I spotted a female Monarch butterfly in the woods of a park near my home the other day. Actually, the Monarch saw me first, and flitted from a lower limb with dried leaves to this one higher up. It likely was resting up for the next day’s flight south.
Because of the darkness under the canopy of trees and the distance the butterfly was from me, I was amazed that the camera was able to focus on the subject I wanted. I had to lighten the photo slightly so that the beautiful butterfly stood out.
It must have been a good omen because I soon began to find several species of birds feeding on bugs high and low in the trees. All this took place in a well-maintained city park in Harrisonburg, Virginia.
Swamp Milkweed blooms in June. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Finding fruition takes effort and patience. The latter is often the harder of the two.
Four years ago, I planted four swamp milkweed plants in our backyard, hoping to attract Monarch butterflies. In the first year, the seedlings sprouted tender, green shoots. Then, to my surprise, they disappeared.
It didn’t take me long to discover why. No sooner than the greenery emerged, a pair of neighborhood rabbits nibbled the fresh green leaves and stems. A three-foot wire-mesh cage around each plant promptly put a halt to that.
In the second year, the two biggest plants bloomed beautiful and fragrant blooms that only honeybees, bumblebees, and other insects enjoyed. I never saw a single butterfly, including Monarchs, even approach the flowers.
As fall arrived, I let the dried-up stalks stand. In February, I trimmed them back, hoping new branches would appear with spring’s arrival. I also learned that some birds used the thread-like insides of the old stalks for nest building. I smiled when American Robins tugged and tore long pieces and flew off.
The next two springs brought the same results. Beautiful flowers bloomed in June, but no Monarchs arrived. I enjoyed the flowers and insect pollinators, but grew mildly frustrated that none of my favorite butterflies came to the flowers.
This summer, I realized my blindness. The swamp milkweed was more useful to the orange and black-viened butterflies during fall migration.
The mature plants produced flowers, which developed into pods and yielded seeds covered in silvery silk. Large and small milkweed bugs outnumbered the many different insects on the plants.
Two at a time.
Chomping
Climbing
Milkweed bugs and eggs.
Large and small Milkweed bugs
The gang’s all here
A Monarch egg
In mid-August, migrating Monarchs began flitting around the milkweed plants. They landed on the plants just long enough to deposit eggs on the leaves’ undersides. Joy filled my soul.
In a matter of days, small greenish-yellow, white, and black striped caterpillars appeared and began munching on the leaves. More Monarchs repeated the process, and more and more caterpillars emerged. It didn’t take long for them to grow, inches long, in preparation for forming a mint green chrysalis. I counted 14 on the plants one afternoon.
Other insects on the Swamp Milkweed
Soon, a new generation of Monarchs would continue their journey south, overwinter in the central Mexico mountains, and fly back north, stopping along the way when it was time to lay the eggs on more milkweed plants.
In my desire to see Monarchs on the milkweed flowers, I had only envisioned one aspect of the amazing life cycle of these beautiful, useful butterflies. I was ecstatic to find a dozen caterpillars chomping on the milkweed leaves. When ready, they would then crawl off somewhere to form a chrysalis, ensuring the next generation.
Patience proved critical to fulfill my desire to help propagate the Monarch butterflies.
A Monarch butterfly prepares to lay eggs on a Swamp Milkweed leaf. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Just before we left Fernandina Beach, FL, I took one last stroll around the marvelous Egans Creek Greenway that runs through the center of Amelia Island. It’s a paradise.
I went with a friend to see what we could find, and even at low tide, we found plenty. Great Egrets, Snowy Egrets, White Ibis, marsh rabbits, and of course, baby alligators sunning themselves in the late afternoon sun.
But it was this male monarch butterfly that really caught my attention. It was bright, fresh, brilliant in color. Bathed in the slanting rays of the sun, the butterfly was stunning. More than that, it brought hope that spring indeed was on its way because the monarchs are on their way north, too. Migration has begun!
The late afternoon sun perfectly backlit the milkweed seeds and pods in our main flower garden. We let the milkweed grow to attract Monarch butterflies. They love the fragrant nectar and lay their eggs on the underside of the plant’s leaves. The resultant caterpillars thrive on the nutrients from tender, sticky, juicy leaves. The white specks are some of the seeds being propelled by the northwest wind.
The burnished leaves of the volunteer Shingle Oak sapling that sprang up this year nicely complimented the milkweed’s down. The sun also revealed how spider webs connected the milkweed and the oak.
Roadkill Crossing 
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