A Different Monarchy

I wanted my father's attention. I wanted him to love me. I was grateful for every crumb he tossed my way. Although we'd made our peace before he died forty-five years ago, I still have a hard time coming up with good memories of the brief time that we occupied the same home. But the ones that stand out for me took place outside of that house. I remember a walk in the woods where we came upon a fox den, a large slab of stone that sheltered whatever furry family wanted to scurry underneath it. I was fascinated and frightened at the same time and revisited the site whenever I found myself in the same woods. I would not have known it was a home for foxes if my father hadn't pointed it out.

And, in a somewhat foggier memory, I am about five years old, outside with my father. A flutter of black and orange film lights on a plant. I know it's a butterfly. But my father names it. Monarch. Up until this point, I think I lived in a world of common nouns: plant, dog, cat, car, bike, snake, butterfly. I had yet to learn milkweed, English Setter, Siamese, Buick, Royce Union, copperhead . . .

Monarch. I loved the word. I loved knowing that what was once a common butterfly now had a name. Monarch. I felt smart knowing this, and I had my father to thank. He may not have given me a goodnight kiss, but he gave me a word that I could cherish. And I wanted more words. I began to collect them, starting out with names for birds (goldfinch, bluejay, cardinal, nuthatch, wren) and building my vocabulary until I could up my game with those fifty-cent words that made me feel smart (serendipity, exacerbate, isinglass, clandestine, iconoclast). I can still remember from whom I got those words.

Monarch. For a few years now, we've been aware of the plight of the monarch butterfly. Because of pollution, climate change, and the proliferation of weed-killing chemicals, the monarch butterfly population has dwindled. A study by the US Geological Survey in 2016 concluded that there's up to a 57% risk that the eastern monarch migration could collapse within the next twenty years. One of the biggest offenders is Monsanto's Roundup, which is killing milkweed, the only plant the monarch butterfly's larvae will eat. (If you are still using Roundup, please stop.)

Of course, we all know that monarch butterflies winter in Mexico and then fly north to the United States and Canada in the spring. What I did not know is that no single butterfly completes the entire journey; it takes a couple of generations to make the trip, as monarchs only live about 2 - 5 weeks. The final generation, which is able to reach its destination, is also able to make the return trip to Mexico, as it can live up to nine months! I find this amazing!

Monarch populations are measured by the number of acres of trees occupied by the butterflies in Mexico. That number has dropped again this year, from 7.19 acres to 6.12 acres. In fact, the number of monarchs that winter in Mexico has declined more than 80% over the past twenty years. If this is of interest to you, treat yourself to Barbara Kingsolver's 2012 novel, Flight Behavior, in which the monarchs go off-course and roost in Appalachia. Yes, it's fiction . . . but at the rate we're going, it could happen.

The monarch butterfly got its name from William V, Prince of Orange, who later became King of England. You know I can't resist pointing out that we have our own Prince of Orange, a Monarch-wannabe who wants to build a wall that could make it more difficult for the butterflies to complete their migration. I'll stop here and instead, say this:

Celebrate International Women's Day! (And don't buy Roundup.)