Flittering guests and wooly worms
They finally arrived. Since they usually plan their visit for sometime in mid-to-late September, we had been expecting them. We considered calling them but decided against it. When they visited us last spring, they signaled they would be seeing us again this year. So, as they say, “Patience is a virtue.”
However, as time passed and they hadn’t arrived, we had some concerns. Had they had an accident? Had their GPS system sent them off on a wild goose chase? Surely it was just unexpected distractions or adventures or even challenges that postponed their arrival. Such concerns proved unnecessary. So, when they finally arrived, we politely asked no questions. Of course, they didn’t provide any answers, though we assumed the final leg of the trip must have been a challenge.
As usual, after they had somewhat settled, they demonstrated their interest in nature. They didn’t ask about our garden. The first thing they did was head toward it.
Sadly, what was left of this summer’s attempt at gardening was pitiful. The first thing that greeted them was a row of spindly okra plants. And they didn’t shake their heads at the cattle panel which was covered with dried-brown cucumber vines. They seemed to ignore the entire display, including what was left of the two tomato plants that had succumbed to that vile wilt virus that puts tomatoes out of commission every year.
They seemed to ignore any noticeable disappointments of the garden as they headed straight, well, not exactly straight, toward a bed of zinnias that is an annual crop. It provides a colorful picture as days shorten in late summer and early autumn. As they touched noses with several of the biggest and brightest blossoms, they seemed to sense the coming transition from warm days to the first frost.
Isn’t it amazing how Mother Nature always seems to provide for late arrivers and stragglers, no matter the season, by making provisions for spring and autumn trips?
The zinnias had begun showing their true colors shortly after back-to-school time. It was then that various butterflies were flitting among the blossoms. I don’t know their names, but words such as purplish-black swallowtails and brilliant yellow-with-black-stripes tigers describe some of them. Of course, there were dozens of smaller winged visitors. But this year something was missing. There was not a sign of an early-arriving Monarch as usually occurs this time of year. This year….
It was the 10th of October, as I was picking the last okra pod, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the Monarchs had made their arrival. They seemed to stop for a bit of zinnia nectar before heading off in a southerly direction. During ensuing days, the population of visitors increased, with their easily recognizable wings flitting from blossom to blossom to blossom, then suddenly heading south in their migratory flight. Monarchs are subjects of many documentary films and undoubtedly are a most recognizable species. As they seem to wave their wings farewell, we wonder, “Will they return next year?”
Entomologists advise there has been a great decline in the Monarch population, possibly due, in part, to a loss of much of their diet, the once-common milkweed plant which feeds the caterpillars which eventually become Monarchs to conclude the life cycle. Insecticides and other activities such as clearing of fence rows, as well as climate changes, have played a part in the “weed’s” demise. Much of the forestry area in Mexico where the flutterers winter has also been compromised as demonstrated in most recent documentary films.
Landowners and nature lovers are being encouraged to plant more milkweed which, by the way, is not as invasive as ragweed, thistle, dandelions and other such weeds.
According to a recent news release by the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, “Populations of the Monarch butterfly have declined significantly the past several years … and the species is currently under consideration for federal listing under the Endangered Species Act.”
A protectorate organization, the Arkansas Monarch Summit, held its first meeting in 2015 and, earlier this month, the G &F Commission joined with educators, university staff members, gardeners, private citizens and conservation practitioners in what is now the Arkansas Monarch Conservation Partnership at its meeting in North Little Rock.
Monarch butterflies, bees, other insects and even some birds are “pollinators” which are essential to the health of ecosystems by pollination of vegetables and other crops. Information concerning joining the “milkweed brigade” is available from your County Extension Service.
Now, as this year’s zinnia crop fades, it’s time to make plans for next year and time to consider adding milkweed to your fencerows or around the pond to help accommodate these visitors during their spring and summer travels.
Turning from Monarchs to other weather topics is not hard since the bulldozer found in a persimmon seed mentioned in last week’s ‘Cuff resulted in other comments about what kind of weather we can expect this winter. Other potential prognosticators mentioned were hornet nests and woolly worms.
Hornet nests built high in trees predict the coming winter will be mild. But if the nests are close to the ground, look out, you can expect the sting of snow and a cold, cold winter. Wait a minute! I’ve heard it works just the opposite. Take your pick.
The woolly worm weathercaster is easier to interpret. If you see lots of woolly worms, particularly black ones, it seems the winter will be long and hard. If you have trouble finding such worms, you’ll have to wait until Groundhog Day, the second of February, to find out if an early spring is around the corner.
This weather predicting is hard. It’s for the birds (make that hornets and woolly worms). But it is a good conversation topic. Where would we be without the weather? I’m laying in a supply of ice melt, getting the shovel ready and having the furnace checked. Let’s just hope we don’t have a repeat of that winter 10 years ago, the 2007 ice storm. I’ll bet that wish is unanimous.