Butterflies, Milkweed, and Miracles

 

A milkweed grew up in our front yard, right in front of the house, and it came up as a volunteer. Milkweed, I learned, is the only host plant for Monarch butterflies. Its blooms are various colors, but the ones in our yard were orange, and hungry caterpillars swarmed about it to eat and be satisfied, although it seemed as though their tummies were never full. These colorful, striped worms nibbled away at all the foliage and stripped the plant of its greenery. By the time they finished, only the stems remained.

Then they started attaching themselves to various surfaces in preparation for spining their cocoons out of self-manufactured silk. 

When the caterpillar finished spinning, it rested safely inside the chrysalis, complete with gold accents. They were everywhere; on the side of the house, on porch posts, trunks of holly trees, and on slats of rocking chairs. Like ornaments hanging from a festive tree, it looked like Christmas in July.

I watched and waited and kept tabs on the ones most likely to open soon. One on a porch post had turned black, so I knew its birth was emminent, but I had to leave the premises and when I came back, only the empty, transparent covering remained. On a mission not to miss the next one, I continued checking, and I determined on a Saturday morning that one on the side of house would soon open. I pulled up a chair in the sunshine and sat down to wait, almost falling asleep. Lo and behold and before I dozed off, the butterfly slipped out quickly and quietly.

The wet-winged wonder lost its footing and fell to the ground in the pine needles, which did not seem conducive to a newborn butterfly, so I extended a finger, and it readily grabbed hold. It held on for the longest time and was not the least bit skittish. As the minutes progressed and the sun inched across the sky, I had to tend to other things, so I transferred my fluttery friend to the trunk of a holly tree, and we said our goodbyes.

The Monarch butterfly is beautiful.

And free.

I wrote down the hatch dates so I can be on the lookout next year for milkweed, caterpillars and chrysalises. Now that I know the process and what to expect, I will be prepared. In early to mid-August of next year, I will be scanning porch posts and tree trunks for delicate, green ornaments adorned with gold, and when the time is right, I will sit down and wait for a miracle to happen.