Monarch Migration Milkweed & Monsanto

It is hard to imagine that the words Monarch, Migration and Milkweed would have anything in common with a multinational chemical and biotech corporation like Monsanto. To see and hear the word Monsanto conjures up images of poisons, lies, manipulation, and now the possible loss of a momentous migration is added to the list of onslaughts to our environment, personal health and sacred connections to nature.  

Monarch Butterfies are just one of the insects that fall prey to Monsanto made pesticides and herbicides. Many other important and treasured pollinators are killed as well.  Consider a diverse community of wildlife living within a stand of milkweed. 

It is sad to visualize a dense wet toxic veil of poison stealing across huge swaths of wildlife habitat growing alongside mono gmo crops and highways. Hundreds of species of milkweed have been killed by the insidious manipulations of Monsanto. For years farmer's allowed native plants to grow along corridors bordering their crop fields, but things have changed. GMO crops need more and more sprayings (where they promised there would be less need) and are threatening one of the wonders of our natural world. Droughts and cold fronts play a role in the demise of the Monarch Butterfly migration too. Monsanto carries most all of the blame for the killing of the essential host plants — milkweed.

Fragile life is wiped out or not ever allowed to begin when their host plant milkweed is absent.

Caterpillars never become instars or butterflies without milkweed.

Milkweed is more than just a host plant for the Monarch Butterfly. The dainty falling florets are important sources of nectar for the monarch and many other creatures. We need to recreate the lost habitat for all the life that depends on milkweed, and for the rights of the plants to live as well.

Hummingbirds are great pollinators too. Milkweed is ever giving.

Let's all plant more milkweed by all means, but also we need to call, write and sign petitions to our representatives in Congress and the Secretary of Agriculture, Tom Vilsack, demanding they stop supporting gmo crops and the outrageous use of poisons poured and sprayed over our food and  landscapes.

Perhaps even more importantly, we could act against giants like Monsanto in how we spend our dollars in our daily lives. By asking questions and following our convictions in what we purchase, we can make changes one dollar at a time. One person at a time eventually adds up to millions of dollars not supporting harmful chemical corporations.

I hope we heed this warning of our beloved Monarch Butterflies, and that the decline that has been happening over the last decade will see a turnaround soon. I am fearful, but will persist in hoping that children and adults alike, along the migration route, continue to enjoy observing both the joyous metamorphosis and the incredible migration of the Monarch Butterflies.

Hummingbirds and Grandmothers Migrating South

Like many birds, and some butterflies, I have headed south for a spell but will be back long before the Ruby-throated Hummingbirds featured below reach their overwintering sites in southern Mexico and northern Panama. Some individual Ruby-throated hummers may decide it is best to spend the winter along the Gulf Coast or the Outer Banks of North Carolina . . . perhaps they are not up to making the longer journey and their survival will depend on how deeply the winter sets in. 

Going back to this past spring at Flower Hill Farm . . . a solitary male Ruby-throated Hummingbird arrives ahead of the female . . . he will tirelessly defend his territory from other males. After he mates, he is fancy-free in the gardens the entire spring and summer, for he does not lift a feather to help his partner in the raising of their young.

As early as mid July or August, the adults depart on their lone journey south . . . weeks before their juvenile hummingbirds take leave of the gardens. Our terrace garden offers a good supply of nectar to fuel their humming motor-motion and there is an abundance of insects, within the gardens and surrounding fields, to build up the needed fat in their tiny bodies . . . so important in enabling them to successfully make the long trip south.

As the daylight hours shrink in September, something alerts the immature hummingbirds to begin their southward trek. Off on an adventure never known, they may repeat it year after year throughout their lives.

One last sip for the trip . . . 

then off they go. 

Safe Travels little Ruby-throated Hummingbirds. We look forward to your return. 

I will be returning to a more normal posting routine very soon. It has been a joy to walk the beaches of North Truro, attend painting workshops and then travel south to hold my precious grandson.

Happy Belated Equinox to you all. 

Stepping into September Haze Ironweed Holds Center Stage

August gave us cool days dressed in flannel and comforter nights . . . the coolest August I can recall since my transplanting to New England just thirty-eight years ago. Mostly busy days filled the weeks that passed in tones of green, with worldly guests and migrations stirring motes of dust, pollen and memories . . . both lived and dreamed. 

The last hours of Augustus suddenly lead into September's first dawn . . . breaking through a thick haze of clouded air with bolts of zagged light only Zeus could throw around this old farmhouse. I was sure the power would go out or worse, but we were spared, this time, and when the new, once seventh, month took hold in a fresh day . . .  the air was less heavy with only empty threats of lightning and downpours. Frightening storms floating off to the east . . . the air refreshed, and heaviness lifted, a page on the calendar is turned . . . and the small purple florets of Ironweed takes center stage in the middle meadow garden.

At last a Monarch settled long enough for me to catch its portrait whilst sipping from the teeny petals of Ironweed . . . this being only my second glimpse of a Monarch Butterfly in the garden, this year, so far.

Ironweed stately stands reaching nearly the eight-foot height of Joe-pye weed, adding a bright brush stroke of regal purple to the landscape painting. Touches of yellow come into play with Rudbeckia and Solidago.

Greater Spangled Fritilaries join in the feast of Ironweed. 

One worn out from weeks of flight throughout August with a fresh Fritillary September emergence.

Autumn, but three weeks away, will paint the apples in deeper red hues. 

By now, many of the bouncy snowballs of Annabelle's Hydrangea are carpeting the garden floor revealing the Tree Hydrangea beginning to blush in the background.

Viburnum seeds, nearly gone, have filled the bellies of Cedar Waxwings, Catbirds, Robins, Flickers and more resident Aves.

Though we miss the many songs and calls of birds, now gone or silent, Katydids and grasshoppers create such a cacophony between every blade of grass falling like a mysterious, musical mantle over the inky nights.

Not quite a violin, but there are actions within these wings striking together in atonal harmony.

Grasses cut a soft and feathery feel amongst green striking stalks . . . catching light while slicing through the canopy of sky, enveloping Flower Hill Farm, and tickling the muse of darkness.

September will summon silky tassels from within these taller Miscanthus greens. 

This tiny, iridescent juvenile's parents have long begun their migration southward bound. I continue to delight in the antics and jewel-like presence of the young Ruby-throated Hummingbirds . . . though knowing they too will be parting soon. Enjoying the days with all the many treasures without clinging . . . knowing ephemeral joys are for moments only . . .  we move with gratitude into September's ways.

Peace blossoms with justice . . . would that it could be alive in the hearts of all humankind. Our voices, pens and keyboards must be loud like the Katydids wing-songs filling congress and our president's mind with woe for what they may be about to sanction. Life is precious and fragile.

Swaths Of Purple Siberian Iris Within The Middle Meadow Garden Butterflies and Birds

Looking back over the month of June, iris sepals unfurl and fall creating waves of hues from lavender to deep purple . . . filling the Middle Meadow garden with hundreds of blooms lasting nearly three full weeks as new buds continue to open.

Eastern Tiger Swallowtails Papilio glaucus or Canadian Tiger Swallowtail Papilio canadensis add to the spectacle in complementary colors. On most days I count over twenty of these bright colored butterflies floating about the gardens and when they dip deep into the iris their wings become like sepals and petals.  

A wide angle lens makes everything seem smaller and farther away. 

Up close again a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird enjoys reaching in between the folds too.

Bluebird nestlings cry out above the iris from within their nest box. 

The parents are waiting for me to move on before taking their harvests to their young.

Silver-spotted Skipper feeding on Garden Heliotrope while a Spicebush Swallowtail dives into an iris.

I am guessing Eastern Tiger Swallowtail but whatever the name these creatures fill the gardens and fields in numbers during the month of June delighting in wildflowers, as well as, an array of blossoms from native and non native cultivated perennials and shrubberies. Swallowtails and other butterflies are eye candy for birds and it pains me to see their tattered wings as the days unfold. Such is life for those critters lower on the food chain.

Imagine these images with bright butterflies flitting about as birds splash and fly to and fro.

There seems to be a constant flurry of activity about the iris during the first three weeks in June.

A Spicebush Swallowtail Papilio troilus visits our gardens and this is my first sighting of this species here at Flower Hill Farm. I am not aware of the host plant Spicebush Lindera benzoin, growing on our land but perhaps a neighbor is cultivating it. I will be sure to add this native plant to our gardens soon.

Chartreuse leaves of native Thermopsis villosa offer a lovely contrast to the purple iris. 

A row of peonies falls down towards the display of iris. 

The weather was such that spring flowers all seem to come into bloom at once.

Purple from the folds of iris create a lovely backdrop for this Red-spotted Admiral as it sips the dreaded goutweed. 

Standing within the iris looking over towards a weeping cut-leaf Japanese Maple and beyond to the north garden where Rosa rugosa makes a show. More of the North Garden in mauves and pinks coming soon. "So long June!"