Nice essay Bryan. I recently discovered some monarch eggs on my milkweed being eaten by some red bug I didn't recognize and decided to "rescue" them by bringing them indoors and keeping them in a jar until they hatched, when I planned to release them, or at least some them, thereby hoping to boost their numbers. But alas, none of the eggs hatched and I felt bad--probably should have killed the insect eating them instead or just let nature take it's course. What do you think about captive breeding of monarchs in an effort to boost their numbers?
The ending of this ... just, 😭. It says everything about how true immersion in what we love can help us do our best to help it.
And you've reminded me that for the last two years I've forgotten to plant the milkweed seeds I got. They're meant to be planted in the fall, and by then I'm long past thinking of seeding things. I will not forget this year!
Wait — YOU forgot to plant your milkweed seeds? I though I was the only one! 😝 Here in the Northeast, the pods normally cast their seeds to the winds about now. I was given some butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) seeds earlier this summer (then the floods came). Yeah, let's scratch the ground now and plant 'em! We can only hope!
😂 I DEFINITELY forgot to plant my milkweed seeds! But I'll get to it -- and hope for the best! I've seen milkweed growing around roadsides in eastern Montana, and it's a different climate definitely, but I'm crossing my fingers.
Thanks, Kathy. Yeah, I've seen that quote added to more than a few email standardized signatures! I'm only a little worried about its provenance -- I've seen it written in various incarnations.
One of the challenges of being officially old is that I've experienced a lot, which means little is new.. Thank you for a rare new wonder, told so delightfully, I felt it myself. I've wandered in wonder through the coastal migration, photographed bits of their Mexico presence, but I've never been part of the migration. Thank you for stopping long enough to gather and share this incomprehensible experience.
Thanks Bryan, this guide is great. Another problem I'm having is that the deer keep eating my swamp milkweed:( And if you can find that paper about captive breeding on Monarchs, I'd love to see it.
I think of monarchs quite often. The natural garden in our yard is modestly heavy with milkweed in efforts to help ‘em out, with some modest indicators of success, though I still don’t see monarchs as I did when I was a kid.
I was pleased to read of your struggle, in the same vein as White’s (and somewhat similar to my own, it turns out), between desires to help, to count, to contribute to scientific efforts so necessary to aid understanding, and to efforts to preserve, protect, defend, and resuscitate those bits of nature at greatest risk, and, on the other hand, to live, breathe, move, touch, and feel--to be in, of, and with nature and other living things being alive. For me today it was some sweat bees and migrating warblers and a beautiful, iridescent green cuckoo wasp. Then I did a pollinator count for a citizen-science project. (Only later, to my chagrin, did I realize I left my tally sheet out on our patio table, and when I went out to get it, it was gone. Not the greatest loss to science today or even just within my zip code, but annoying.) It did me good to know that others, too, sometimes are torn between being Responsible and being Joyous and Celebratory. I tell myself we need both, and hope I find some reasonable balance.
You sound wonderfully busy, Perry! And, yep, all about balance. I've got an essay brewing, however, about how all the citizen science we're doing, which is incredible, far too often amounts to our documenting what we're losing: actual declines in biodiversity and abundance, and even Robert Michael Pyle's "extinction of experience." But I'm still mulling over whether it's true. I'm on the fence. So no essay just yet.
Funny that you mention that. I was just thinking about that very topic. (That it (seems, anyway) so much citizen science is, indeed, basically a counting of what we’re losing or what we don’t have any more.) I’m all for taking proper note of threats, losses, etc., but some of it also seems a bit too much of the jumpin’-on-the-bandwagon, we-also-found sort of thing that, if it’s of the flavor-of-the-day, maybe with a new topping, can get somebody a paper or two that can get referenced on their CV and (more importantly) next grant application, without actually pushing the ball down the field in a meaningful way. (Not necessarily big, but at least meaningful. And yes, there’s very frequently a need to replicate or further substantiate findings—when they’re new/controversial/adversarial, but a small study showing that the Upper Icelandic Nocturnal Blue, just like its fellow subspecies the Upper Icelandic Diurnal Blue, has suffered significant drops in population since 1970 probably doesn’t tell anyone much that couldn’t reasonably be surmised from existing data.
Now, that said, I think it’s vital to ascertain ranges, population sizes/density, reproduction rates, habitat requirements and more for many organisms that just haven’t gotten much if any attention. Vital, but perhaps not always urgent. And it can increase the difficulty of generating enthusiasm in citizen-scientists to participate in a (yawn) project that does pretty much the same thing that said citizen-scientists read about a year ago in the NYT. So, again, balance, prioritization, etc., loom large.
I think there’s a lot to be said about Pyle’s “extinction of experience”. And it’s something I’m trying to address—while I’m also trying to figure out how better (or even ‘best’) address it. There’s a tremendous amount of “touchy-feely” stuff that does little more than give a transient and vicarious “experience” of nature—something insufficient to develop and nurture the deeper connection with the natural world I think we really need, despite it’s pleasant little dopamine rush.
Years ago, when I was still practicing medicine in a large academic medical center, I took a moment to finish my coffee before beginning rounds with the team, and as I looked out the window at the city below, I commented: “This morning I stepped out the front door of our house, coffee in hand, walked along our concrete sidewalk to the driveway, ensconced myself in my car, drove to the hospital, parked in the garage across the street there, took the glass-and-steel bridge over the street and into the building, and, at the end of the day, I’ll do the same thing in reverse. Then do it again tomorrow. I could go all week without actually setting foot on something that can appropriately be called earth. There’s something not right about that.”
I was standing in a glass, steel, and concrete building with carefully controlled air filtration, heating and cooling, indoor plumbing, WiFi, high-tech something wherever I looked, and there, on the receptionist’s desk for the unit, was a bud vase with a plastic Black-Eyed Susan.
Anyway…. All that to say, I look forward to the essay. Lay on, Macduff!
You encapsulated so much of what's wrong in the world -- and so much of what's right. The world is so very damaged; as are we. But it's still a damned good world. As for us, well, I guess we've got thinking and writing to do....
An accidental tumble in a meadow of wildflowers and all types of insects was an adventure in discovery. The eye level immersion was rewarding . So many little elements that I normally gloss over as I move through the field. I can imagine your "butterfly immersion therapy" completely!
BIT -- Butterfly Immersion Therapy. We're onto something here, Linda! I wonder if it might also help soothe public discourse and get politicians to work together. (Well, okay, can't have everything, I guess.)
I recently read the novel Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver in which the monarchs played an important part of the narrative. A lovely work of fiction.
A friend of mine is a recreational nature photographer, and she sometimes uses the phrase "eyes only," which she includes when telling me about a wonderful moment that happened and she either didn't have her camera with her, or opted not to disrupt the moment by taking a picture. Thus the special moment was uniquely hers. This essay reminds me of that.
Unique in the true sense of the word. This is great.
Yeah, the camera changes the way we're outside. So I'm learning more and more to walk without one, and not to reach for the phone. It can be tough. I so love to name and document things. But I think it's good for our brains to NOT be Homo sapiens from time to time, to not think so much. I explored it here as well: https://chasingnature.substack.com/p/a-songbird-underwater
Nice essay Bryan. I recently discovered some monarch eggs on my milkweed being eaten by some red bug I didn't recognize and decided to "rescue" them by bringing them indoors and keeping them in a jar until they hatched, when I planned to release them, or at least some them, thereby hoping to boost their numbers. But alas, none of the eggs hatched and I felt bad--probably should have killed the insect eating them instead or just let nature take it's course. What do you think about captive breeding of monarchs in an effort to boost their numbers?
You're gonna love this, Margie: https://vtecostudies.org/blog/new-milkweed-specialist-insects-guide/
And, well, probably a nope to captive breeding on Monarchs. There was a paper some time ago on this. I'll try to track it down for us.
The ending of this ... just, 😭. It says everything about how true immersion in what we love can help us do our best to help it.
And you've reminded me that for the last two years I've forgotten to plant the milkweed seeds I got. They're meant to be planted in the fall, and by then I'm long past thinking of seeding things. I will not forget this year!
Wait — YOU forgot to plant your milkweed seeds? I though I was the only one! 😝 Here in the Northeast, the pods normally cast their seeds to the winds about now. I was given some butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) seeds earlier this summer (then the floods came). Yeah, let's scratch the ground now and plant 'em! We can only hope!
😂 I DEFINITELY forgot to plant my milkweed seeds! But I'll get to it -- and hope for the best! I've seen milkweed growing around roadsides in eastern Montana, and it's a different climate definitely, but I'm crossing my fingers.
This just brought me to tears. Complete and utter awe. And E.B. White ... one of my favorites .... Thankful for sharing this beautiful experience.
Thanks, Kathy. Yeah, I've seen that quote added to more than a few email standardized signatures! I'm only a little worried about its provenance -- I've seen it written in various incarnations.
One of the challenges of being officially old is that I've experienced a lot, which means little is new.. Thank you for a rare new wonder, told so delightfully, I felt it myself. I've wandered in wonder through the coastal migration, photographed bits of their Mexico presence, but I've never been part of the migration. Thank you for stopping long enough to gather and share this incomprehensible experience.
Thanks Bryan, this guide is great. Another problem I'm having is that the deer keep eating my swamp milkweed:( And if you can find that paper about captive breeding on Monarchs, I'd love to see it.
What a gorgeous photo! I’ve seen so many monarchs this year and it’s been so delightful (also gives me hope). 🦋
The western Monarch population (yours, right?) has indeed rebounded!
Yes! I'm indeed in California. So glad to hear their population is rebounding!
I adore your "photoshop" artsy photo. Just...all the feels.
I really like it as well. I hope the genuine artists agree!
Well, that brought tears to my eyes. We all need to do this. To be with and in nature. And to save what we can... Thank you. Again and again.
You are also inspiration for this, Sue!
Bryan, this was wonderful, thank you. I take it you saw this great piece today.
https://open.substack.com/pub/artdogs/p/vladimir-nabokovs-butterflies?r=7gpc6&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Thanks, Ben. I did see that Nabokov piece. It's on my reading list, as is an archive essay from him republished in a recent New Yorker. Thanks again!
Bryan--great essay.
I think of monarchs quite often. The natural garden in our yard is modestly heavy with milkweed in efforts to help ‘em out, with some modest indicators of success, though I still don’t see monarchs as I did when I was a kid.
I was pleased to read of your struggle, in the same vein as White’s (and somewhat similar to my own, it turns out), between desires to help, to count, to contribute to scientific efforts so necessary to aid understanding, and to efforts to preserve, protect, defend, and resuscitate those bits of nature at greatest risk, and, on the other hand, to live, breathe, move, touch, and feel--to be in, of, and with nature and other living things being alive. For me today it was some sweat bees and migrating warblers and a beautiful, iridescent green cuckoo wasp. Then I did a pollinator count for a citizen-science project. (Only later, to my chagrin, did I realize I left my tally sheet out on our patio table, and when I went out to get it, it was gone. Not the greatest loss to science today or even just within my zip code, but annoying.) It did me good to know that others, too, sometimes are torn between being Responsible and being Joyous and Celebratory. I tell myself we need both, and hope I find some reasonable balance.
You sound wonderfully busy, Perry! And, yep, all about balance. I've got an essay brewing, however, about how all the citizen science we're doing, which is incredible, far too often amounts to our documenting what we're losing: actual declines in biodiversity and abundance, and even Robert Michael Pyle's "extinction of experience." But I'm still mulling over whether it's true. I'm on the fence. So no essay just yet.
Funny that you mention that. I was just thinking about that very topic. (That it (seems, anyway) so much citizen science is, indeed, basically a counting of what we’re losing or what we don’t have any more.) I’m all for taking proper note of threats, losses, etc., but some of it also seems a bit too much of the jumpin’-on-the-bandwagon, we-also-found sort of thing that, if it’s of the flavor-of-the-day, maybe with a new topping, can get somebody a paper or two that can get referenced on their CV and (more importantly) next grant application, without actually pushing the ball down the field in a meaningful way. (Not necessarily big, but at least meaningful. And yes, there’s very frequently a need to replicate or further substantiate findings—when they’re new/controversial/adversarial, but a small study showing that the Upper Icelandic Nocturnal Blue, just like its fellow subspecies the Upper Icelandic Diurnal Blue, has suffered significant drops in population since 1970 probably doesn’t tell anyone much that couldn’t reasonably be surmised from existing data.
Now, that said, I think it’s vital to ascertain ranges, population sizes/density, reproduction rates, habitat requirements and more for many organisms that just haven’t gotten much if any attention. Vital, but perhaps not always urgent. And it can increase the difficulty of generating enthusiasm in citizen-scientists to participate in a (yawn) project that does pretty much the same thing that said citizen-scientists read about a year ago in the NYT. So, again, balance, prioritization, etc., loom large.
I think there’s a lot to be said about Pyle’s “extinction of experience”. And it’s something I’m trying to address—while I’m also trying to figure out how better (or even ‘best’) address it. There’s a tremendous amount of “touchy-feely” stuff that does little more than give a transient and vicarious “experience” of nature—something insufficient to develop and nurture the deeper connection with the natural world I think we really need, despite it’s pleasant little dopamine rush.
Years ago, when I was still practicing medicine in a large academic medical center, I took a moment to finish my coffee before beginning rounds with the team, and as I looked out the window at the city below, I commented: “This morning I stepped out the front door of our house, coffee in hand, walked along our concrete sidewalk to the driveway, ensconced myself in my car, drove to the hospital, parked in the garage across the street there, took the glass-and-steel bridge over the street and into the building, and, at the end of the day, I’ll do the same thing in reverse. Then do it again tomorrow. I could go all week without actually setting foot on something that can appropriately be called earth. There’s something not right about that.”
I was standing in a glass, steel, and concrete building with carefully controlled air filtration, heating and cooling, indoor plumbing, WiFi, high-tech something wherever I looked, and there, on the receptionist’s desk for the unit, was a bud vase with a plastic Black-Eyed Susan.
Anyway…. All that to say, I look forward to the essay. Lay on, Macduff!
You encapsulated so much of what's wrong in the world -- and so much of what's right. The world is so very damaged; as are we. But it's still a damned good world. As for us, well, I guess we've got thinking and writing to do....
Feeling all the vicarious wonder of this experience. Thank you for sharing it with us.
You are most welcome, Christina. Thanks so much for reading.
This is such a delightful story. It gave me the chills.
I truly believe that to savor is to save. Thank you for this wonderful piece.
..."to savor is to save." So true. For what we save ... and for saving ourselves. Thanks, Kaitlyn!
This is so beautiful I have tears in my eyes, and that doesn’t happen to me very often. What a gift you’ve shared. Thank you.
Oh, my — that's an honor for me. This has made my day!
An accidental tumble in a meadow of wildflowers and all types of insects was an adventure in discovery. The eye level immersion was rewarding . So many little elements that I normally gloss over as I move through the field. I can imagine your "butterfly immersion therapy" completely!
BIT -- Butterfly Immersion Therapy. We're onto something here, Linda! I wonder if it might also help soothe public discourse and get politicians to work together. (Well, okay, can't have everything, I guess.)
Politicians should either take a long walk on a short pier, or sit in the midst of a meadow for hours.
I recently read the novel Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver in which the monarchs played an important part of the narrative. A lovely work of fiction.
I gotta read that. I'm now reading Demon Copperhead.
A friend of mine is a recreational nature photographer, and she sometimes uses the phrase "eyes only," which she includes when telling me about a wonderful moment that happened and she either didn't have her camera with her, or opted not to disrupt the moment by taking a picture. Thus the special moment was uniquely hers. This essay reminds me of that.
Unique in the true sense of the word. This is great.
Yeah, the camera changes the way we're outside. So I'm learning more and more to walk without one, and not to reach for the phone. It can be tough. I so love to name and document things. But I think it's good for our brains to NOT be Homo sapiens from time to time, to not think so much. I explored it here as well: https://chasingnature.substack.com/p/a-songbird-underwater
Thanks, Carolyn!