is that this has been a truly difficult year, in our garden at least, for the butterflies on the plateau. We hear that we are not alone. Up to just this past week, we have had only sporadic visitors from a very limited number of varieties. We have no definitive proof for this, but believe this to be a result of the terrible and sudden sub-zero cold snap that happened this past winter, killing pupae and plants alike. 
       Unlike the migratory Monarchs, many of the butterflies overwinter locally, under leaves or in leaf litter. Normally, what cold that comes doesn't wipe them out. This year appears to be very different, and we have been waiting for the hardy few survivors to have offspring, and for that generation to reproduce as well. 

          That is beginning to happen, especially with the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, whose host plant, the tulip poplar tree, looms directly over our garden, and the silver spotted skipper. We have also had the tiny pearl crescent, usually a regular, finally appear and exhibit mating behavior, along with the pair of tiny summer azures. 
         Our faithful readers will also be relieved that for the fifth straight year, a red admiral appeared in exactly the same spot in the garden, at the same time, and divebombed our hair over a period of several weeks. 

          Many other butterflies, varieties of fritilaries, hairstreaks, sulphers, buckeyes, painted ladies, skippers, and more that normally frequent remain unseen in our garden. We hope that the remainder of the summer will see them return as well. 
          We have yet to see a Monarch, or find any eggs or caterpillars in the garden, or in our raised bed a few miles away. 
          But we did see a hummingbird perch to feed. So we leave you with that slightly unusual sight. 

​

     All the outdoor caterpillars were gone, most eaten by migrating fall warblers in one afternoon. Of the four we had taken indoors, two had died and the first chrysalis was compromised and failed. The last chrysalis, the last hope, stayed green through day ten, and through day 15, and through day 20 (normal is 10-14 days). The plant on which it hung was dying its natural death and we had to attach the chrysalis with a clip to a lantana. But it was so far past its normal due date that we were giving up hope, and reconciling ourselves to the first season in which we did not have a Monarch butterfly emerge. 
     On day 21, Stephanie saw some darkening, the kind of darkening through transparency which can precede eclosure. On day 23,  October 15th, the chrysalis was fully transparent, and the butterfly within visible. In what shape would it be when it emerged from a development stage nearly twice the average? At 1:41 PM, the hinged flap started to open...

and exactly a minute later...

         There it was, but it appeared smaller, its wings tinier, and it struggled to hang on to the shell of the chrysalis, which shredded. Ten minutes later (below), it was still filling out, pumping fluid from its abdomen to its wings, and struggling to get the two halves of its proboscis together.  If you like, you can see the whole unedited eclosure video here: https://youtu.be/7Ce0tBQcvoQ

          The butterfly's normal progression was attenuated, and at times unsuccessful. It failed to pull itself up on leaves to dry its wings and flex them. The first afternoon it did not eat, or fly. As night fell, we carried the potted lantana out to the garden, and nestled it in a sheltered area full of cover and late-season nectar flowers, such as marigolds, penta, and lantana. Our thinking was that 1) better to be in nature and all the natural signals and 2) poorer weather was expected in 24 hours and we wanted it to fly and get south as soon as possible. 
          But by the next morning, nearing 11 AM, it had moved only a few inches, and was just resting on a marigold leaf. 

          This little one needed a little help. We suspected its extra long stay inside the chrysalis had left it depleted and dehydrated. Or maybe its proboscis had not come together, which would prevent it from eating. So Rick gave it a lift, which it easily accepted, up to a fresh Butterfly Bush bloom. Finally, it fed, working its way around the whole set of little flowers. 

             About 24 hours after emergence, this beautiful miracle male Monarch flew off, ending a strange and sometimes baffling butterfly season on a magical note. 

            After a long summer of uncertainty, and weeks of struggling to keep the caterpillars healthy, we discovered yesterday on a protected plant that one of our caterpillars had finally succeeded in transforming into a chrysalis. And he did it on a milkweed!  The milkweed in question was not one that we had grown, but a supplemental purchase from The Barn in Chattanooga. with a very unusual growth habit featuring multiple branching stalks and dense, smaller leaves. The species was given as Incarnata, and enabled them to survive, so that's good enough. 
              Inside their enclosure, in past years all the caterpillars climbed the mesh walls and hung from the ceiling. Where these plants are concerned, the caterpillars are ok with hanging around within them, when their time comes. Below we see a second one this morning hanging in the J position that precedes becoming a Chrysalis.  

.          Also inside the enclosure are two smaller caterpillars from a slightly younger generation. One third instar is shown below, 

             Until a few days ago, there were eight Monarch Caterpillars combined from the two generations, and we seemed to be in a period where predatory patterns had brought a lull. But then in one day, five of them disappeared in one morning. Our guess is migrating birds discovered a feast. So we are down to three outside, one of which (last photo below) is mottled and sickly and probably will not make it. 

             After such a loss, we have the natural instinct to take all the survivors in, but we continue to cherish the principle of trusting nature and interfering as little as possible. Balancing that, we were mindful of the Monarchs new status as an endangered species, and wanted to make sure that we hatched at least an heir and a spare to carry on for the mother.
          We started with 16 known caterpillars, and brought in four when that number declined to 12 (at least one the victim of a ladybug larva!), for a 2-1 outdoor/indoor ratio.  Now we are down to just three outside, so we feel that it was a good call to protect some. Another issue outside is that at this time of year, the Milkweed plants sometimes go into very quick decline, depriving a resident caterpillar enough leaves and requiring a gentle transfer to a vacant plant. 
          The chrysalis phase lasts about ten days, so if all goes well, our first new Monarchs should emerge the first week of October, just enough time to skedaddle south! With luck, a second small group will follow the next week.

           Tuesday morning, before 8 AM, a perfect male Black Swallowtail finally emerged from its chrysalis on the Black-Eyed Susan. In the photo above, it is newly emerged from the chrysalis, which is the chartreuse casing backlit below the spent flower on which the butterfly rests. At this point, the swallowtail is still merging the two halves of its proboscis, and is pumping fluid from its abdomen to its wings. 
            The day before, the chrysalis has become transparent, revealing the butterfly tightly packed inside (below). We spent much of the day staking it out in hopes of photographing the actual eclosure, but it evidently wasn't ready. Then the next day it popped out before we got there. Grrr. Next year, maybe we will catch that moment. 

            Black Swallowtails don't hang around as long as a Monarch does after "birth." It dries its wings more quickly and leaves the garden to feed. This lovely specimen climbed to the top of its flower stalk, then flew down a few inches to spread its wings one more time while resting on some leaves. With no more flight-testing than that, it was gone by a couple minutes after 10 AM. 

          Meanwhile, over in the milkweed patch, we know of 5-6 tiny Monarch caterpillars that have emerged safely from their eggs, including Frannie (below) and Laddie, who is the first to reach second instar and who has successfully transferred from its cut stem to a lovely potted milkweed from the Rustic Greenhouse. 

           We have seen this go-around that the first minutes and hours are more dangerous than we knew. One newly-emerged little fella was killed by an unknown competitor but not eaten, and another (below) expired when it could not successfully exit its egg. Poor thing. We will be keeping an eye on the rest, but they are hard to spot and harder to track, so our plan is to monitor loosely and track more carefully when they increase in size to third stage. 

              Although butterfly activity in general is beginning to ease, and the garden itself transitioning to fall chaos, we are still blessed with beautiful visitors and impish comedians and small dark strangers this week, The iridescent blue Pipevine Swallowtail is a shiny and gorgeous butterfly, especially in a landscape of marigolds and penta. 

            Even a tiny skipper has to put a leg out to steady itself when trying to perch on the very tip of a small leaf. One has to wonder if those orange antennae also serve as stabilizers in flight (probably not, but there is a guy at Sewanee doing super slow-mo on birds in flight whom we can try to convince to take on these fliers). 

               On the opposite end of the vivid to drab spectrum, there is still action, albeit in monochrome, The Carolina Satyr below is absorbing minerals from the mud after a rain. 

              Returning to the Monarch caterpillars, we are excited and anxious. Many dangers over several weeks need to be overcome before even one flies on towards their winter grounds in Mexico. Let's finish this post with a look back at the two females that found us on successive days last week, one of them despite her broken wing. We will do our best to help their offspring carry on.

            The day started badly when we realized that one of the two Black Swallowtail had been snatched and probably devoured. A migrating fall warbler, spotted briefly in the garden, or a Hermit Thrush are the likely suspects in the killing of the chrysalis that hung dangerously low to the ground. accessible to the insect hunters. All that remained was the silk sling that held the chrysalis to the stalk. 

            Near days' end, we saw that our second Monarch caterpillar, nicknamed "Frannie," had hatched. So small, she was barely visible to the naked eye as she rested near her empty egg casing. 

           The first born, "Laddie," is growing nicely and appears to be preparing for its first molt after a nice day feeding on top of its milkweed leaf (below).  

            Come back regularly for updates!

             This Thursday afternoon we welcomed the arrival of our first Monarch caterpillar of the year. We had almost given up hope, as the aphids ravaged our milkweed and no females were in sight. Then on Sunday last we spotted a female with a broken wing on the lantana not far from the healthiest milkweed. No egg-laying was seen. We worried that she was too weak. But we kept an eye out, and went back to fighting aphids, saving as much milkweed as possible, just in case. Some stems were so overcome, the only course was to trim them away. But on one stem cut accidentally, a familiar white dot was visible. We were pretty sure it was an egg and found a couple more. Cautious, we didn't want to count any monarchs until one emerged. With the one above, nicknamed Laddie, safely hatched, we can break the news and say "Yay!"
            As the moment neared, the white egg turned dark at the top, and ridges formed on the smooth exterior along with a strange little bubble. Not sure if that is normal or just an eccentric flaw. Unfortunately, the birth itself was missed because we made a lasagna for a sick friend. 

          So far the few other eggs we have found remain white. Here's one with an ever-present aphid for scale. Aphids LOVE milkweed, damnit. 

            And to our battered mother Monarch, we say thanks, and that we will do our best to help the next ones along. With the species now on the endangered list, we might even take this first one into a protected environment, to assure that her replacement at least carries on. 
             And the two Black Swallowtail chrysalises continue to appear sound, and we will be monitoring them over the weekend as well. Watch this space. 

           Of the original five Black Swallowtail caterpillars, one appeared to be lost earlier to an unknown predator, two escaped full grown from the fennel to points and fates yet to be discovered, while the final two both decided to stay close to the original bronze fennel plant on which they hatched. 
           Each picked a different rudbeckia, or black-eyed Susan, on either side of the fennel to escape to. One caterpillar went high, worrying us by hanging high on the stalk in plain sight. Doesn't he/she know that there are all sorts of dangerous insects out there? The other went low, inches above the ground, in deep shadow under a cluster of leaves. Doesn't he/she know that there are ground birds like thrushes out there, or an early warbler, that gobbles caterpillars up?
           Then they metamorphosed into chrysalises. Wow. Now, they simply look like smaller versions of the leaves they were nestled amongst, arching off the stem supported by their homespun silk threads, their edges sawtoothed, disappearing before ones eyes. One could stare straight at them and not see them. Come on by and give it a try. 

            We will be watching them over the next week. Back soon. 

          When last we left the five bambini, the Black Swallowtail caterpillars on the bronze fennel and the parsley, they were tiny first-stage caterpillars about the size of a grain of rice. In the week since, they have shed their skin twice (and eaten it -- yum!) and grown to over an inch in length, changing their colors in the process. In the photo above, taken Saturday the 13th, the caterpillar on the left has adopted a fixed pose preparing to molt, while the one on the right has just completed its transformation and has turned around and is devouring its old skin (that black stuff on the stem).  
            Below is Priscilla Parsley on Saturday just after she shed her first skin, becoming a second instar. It appears that parsley is more fattening than fennel, as she progressed to the third stage in 36 hours and is the largest of the group. 

              All of them are doing well. We are wary of predators, especially paper wasps, as the caterpillars grow bigger and become more visible and more tempting targets.  Our next blog post will show more of the dangers that butterflies and caterpillars face in the garden. 

             Normally this would be the headline news, as we are longing for some caterpillars to eat our milkweed. We spotted her only as she was leaving and cannot even confirm she was in the garden at all. Ever optimistic, we read this resting pose as post-egglaying fatigue, but who really knows? You can be sure that we will be watching!

                    A remarkable native plant, Joe-Pye Weed opens its huge clusters of tiny pink flowers in early August, and for pollinators, it's like Waffle House opened a free all-you-can-eat buffet. Countless varieties of insects and nearly every variety of butterfly from the largest to the smallest jostle and buzz for their share of the nectar. 

          Compare the relative scale of the individual flowers to any of the pollinators above, so that as you look at the image below you can appreciate just how small our smallest butterfly, the tiny Gray Hairstreak, truly is. It could hide comfortably behind a dime. 

            And the lovely Buckeye returned as well, along with an Eastern-Tailed Blue, twice as big as the Hairstreak, opening its wings in the sun and showing the lovely color it often hides. 

          First up, we have a couple of our favorite yellow butterflies, with the larger Clouded Sulphur on penta (top), and the darting Little Yellow landing on the portulaca.

            A new species for the garden dropped by one morning to warm its wings. Meet the Appalachian Brown, below. 

             Among the many Pipevine, Spicebush, and Eastern Tiger Swallowtails visiting the garden, as many as twenty at once during peaks, there are often aerial dances that the butterflies engage in. Some appear territorial, some may be play, and some are all of the above as nature's instinctual drives take over. Yesterday, four Spicebush butterflies were chasing and dancing and competing all around the garden, before a couple found a spot amid the hydrangea leaves.

              And for the first time this summer, the Tennessee state butterfly, the Zebra Swallowtail, a perfect one at that, graced us with its presence. 

          Thanks for joining us. In closing, here are a couple of fun images of an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail on a zinnia. We remind you to check back soon for caterpillar updates as we have them. 

         There are four Black Swallowtail caterpillars to be precise, each of them about the size of a grain of rice, uncooked. A week ago a dark swallowtail was seen around the fennel in postures suggesting egg-laying, so we were keeping an eye out. It was still a surprise to spot five of them in their first caterpillar stage, or instar, when they are less than a quarter inch long. Four of them in the bronze fennel in the photo above, and one in some parsley in a planter on the ground. 
            Below is a gallery of our youngsters. When they get to further along, their appearance will change completely.

          Like the Monarch, the Black Swallowtail development progresses through five stages of caterpillar,  followed by ten days or so in a chrysalis, so these five individuals (and perhaps others not yet seen) have a difficult three weeks ahead of them as they try to make it to adulthood. And for reference, below is an adult female in the garden today. Just visiting we think.

            There are many more tales to relate from the garden, which has exploded with activity in the past week. There are happy tales of garden guests and romance, and dark tales of evil marauders, which we will share in the next blog in a couple days, but the caterpillars are the best news  of all as we still wait for a female Monarch to find us.
               We will share a couple images of one guest before we go, because today in the sunshine we enjoyed the iridescent blues of a lovely Pipevine Swallowtail, another butterfly whose presence we have been missing. The pictures hardly do justice to the vividness of its coloring. 

          Here at the blog, we pride ourselves on bringing vivid, clear, and informative imagery of the visitors to the garden. Given the luxury of being able to stroll out our back door and enjoy numerous observation sessions, we can stumble upon the rare and beautiful moments, spy the shy or tiny flutterings, and, on the technical side, try different ways of photographing the same butterflies on the same flowers. 
          In Rick's career, from Time Magazine to CBS, the directive was the same: produce high-quality and impactful imagery that still serves the prime directives to show everyone well, tell the story quickly, and lead them to read the article or watch the show. Occasionally, an editor or publicist would ask if there was something "a little edgy?" Or they would ask the laughably annoying question, "Do you have anything better?" Dear reader, we never want you to have to ask either of those questions.
            In that spirit, we have been out in the garden seeing how far we can go in our wildlife photography, experimenting to try to bring you in closer and reveal a new facet of the familiar, and just generally getting artsy-fartsy. The closing image of the last post was a nod to that. But we had one even more far out, achieved by 1) using a lens that lets the background go softly bubbly (the technical word is bokeh), 2) using a strobe and dragging the shutter a bit, 3) holding the camera at arms length while using pinpoint focus mode through a tilting viewfinder while visitors ask questions. Here it is. Both of us like it very much.

              Or here below is a clean one the local paper might choose. Which do you like better?

          Recently we did the shot at the dedication of the Pool Bridge, using a 16-35 mm lens. 

            One can use that same lens to shoot butterflies, but to avoid circles and arrows and where's Waldo compositions, one has to get very, very close.  We mean inches away. This can be accomplished in two ways. One can come in very very slowly and trust that the butterfly is really enjoying the flower and therefore is hanging around unbothered by you. Or one can pick a promising flower that butterflies have been frequenting and preset a camera there, as illustrated below, and being at the ready with a remote shutter cable. The kitchen towel is keeping the camera cool as we wait, and wait, and wait. 

             And what would an experiment be without failure? I tried to have the camera autofocus on an object just above the bloom, but a slight breeze and the tiny weight of the butterfly apparently moved it just below my focus point. Or perhaps I did not fully understand tethered camera behavior. I got fifty images all out of focus like the one below. A learning opportunity!

             Moving on, I tried setting a manual focus point and letting the subject focus itself by moving into that point. It worked beautifully (in one frame out of fifty shots) with another hummingbird on the zinnea (shown below full frame and same image again as a  rotated detail), and then, in the third image below, even at 2000th of a second shutter speed enjoyed freaky motion streaking in a wing of another hummingbird on the bergamot. 

             Butterflies being butterflies, and sitting for extended periods stock still in the heat being sitting for extended periods stock still in the heat, I found it easier to count on the indulgence of butterflies. The trick is to wait in a spot with multiple blooms, like butterfly bush for swallowtails and black-eyed susan or sunflowers for Pearl Crescents (below). When the butterflies come, move very slowly, using a silent shutter. Know where your focus point  is, because you will be guessing it as you try to focus on the eyes. Expect a high failure rate, and treasure the hits. For added fun, add an on-camera strobe in full sun.  Here are a couple of successes. I was especially thrilled when I lucked into the arrival of a flirty suitor. 

              Although I occasionally lie on the ground for a shot, as you will see in the next segment, in a busy garden with flitty subjects that is not doable. One can extend one's arm to capture a unusual composition, however, with any focal length, one can immortalize a ray of light (and in photography, light is the magician) or reveal a butterfly level view of the garden. Be sure to look for the unexpected second subject in the bottom photo of this segment. 

                A butterfly garden is a constant invitation to see. Seeing requires time, periods of stillness, and an openness to the unexpected. And when you do see something, you have to hope you have the right gear for it. One will not always have time to get back to the house. 
                I was walking out armed with the beast, a heavy 100-400 lens normally best on a tripod, when I came across a small example of our tiniest visitor, the one from the previous blog, the Eastern-Tailed Blue. In the heat it had actually settled down on a tiny clover by the chair. Normally, it is never at rest.

             First, take a shot of record, with the chair leg in. But it is busy and the angle poor. For the best shot, I had no choice but to get on the ground, and use the ground as a stabilizer for a telephoto shot of this tiny thing. The telephoto allowed me to leave it in peace. This is one butterfly that would not allow a giant camera within inches. Shooting from a prostrate position with a 400mm lens produces a depth of field that is less than the width of a butterfly (see the far antenna and the near back wing are falling out of focus). Full frame, the chair leg is just a dark angle and could be anything. Cropped, one sees the joy of a good lens.  

             To finish up our report, in the midst of all this black beret photography, back in the garden was our old friend the Red Admiral. He was just by to sit in his chair a while, borrow my phone, and then pose for a new portrait. Framing him against the gap in the trees, I asked, "Give me just that flash of red," which he kindly did. I added a little fill flash and bingo, naval magic. 

              There is no better surprise than to have a first sighting of a wonderful butterfly. Yesterday, for the first time on record at the waystation, we had the magnificent Giant Swallowtail, which hungrily supped at the butterfly bush flowers. We close with a couple straightforward shots of this butterfly. He was a bit battered but nonetheless beautiful.