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ENDANGERED MONARCH BUTTERFLIES: From Michoacan to my garden

In early January, many years ago, I joined a nature trip to Mexico. Our small group rode an old school bus up a rutted mountain road to the monarch butterfly refuge in the state of Michoacan, located in Central Mexico.

We were warned that some in our group wouldn’t adjust to the altitude and would struggle to hike back down the mountain. I was one of those short on air and I was glad to see horses tethered at the entrance to the refuge. Overwintering Monarch Butterflies (Danaus plexippus), in the millions, swarm each winter to this part of Mexico.

Trunks and branches covered in monarchs


As we entered a grove of fir trees on a remote mountaintop, the trunks and branches appeared to be blanketed with russet autumn leaves. A closer look revealed they were quivering. Then, as the sun emerged from behind a cloud to warm the trees, hundreds of thousands of Monarchs took to the sky—so many that I actually could hear the beating of their wings.

I was mesmerized by the kaleidoscopic, dancing, translucent orange of their wings veined in black. Their sheer numbers blanketed the blue sky, and some even floated down to alight on our hats and shoulders. From close up, I could make out the white spots near the edges of their wings.

It’s hard to believe that this small creature, native to the Americas, could make such a long journey.

I’ve never forgotten that encounter with nature. At the visitor centre, our guide had us close our eyes. We imagined ourselves as migrating monarchs flying south, sometimes as high as 4,000 feet (about 1219 metres) while riding thermals, averaging 12 miles (about 19 kilometres) per hour.

She explained that each fall, these monarchs set out on an incredible journey of thousands of miles from southern Canada and the U.S. to wintering sites like this in Mexico. This is one of the world’s longest insect migrations, and it’s hard to believe that this small creature, native to the Americas, could make such a long journey.

Even more amazing is that it takes three generations to complete the entire cycle of migration from north to south, then south to north, mate and survive the journey. Monarchs wintering in Mexico begin their dispersal in late February to early March, mate and fly north, hopefully making it to Texas before laying their eggs on milkweed plants.

The next generation continues the migration, leapfrogging north until the third or fourth generation arrives as far north as Canada in May and June. This final generation (which can live up to seven months) makes the return 2,200-mile (or 3541-kilometre) leg back to Mexico, arriving in early November. And the cycle begins all over again!  

At the time of my trip, the population of monarchs wasn’t in peril, but now they are on the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN)’s Red List of Endangered Species. Scientists estimate that their population has plummeted due to familiar problems affecting so many creatures.

In particular, monarchs are affected by the deforestation of wintering sites, disruptions to their migration caused by climate change, the loss of native plants along their migratory corridors, and extreme weather events, which are once again linked to rapid climate change.

It’s hard enough to survive climate change, but I think it’s far worse for an insect to be dependent upon a specific group of plants to lay their eggs on and feed its caterpillars—in this case, various types of milkweeds (Asclepias).  

Milkweed


When I got back, I learned that my home state, California, was a key wintering location for the western population of monarchs. I planned a day trip to drive down to Pacific Grove, located in Monterey County (Northern California).

Unlike the remote mountain habitat in Mexico, the monarchs gather there in large numbers along the coast, to roost in eucalyptus and pine trees. On a cool winter morning after the fog lifted, I was treated again to a spectacle of butterflies rising in the sky in their spiral mating flight.

I was determined to learn more about how my garden could support monarchs by planting the right native plants. But would I see any?

So, I did my research and found a supplier for milkweed seeds, starting them off in my greenhouse. The milkweeds would support egg-laying and caterpillar feeding. Adult monarchs consume nectar from a variety of flowering plants to fuel their mating and migratory flight. The good news was that I made plant choices to attract pollinating insects. These same plants would support the monarchs, like asters, coreopsis, helenium, sunflowers, monardas, phlox, goldenrod and ironweed.

The following year, a pair of monarchs flitted in. I sat down and watched them touch down, dart upwards and test various flowers. As with all forms of conservation, I knew that my individual effort could only do so much, but that didn’t void the need to do my part.

It’s no secret that an immediate and radical shift of priorities is needed to address climate change and biodiversity loss. I know my life would be diminished by the loss of these ancient, inter-continental travellers… the Monarch Butterflies.  

«RELATED READ» SPIRAL PERFECTION: The consciousness of nature expanding inward and outward»


image 1 Daniel Kirsch from Pixabay 2 image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay 3 Photo by Hagerty Ryan, USFWS on Pixnio

The post ENDANGERED MONARCH BUTTERFLIES: From Michoacan to my garden appeared first on The Mindful Word.



This post first appeared on The Mindful Word ⋆ Journal Of Mindfulness And En, please read the originial post: here

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ENDANGERED MONARCH BUTTERFLIES: From Michoacan to my garden

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