Intervention

This post is about a monarch rescue that took place this week, though I was sorry my husband couldn’t be here to see its success. The monarchs in our garden were a healing grace throughout the ordeal of his dementia, before I lost him in December. For this reason, I am writing a book about how monarchs, and especially the caterpillars, seemed to mediate throughout the dementia journey. They brought joyful moments and a sense of hope, and they provided a feeling of purpose — most notably when tending them called for an intervention to help a threatened butterfly or caterpillar carry out their life cycle. 

   This rescue reminded me of the many times he and I had undertaken similar efforts to change the fate of a monarch. The one in this photo had chosen to form its chrysalis on a prime bit of butterfly real estate–the red brick pillar on our front porch (now my front porch…it is so hard to get used to saying that). This is the spot our caterpillars like best, and sometimes we’ve had a row of chrysalises lined up like little celadon green vases. 

   On the day in question, I could see the orange and black wing pattern clearly through the now-clear chrysalis, I knew it was ready to eclose or emerge. I made it a point to delay my errands until the morning temperature warmed the butterfly so it would pop out, and I could make sure it didn’t need help. Sure enough, being a warmish day, it emerged at about 9 a.m., though I didn’t catch the exact moment. When I saw it a few minutes later, it had already stretched its wings fully open though they were not yet dried and set. I saw that it was a perfectly formed male. This was a moment for celebration. I felt sure that in a couple of hours, after drying and exercising his wings, he would take off.

   So I headed out for my errands, and didn’t get home until almost 4 p.m. I thought he’d be long gone, but he was still there. How unusual, I thought. It wasn’t cold (when sometimes a new butterfly takes longer to set their wings and catch a lift in a warm breeze). I took a closer look. He was still attached, almost imperceptibly, to the chrysalis. It appeared to be one of his black antennae, attached to the empty pupa case. I’d never seen anything like this in the almost eight years I have been involved in monarch conservation. I put my finger near his legs, and he willingly climbed on. But the part of him caught in the chrysalis, the tiny tip of his antennae, resisted. It had tethered him there all day.

   With a gentle tug or two, I finally pulled him free. What a relief! I carried him to one of our trellises, where monarchs often make a successful launch by climbing to the top before wafting away. He took his position on top of the wooden supports, and I looked out a few times to see him exercising his wings. Within the hour, he had launched and flown away. I sent a glad thought into the cosmos, as if Alan could hear: We did it again, my dear. Another one saved.