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.

A Sultry Summer August Day Full Moon and Clouded Sulphurs Play

August is a wild time of year in the gardens here at Flower Hill Farm. The daily lives of wild things blend and move about with ease. There is an understanding between the land and animals . . . we all take what we need . . . but never too much. I do wish to call a court in session to introduce charges against our resident rabbit's rabid rapacity, however.

We rarely see young bucks, such as this one, sporting unique antlers. He will shed the lopsided headpiece this winter or early spring of next year and begin to grow new ones. Careful attention must be paid to this teenager to be certain his curiosity does not get the better of my Liatris for a second time.

The deer have much to munch upon within the acres here, and many more surrounding, so they are kind to me and my gardens. I continue to cut oak, maple and birch saplings allowing new tender growth that deer find nutritious and delicious.

This is the main color show of the gardens now . . . last year Ironweed, Joe Pye weed and Rudbeckia were magnets to butterflies . . . this year there are mostly native bees . . . but few fluttering wings go by.

I did finally see one restless Monarch butterfly last week, but she did not approve of our older milkweed and moved on right away, in search of tender leaves to fasten her eggs upon. I miss the enchanting process of metamorphosis but do have one little Black Swallowtail ward who has now become a chrysalis. 

There were many Monarchs last year enjoying the nectar of Ironweed. The image above was taken a bit later in August than the one above it . . . so perhaps more butterflies will find their way here again.

Nearing the last week of August . . . but there is still time for frolicking. Clouded Sulphurs exhibit their tiny orange and black full moons, while sipping runaway marjoram and courting or cavorting in the field below the middle garden.

Wild Morning Glory is taking over the Bluebird nestbox . . . I am allowing it, as the larger Bluebird family has taken off, beyond the cotton clouds, for now. Nearby, Rudbeckia 'Herbstsonne' reaches for the light to a height of over seven feet. This great plant will never catch up to the stately tips of the Hydrangea paniculata it stands before.

Hydrangeas, though tired and somewhat spent, still offer sustenance to many pollinators. There has been not a plant/weed lifted from this area for all the days of summer. I am surprised by the diversity of small and simple flowers that seem to delight both butterfly and bee.

Our much beloved (NOT) rabbits devoured the planter plantings but now volunteers of pineapple basil, verbascum and salvia are content being squatters. The gardens are on their own this year . . . once the rabbits ate my first food plantings, sigh, I gave up and decided to just be on the land and see what happens when all is left to grow on its own. I do confess to cutting many winding, meandering tendrils of bittersweet, grape and bindweed.

 Apples are ripening and some falling . . . creating an edible carpet for wildlife. There are so many more than enough for us all. Last days for the daylilies too . . . as each day unfolds and closes another fresh and droopy bloom.

'Journey's End' final blooms . . . true Lilium reflecting summer's closure coming soon. Not far off

summer's end and beginning autumn, as syrupy sweet petals fade and fall.

The south field is overgrown with sumac, which will paint the landscape red in weeks to come and then all will be mowed revealing the form of land again by November. Here, the Tree Swallow nestbox is overrun by bittersweet. I recall less height to the field and wildflowers but weeks ago when a Tree Swallow pair tenderly care for their nestlings.

Migrations are in motion . . . today there were at least a hundred Tree Swallows swooping and scaling the sky just above these fields and spreading over towards the middle garden. I like to think that among the many are the two families of swallows from our north and south field nestboxes and they are all on their way to Cape Cod where I may chance to see them once again later in September.

Lavender giants boldly tearing through the sky in dusky twilight . . . our Rock Maples on the south side of the 1790 farmhouse are ever dramatic and inspirational . . . to the painter in me especially.

Upon the edge of the north field looking south . . . a simple place to be . . . to watch waves in canopies of trees and the great blue yonder . . . while chasing ephemeral light stretching over Mount Tom in the Pioneer Valley beyond.

August is nearly full as is its swollen, golden, 'Sturgeon' or 'Blueberry' moon . . . yet, many surprises are to be found in moments lived within the realm of our wondrous Mother Nature. Summer seems longer in moments.  Shall we seize the moment then . . . for as long as each new day gives forth fresh butterflies and our young resident hummingbirds are still dipping and humming into my dreams . . .  I cannot say summer is gone.

Flower Hill Farm Butterflies of 2012 ~ Monarchs

The Monarch Butterfly Danaus plexippus, is perhaps one of the most widely known and beloved butterflies. We know that climate change, threats to the fragile overwintering sites, pesticides and loss of essential host plants, Milkweed, is causing concern for the survival of these amazing navigators. Yet Monarch butterflies have survived for millions of years and somehow I must believe they will adapt to our environmental disasters and continue to do so. It is too heartbreaking to imagine otherwise.

Female Monarch butterflies have now flown from their over wintering sites in Mexico towards Texas fastening their eggs to Milkweed plants and then dying . . . passing the torch, as it were, to their offspring to continue further north and east until the fourth or fifth generation of the Monarchs, who took flight from Flower Hill Farm last fall, will arrive here to begin the Monarch butterfly metamorphosis anew. 

I have been so blessed for over thirty years by being able to share parts of the summer months with these remarkable butterflies. I cannot imagine life without this renewal . . . observing a unique transformation close up. Inspirational and joyous moments abound through the discovery of a small creature's struggle to grow, change and then take off on a momentous journey.

It is remarkable to consider that the intelligence, consciousness or genetic code is already set within this tiny form that will one day transform into another form supporting wings and then take flight to faraway lands. 

The cream colored Monarch caterpillar chomps through its clear, finely-etched egg casing and gobbles it up for its first nutritious meal. It will continue to munch milkweed leaves, flowers and stems growing and shedding its tight skin four times, not to waste a good meal the Monarch caterpillar will eat each pile of molted skin then pick up munching milkweed again . . . growing more until the fifth time when it unveils the chrysalis it has been creating inside the later clear black striped caterpillar skin. The yellow and white colors are the caterpillar body inside the skin.

A part of the butterfly that it will become is already tucked inside the little Monarch caterpillar and it will nurture that part of itself during the two weeks it munches milkweed, sheds its skin and becomes bigger and bigger till suddenly it feels the urge to weave a silk node and let go of its caterpillar self. 

Note the small silk ball or node the Monarch caterpillar carefully weaves and forms from the thin silk threads it pulls out of its spinneret. This is an important creation for the caterpillar, for its very life depends on its strength to hold the caterpillar, while it pulls up its skin to reveal its jade green chrysalis hidden inside of the black, yellow and white striped caterpillar. 

The Monarch caterpillar has also been building a 'cremaster' or pole just about where its hind feet are now. The 'cremaster' has hundreds of tiny hooks to hold fast to the silk button it is creating. This important part of the chrysalis will pull out from under the pile of skin to find the essential silk node and latch onto it, then thrashes around to be sure its hold is secure. 

One day a Monarch caterpillar whispered to me . . . 

"Please raise me with dignity . . . give me space and fresh air as I find out in the garden and fields . . . do not toss me into a box or jar or fish tank with dozens of others of my kind. You will never really get to know me that way. I may get sick and die from overcrowding. I play a very vital role in the making of what I become . . .  thank you for honoring that and my journey as a caterpillar." 

And now the curtain is about to rise! What do we see? A caterpillar or chrysalis? 

The caterpillar trachea is no longer needed so it lifts off with the old skin. The shape of the caterpillar is not quite gone yet. The chrysalis will shrink and a clear casing will harden enclosing and protecting the reshaping life.

A Monarch butterfly template is revealed within the forming chrysalis.

Tiny jewels hang for about two weeks while the Monarch metamorphosis takes place.

When it is time, a fresh new butterfly flips out of its protective chrysalis casing. The butterfly abdomen is bloated being filled with the fluids that will blow up the wings. Once they are fully blown out the butterfly hangs to dry like a fine dress on a clothesline . . . this can be a dangerous time for a butterfly. It must hold on tight and not fall or it will surely die.

When the Monarch butterfly's wings are dry and the butterfly is familiar with its new body and has discovered how all the parts work, it will begin pumping its wings preparing to fly.

Releasing Monarch butterflies is especially thrilling. 

Whispering 'Best of Luck!' We watch in amazement and joy as each butterfly takes its first flight.

For weeks during late summer enchantment fills our days.

The native plants and others in the fall gardens are more alive with Monarch butterflies readying for their long voyage to Mexico. Native Ironweed and Rudbeckia are particular favorites. Buddleia (below) or butterfly bush can become invasive in warmer climates. Here in my climate of today I can barely keep one alive. A Painted Lady sips nearby a newly released Monarch butterfly.

Sedum 'Autumn Joy' is a magnet for the Monarchs. 

The wild asters in 2011 were covered with Monarchs where Autumn Joy was the main attraction in September 2012. 

Whenever I share my favorite images of Monarchs of previous years, it seems like a celebration of incredible joy . . . of life and infinite possibilities for change.

We can all help these beautiful butterflies and others by never using poisons and by calling congress and the EPA demanding an end to the use of harmful chemicals that kill insects good and 'bad' and cause cancer and other diseases within human organs. We can also plant milkweed that is native to our areas to guarantee the monarchs will always have host plants.

Many are already seeing Monarch butterflies returning to their gardens and fields. I did have my first sighting in May of last year but did not find caterpillars until July.

I have one more butterfly post featuring butterflies from 2012 . . . it's a grand finale . . .  just in time, for the gardens are beginning to pop, birds are returning and I am excited to give a spring walkabout.