Adventures with a late bloomer besides myself

In late October, I discovered several Monarch caterpillars on milkweed. Seeing how small they were, I was sure that by the time they hatched, it would be too cold in this Vermont region for them to have the energy to fly on their migration. I brought three inside, put them in a glass aquarium with fresh greens to eat each day, and watched them grow. I felt that I identified with them as late bloomers.... when I was in my twenties, I felt as if I were still a young teen. I am in my late fifties and not much has changed.   Sadly, I witnessed the devastating effects of parasites and I was soon down to two 'pillars.

I was able to witness the transformation on all levels, from the J shaped hanging 'pillar to the lovely green chrysalis, to the darkening to orange, then hatching. The first to come out was during a downright hot spell in November so I put her out on a still-blooming calendula flower. When I went to check on her in the morning, she had died, still clinging to the blossom. The temperatures had gone down too low in the night.

Vowing that my remaining butterfly would not suffer any of the fates of the other two, I built a 6-foot tall cage using a glass-topped coffee table tipped on its side, and four poles (tension shower curtain rods) enveloped in open-weave non-slip rug pad material. I was thrilled that I had this all in my home and did not need to spend money. I also had SnuggleSafe disks from past cat rescues. They get  put in the microwave then tucked into a fleece holder and release heat over a period of eight hours.

When the room that this structure is in became too cold (it is an addition to my trailer, with no heat) for the SnuggleSafe to be effective, I set up my stepladder with a small space heater on the correct rung to reach the  level of the cage. I can only imagine what this is doing to my electric bill, but 'ya gotta do what ya gotta do.'

Mr. Pretty (he is identified as a male since he has the tell-tale black spots on his hind wings) settled in nicely. He spent time on the floor, on the heating disk,  on a dried stalk of tall flowers, and high up on the rug pad cover tent.

It was tricky to provide him with flying exercise since I have three cats who would come running each time they heard the flutter of wings in the cage. I'd take him out, bring him to the hallway, the only place where he could not become trapped if he flew behind a piece of furniture, and kept a close eye on him as he flew, as butterflies do, in frantic seemingly random fits and starts. He always went for the windows in the end.  It made me feel so sad that I could not communicate to him that I was not keeping him trapped indoors to be mean, but to save his life.  I am a decent house-keeper but even my weekly sweeping and vacuuming efforts could not keep up with the dust. So once back in my hand after daily exercise, Mr. Pretty would have to tolerate having bits of dust removed from his legs. Not an easy feat when those legs and feet have tiny barbs on them to help him stay attached to whatever he is on.

I performed several delicate maneuvers with tweezers and once, an xacto knife.  After the knife episode, I decided to never again use the cheesecloth method that I tried that one time, covering a shallow jar lid of his liquid diet.  I instantly went back to his traditional acorn tops or radish seed pods. He needed something to step on as he drank. The jar lid was just too slippery for him to stand on.

When Christmas drew near and I cut evergreen branches and stuck them in a bucket of water, I came to the point where I had run out of both acorn tops and radish pods. So I cut some tiny tips off my 'tree' and these have proved to be the perfect thing for him to grasp as he eats. It is always such a thrill to watch that proboscis unfurl the moment his feet (where his tasting ability lives) make contact with the sugar water.  Or carrot juice. Or cherry juice. His favorite is carrot juice and I have enough in my freezer from my prolific back yard harvest. 

One day, after he had mysteriously gone on a self-induced 24-hour fast, I had him on my finger as I rearranged his newest lid of liquid. I had splashed some on my hand without realizing it, and was delighted that suddenly I was truly hand-feeding my butterfly. I wish I had been able to feel that delicate 'tongue' on my skin.  I felt like some kind of a giant monster, holding this teeny tiny pet.  He weighs less than half a gram.  I tried that again numerous times but he never 'took the bait.'  Who knew butterflies could be fickle??

I try not to look ahead to the long winter months. He may not make it until spring, when I hope to throw a party upon releasing him. I am just taking it one day at a time and enjoying this, my first ever Danaus plexippus.

 

-GG