chrysalis

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.

Little Woman in Blue, a novel of May Alcott

September 9, 2015 by Melodye Shore

If you’ve read Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, you no doubt remember Jo Marsh’s coddled, self-indulgent little sister, Amy, who trades away her artistic dreams for the promises of marriage. Little Woman in Blue is a refrain of Amy’s story, but with a twist: Author Jeannine Atkins calls Louisa’s character by her real name—Abigail “May” Alcott—and tells her story true.

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Abigail “May” Alcott Nieriker (Image via WikiCommons)

In the 19^th century, most female artists eventually exchanged their professional ambitions for marriage proposals, and then plowed their creative urges into homemaking tasks and raising children. But while May Alcott has a frothy side (which no doubt irks her older sister), she is a headstrong woman with loftier goals: Artist. Wife. Mother. Wealth and professional acclaim, when her every wish is granted. In lively passages, Jeannine Atkins describes the myriad obstacles that May encounters on this “road less traveled.”

Over time, May’s persistence begins to pay off. She earns the begrudging respect of her older sister, fattens her art portfolio, and is ultimately granted exhibition rights at the esteemed Salon in Paris, where her paintings are displayed alongside some of the most famous artists of her day. Her dreams of marriage and family are eventually realized, when she married Ernest Nieriker and gives birth to a baby girl. There’s more to the story, of course, but you’ll find no spoilers here.

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May Alcott Nieriker’s ‘La Negresse,’ exhibited at the 1879 Paris Salon (Image via WikiCommons)

In this authentic, if fictionalized, biography, Jeannine Atkins breathes new life into one of America’s favorite literary classics. Alcott aficionados will find much to love between its covers, as will readers for whom this is a first introduction to the sisters in Little Women. Rich imagery. Relatable characters. Settings that are true to an era, and a story that celebrates May Alcott’s life, aptly published during the 175th anniversary of her birth year.

Within the first few pages, I became friends with “the little woman in blue.” I embraced her faults and virtues, railed against her torments, and celebrated her brave, if sometimes misguided, efforts to strike a balance between her artistic and personal ambitions. Though I was sorry to reach the end, I will remember May’s story, always.

Little Woman in Blue: A Novel of May Alcott (Cover image via Jeannine Atkins’ website)

This review is based on an Advance Review Copy (ARC) of Little Woman In Blue (SheWrites, September 2015), provided to me by the author. I was awestruck when I read one of Jeannine Atkins’ earlier books, Borrowed Names, and I’m a big fan of her subsequent works. Though we live on opposite coasts, our shared sensibilities have sparked an enduring friendship. Even so, I’ve done my level best to write an unbiased review of this book, in hopes that May Alcott’s story will reach—will touch—a broader audience of readers.

Monarch Metamorphosis: As with this butterfly, it’s change that gives us wings

June 24, 2015 by Melodye Shore

We delight in the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty–Maya Angelou

I posted most of these photographs to my Facebook page, in real time, but it seems to me a miracle this grand deserves an encore performance. Enjoy!

April 1st. A Monarch butterfly visits the milkweed plant that I’ve tucked into a container garden, alongside a fuchsia.

April 27. I missed the egg stage altogether, but look! A Monarch caterpillar is munching the milkweed plant that its mother visited a few weeks back.

When I first discovered it, the very hungry caterpillar was inching its way across my backyard patio, having just discarded its skin. Ever the ~~hovercraft~~ watchful mama, I supervised my husband as he scooped up the butterfly-to-be with gentle hands and nestled it into soil at the base of the milkweed. Nimble little thing, it climbed to the topmost branch and started nibbling.

May 29. Cirque de Caterpillar! The J shape signals its readiness for the next phase of metamorphosis. In this photograph, it’s creating a silk pad on the underside of the fuchsia leaf, after which it’ll connect its hook-like appendage (cremaster) to the pad and twist about–an aerobatic hokey-pokey that helps ensure the cremaster is firmly attached.

Sheer magic! The caterpillar sheds its skin one last time, revealing its fragile beauty. The chrysalis hardens and dries overnight, and by daybreak, it’s transformed itself into a beautiful jade pendant, with a gold band around the top and gold flecks near the bottom.

May 30. Royal Baby Watch begins! In 9-14 days, on average, the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly will be complete. The green turns more opaque, and the golden ‘necklace’ is more pronounced. See how the tiny beads sparkle in the sunlight? Although entomologists have hypothesized about their purpose, they haven’t yet settled on an answer. Beauty sometimes exists for its own sake, am I right?

June 12. Although it’s now 3 days beyond the normal hatching period, I’m reminding myself that the transformation is sometimes delayed by cooler weather. Only 1% of Monarchs survive every stage of the egg-caterpillar-chrysallis-butterfly cycle. Grim statistics, but I’m wearing my rose-colored glasses.

June 17. Well,would you look at that! Our Monarch is a full week overdue for eclosing (“hatching”), but it looks as if its royal debut is imminent! The chrysalis turned dark green this morning, and the walls are thinning. By nightfall, barely visible but unmistakable…Monarch butterfly wings.

June 18. I’m up at dawn, so I don’t miss anything. The chrysalis is nearly black now, but pressed against the sides as they are, the wings look like stained glass windows. I take take the full measure of the chrysalis, double-check my camera equipment, and readjust my tripod.

June 18, 10:45 a.m. The chrysalis is inky black, but fully transparent, and you can see breaks along the bottom.

Cracks develop along the backside first, where the wings overlap.

June 18, approximately 11:45. Within the space of about a minute, the bottom of the chrysalis bursts open and the butterfly emerges, head first. He unfurls those gorgeous wings, climbs the nearest leaf, and rests there for about an hour. He’s helpless at this stage, given that his wings are wet, but never fear! I’m keeping an eye out for potential predators.

The emptied chrysalis is the best of form and function–truly, a work of art.

When an ocean breeze drifts through the backyard. His Royal Majesty seems to enjoy it. He turns his head from side to side, spreads and retracts his wings, clings to a fuchsia branch and wiggles his antenna.

About two hours later, he gets the urge the fly. Rough going, at first. He careens around the flowerpot. Flutter. Flap. A running start, then wheeee, he takes to the skies!

(My video’s too large to post, but you can watch his inaugural flight at this link).

The Monarch lands on the sweet pea butterfly bush at the edge of our flowerbed. He assumes elegant poses, as if to indulge this paparazzo’s fascination. My camera’s battery runs out before his patience.

The sun is directly overhead when he takes off again–flawless wings, gliding across an impossibly blue sky. I am at once wistful and ecstatic, and grateful for the opportunity to witness this metamorphosis.

Oh, and I’m happy to report that Monarch butterfly returned to my garden again this morning. I’ll be watching for tiny eggs in my milkweed plant…

UPDATE: After reading more about Monarchs this morning, I’ve changed the gender references in this post. The black pouches and thin veining on the hind wings help identify this beautiful specimen as a male. (source).