FlutteringBy

I remember my long-ago slip-of-the-tongue while attempting hurriedly to describe an unusual butterfly flying in my backyard. Before quickly correcting myself, I called it a flutterby. That slip struck me as so appropriate that ever since, to my mind, all butterflies are flutterbys.

That particular butterfly was a Swallowtail and to me a new variety. Having recently moved from the midwest to Southern California, I was discovering new sorts of flying wildlife on and near my property, and trying to absorb as many and as much as possible. Upon that Swallowtail’s close appearance, I followed it from spot to spot, to observe its behaviors, landings, and how long it remained in each place. I rushed into the house for a camera (this was before cellphones) to capture and learn about that lovely creature.

The Monarch butterfly that’s pictured above is a “Painted Lady”. Months ago, my camera captured it in a wilderness area while my dogs and I were out roaming near a small body of water. Butterflies love water. One of my nicest surprises in the summertime while out on horseback, is coming across mud puddles nearly hidden by grasses and populated by large flocks of colorful butterflies.

This winter, I discovered a Monarch Butterfly hibernating in my garage. Not sure if it’s a Painted Lady, for it’s absolutely still with wings upright and clenched. I found it upon removing a wall clock for battery replacement, and left the clock off that wall to avoid disturbing the unmoving butterfly. That critter stayed put another week before our weather began producing a string of warmer days.

Monarch Butterflies become paralyzed during freezing weather, unable to fly, unless their flight muscles become warm enough. One late afternoon, our temperature approached 55 degrees, and right outside the garage, I found “my butterfly” standing–upright, breathing, attempting to stretch stiff wings, and needing to move onward. But oncoming night would return local temps to freezing.

I lifted the butterfly, aware of a myth taught me as a child, that human fingers can disenable flight by removing powder from wings. Even now, I touch little as possible of a wing. I set this Monarch into a bucket for overnight, hoping the next day would be warm and sunny for a release. Shortly afterward, upon peering into the bucket, I saw the butterfly, flat on its side and absolutely still–damaged? From my finger-hold?

Fortunately, by morning, the butterfly had self-uprighted and we awaited a warmup. Yesterday was good, but I became distracted and busy. Today at midday, if all’s right, I’ll set the little fellow or gal outside to warm up, flex those wings and flutter on by, toward another clime where hopefully, if needed, it again may safely pause.

Dear Readers, have a wonderful day, Diana.