The Sound of One Wing Flapping...

         We are just one of tens of thousands of Monarch waystations around the country. We qualify as medium sized. We are not master gardeners, nor are we naturalists or lepidopterists. But right now this waystation is working really well. Within its humble scale, the garden is filled with an abundance of beauty and life and discovery that poets could spend a lifetime trying to describe. 
         Each day, twenty or more Eastern Tiger Swallowtails yellow and black spend morning to dusk sipping at the butterfly bushes and lantana and marigolds. One leaves, then two more float quietly over your shoulder and land a touch away, so perfect they might have emerged yesterday on the nearby Tulip Poplar, one of their host plants. Two or three may suddenly begin to dance together above your head, or gather on a single bloom, at least until a hungry bumble bee disturbs them enough that they glide away to land on one of Annis's magic zinnias. 

        Up in the top triangle, which we call the roof,  is where the spicebush swallowtails dance. Singly, they are all aflutter all the time. They don't want to land, or stop. Lately, the dances have become duels, or duets, as males vie for aerial supremacy, after which the victorious male vies for a date with a female who more often than not simply wishes to be left alone to finish her lunch. 

     And down in the lower forty, where the milkweed is, we can only survey the plants closest to the creek, as it is too thick in the middle where the seven-foot butterfly bushes are shimmering with the movement of swallowtails. In that narrow survey, though, we are teeming with the tiny 3/8th inch instars, some firsts some seconds, at least 10 of which we have under observation (historically, we were lucky to have two of these neonatal caterpillars in sight.)  ​

          Magically, we discovered four living in the flower atop one of the stalks, upon which a lovely visiting male Monarch landed today.  In the picture below, see if you can find the three visible. The Monarch stayed about six hours, feeding all the while, as if fueling up for a long journey. ​​

       On another nearby milkweed, six more are growing within a few leaves of each other, and two were seen having just shed their skin, their first molt and three  to go. 

         Nature is never without concerns. While we are delighted with the great numbers of some species, and the recent visits of a perfect Zebra Swallowtail, and our first Gulf Fritillary. we are wondering about a lack of diversity elsewhere. Where are the Ladies, Painted and American? The Buckeyes? The six other kinds of Skippers? The little blues and Hairstreaks are much less seen than last year. And we are still hoping for our first confirmed Pipevine. 
        A month ago, we voiced similar concerns about the Tiger Swallowtails, and look where we are today. We hope to happily eat our words again on this one. 

          And we are very sad to report that our latest Black Swallowtail caterpillar, Elvis, is dead. Something stung him and he was gone. Nature is cruel, we know. Every time this happens, we have the debate about whether to let life's cycles and balances self-determine, or whether to interfere, even a little. Talks continue. Let us know what you think at [email protected]. On the plus side, Pam's swallowtail caterpillars are starting to leave to create chrysalises. Wish them well, as we close with Elvis's last known photo. 

        May a Swallowtail float into your garden soon. Nothing like it. ​