milkweed

Monarch butterfly migration

March 10, 2019 by Melodye Shore

Sometimes circumstances align in a way that feels like pure magic. For example, last Friday, when I was driving home from our garden nursery with three milkweed plants, Mystic Spires salvia, and frilly little fuchsias. As if from nowhere, a flurry of Monarch butterflies drifted into my field of vision. Dozens and dozens of them, floating past my windshield and side view mirrors. When I stopped at a traffic light, they cocooned my car with their colorful wings.

Breathtaking. To say the least. I’ve seen caterpillars transform themselves into butterflies that emerge from their jewel-colored pendants and take to the sky. I’ve seen overwintering Monarchs that spread their wings in the sunlight and drift away from their clusters. But I’ve never seen so many Monarchs in motion at one time!

Later in the day, that I came to know that the Monarchs are migrating north right now. Lucky me, I got to witness firsthand this amazing phenomenon! Sorry, no photos–I don’t fiddle with my camera/phone while I’m driving. But here’s a quick snapshot of the milkweed that rode shotgun with me. Clearly, I need to get these flowers into the ground, and soon.

Monarch Butterfly-in-the-making

June 12, 2018 by Melodye Shore

There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly. –R. Buckminster Fuller

Monarch butterfly-to-be, in my backyard

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Hope as antidote for suffering

September 11, 2017 by Melodye Shore

Very few Monarch eggs survive to adulthood–mortality rates hover in the range of 90% or even higher! And still, the female Monarch lays new eggs every day–an average of 500 in her lifetime.

I’ve learned to respect Mother Nature’s ways, even when I don’t fully understand them. Even so, I do what I can to help offset those seemingly insurmountable odds. It’s how I’m wired, I guess. I’ve replaced our thirsty grass with drought-tolerant milkweed and nectar plants. I shield their nursery from weather extremes, and I guard against aphids and pesticide overspray, carried into my garden on ocean breezes.

Here, the story of Hope itself: struggles, persistence, endurance.

Helen Keller once said, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” We see this in our daily lives: hurricanes, flooding, wildfires, diseases, natural and man-made disasters. A microcosm of this truth is borne out everyday, in my little Monarch Waystation.

Because I’ve witnessed firsthand their potential for suffering, I appreciate each wriggling, hungry little caterpillar as a marvel unto itself.

Because I’ve wept over the sweeping losses caused by predators, I greet with joy each new chrysalis–perfectly shaped jewel boxes, housing secret transformations within.

And the metamorphosis of a microscopic, pearlescent egg into this Monarch butterfly? Nothing short of a miracle.

The guardian of my secret garden

May 24, 2016 by Melodye Shore

The butterfly counts not months, but moments, and has time enough. – Rabindranath Tagore

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from gardening, it’s that Mother Nature has her own rhythms. Mystifying and maddening though it might sometimes be, there’s an underlying order.

Why, for instance, is this Monarch caterpillar doing sit-ups on the milkweed leaf? No idea. Sassy little thing, though, isn’t she? If all goes well, she’ll shed her beautiful skin a couple more times, and then transform herself into a chrysalis.

Maybe one day, she’ll join the ranks of HRH, Mr. Monarch, who eclosed before our very eyes, just about this time last year.

I’m less inclined, this year than last, to fret when things go “wrong.” It’s a subtle shift–a metamorphosis, if you will–to see yourself as an invited guest at Mother Nature’s garden party.

Speaking of which: Cool cats that they are, 4th and 5th instar caterpillars are very much attuned to the world beyond milkweed plants that fuel them. By the time they’ve reached this stage,they’ve made least four wardrobe changes, shedding their skins as they grow. Cooler still, they swivel their heads in the direction of distinctive voices and loud music. Here’s what happened when I got close enough to say hello.

I’m learning as I go, and I cop to my share of mistakes. (I put just-perfect plants in altogether wrong spots, for instance; and I can’t get my First Love gardenia to love me back.) But I’m working very hard to create a garden that provides shelter and sustenance to winged creatures and wildlife, a beautiful respite for all.

I admire from a distance, zoom close with my camera. But when vulnerable creatures wander off into dangerous territory, as this tiny caterpillar did–flinging itself onto the hard, hot concrete, at least three feet below the plant pot)–I scoop them into a leafy cradle and return them to safety.

I’m planting the seeds of my own awareness…releasing expectations and accepting with joy the gifts available to me in this moment, in this place. Life lessons, learned best in Mother Nature’s classroom.

It’s a relief, actually, to let Mother Nature be the guardian of my secret garden.

Sure, the temptation’s there, and probably always will be: I want to run interference, to protect these treasures from harm. But as Eric said to me just yesterday, “You’re not Mother Nature, you’re Melodye. He’s a wise one, too, my husband.

The KKK rally in Anaheim, Part II: What was I thinking?

March 7, 2016 by Melodye Shore

Whether or not they supported the counter-protest (or read my takeaways from that event), a handful of people expressed real concerns about my having attended the KKK rally in Anaheim. Some talked to me privately; still others confronted me outright. What on earth were you thinking? It seems so out of character, they said.

I disagreed. It’s all of a piece, I said, and I invited them to look a little deeper. I’ll answer those questions here (as often as you’d like…), if you’ll permit me to come at them sideways.

We are multi-faceted beings, every one of us. I’m captivated by Mother Nature’s most exquisite creations, but–and–I also have within my heart an innate desire to cradle “the least of them,” within and beyond my own garden gates.

I watch hummingbirds out my kitchen window every morning, see them wage fierce battles mid-air, iridescent wings shimmering in the afternoon sun as they chase away intruders. Inspired by their courage, I run outside, flailing my arms as I shout, “Shoo! Go away!” to the murder of crows on the neighboring hillside.

I’m swept away by a robin’s song, and I carry within my heart an anthem: Cheer cheer, cheerily, cheer up…change is gonna come.

I twist the lens until the mourning dove comes into focus, and use Lightroom to scrub the poop plops on the fence. It’s more pleasant that way, don’t you think?

When the water shortage deepened, we replaced our backyard sod with drought-friendly flowers, all of which attract butterflies, honeybees, and songbirds. It’s a small space, and our switchover to drip irrigation isn’t going to refill the aquifers. But it helps prevent runoff from polluting our ocean, and it’s more than enough to fill the birdbaths again every morning.

Between the lavender and penstemon, we’ve planted this sign. It’s an honor to be designated as a Monarch Waystation, in recognition of the work we’re doing to help support the earth and her inhabitants. Bare minimum, it’s a conversation piece. Each one, teach one. We learn from each other.

Exactly one week after the KKK rally, I plant milkweed seeds with my little friend Sara. It’s in short supply now, due to overzealous pesticide applications and misguided/misinformed land management practices. The consequences are devastating: Since milkweed’s the sole food source for monarch caterpillars, and the only plant on which monarch butterflies lays its egg, the monarch population has plummeted. We’re doing our part to help save these winged beauties from the threat of extinction.

I know from experience (and the parable of the sower) that the things we sow don’t always take root and grow. Even so, as we tuck tiny seeds into peat pockets, I say a silent benediction: Let hope be renewed, and peace be restored, within our own hearts and the habitats we share. And I remember, then as always, the African proverb: “When you pray, move your feet.”

Long answer made short?

This is how it feels to work together on behalf of something bigger than ourselves–something that has potentially positive effects, on our own lives and that of future generations.