This post is part of a project in the works; "An Ogemaw County Year". The blog and eventually the book will encompass nature noticing, research and facts over the course of a year with a watercolor painting for each entry. Originals and prints will be available via the website as they are completed and prepped and the book will be available upon completion.
As I step out of my car and make my way down the familiar path to Harwood Lake, I feel a sense of anticipation. September is always my favorite time to visit this serene spot, not just for the crisp air and the subtle hues of fall, but for the chance to witness the Monarch butterflies as they prepare for their epic migration to Mexico.
The lake's surface glistens in the late afternoon sun, and the surrounding trees are tipping toward the yellows and oranges that build toward the full October splendor of fall. I find a comfortable spot on the sun-warmed boat ramp, now devoid of summer’s splashy riot of boaters, and settle down, legs dangling over the water, my eyes scanning the sky and surrounding goldenrod. It doesn’t take long before I see the first Monarch flutter by, its distinctive orange and black wings standing out against the blue sky. Soon after, another Monarch joins the first, both flitting from flower to flower, feeding and gathering strength for their long journey south.
Watching these delicate creatures, I marvel at their life cycle, a process that seems almost magical. In Michigan, Monarchs usually lay their eggs on milkweed plants, the only host plant for their larvae. The females are particularly picky, ensuring they select the healthiest plants. These tiny, creamy-white eggs hatch within about four days, revealing tiny caterpillars.
For the next two weeks, the caterpillars feast exclusively on milkweed, growing rapidly and shedding their skin multiple times in the process. The milkweed not only provides sustenance but also imbues the caterpillars with toxins that make them unpalatable to predators. I can almost see the lovely little green and black caterpillars in my mind's eye, munching away on the milkweed, preparing for the next stage of their lives.
After two weeks of voracious eating, the caterpillars find a safe spot to form their chrysalides. This transformation is one of nature's most fascinating spectacles. Inside the jade-green chrysalis adorned with golden spots, the caterpillar undergoes a complete metamorphosis, emerging about ten days later as a beautiful Monarch butterfly. This new generation spends the summer feeding on nectar from various flowers, such as asters, goldenrod, and coneflowers, thriving in Michigan's meadows and fields.
As I watch the two butterflies around Harwood Lake, I think about the incredible journey that lies ahead of them. The Monarchs I am seeing are part of the last generation of the year, the so-called "migration generation." Unlike their short-lived parents and grandparents, which only lived for a few weeks earlier in the summer, these butterflies are destined to live for up to eight months. They will travel over 2,500 miles to the forests of central Mexico, where they will hibernate through the winter. None of these insects in Michigan have ever seen Mexico or likely been outside of Ogemaw County, but they will leave and travel across the nation in search of their winter habitat.
The Monarchs' preferred habitats in Michigan include open fields, meadows, and prairies, where milkweed and nectar-rich flowers are abundant. However, these habitats have been diminishing due to human activities, and with them, the Monarch populations have also been declining. Conservation efforts are crucial to preserving these habitats and ensuring that future generations can witness the marvel of Monarch migration.
Lost in these thoughts, I am brought back to the present by one of the Monarchs that lands on my outstretched hand. I stay as still as possible, watching its delicate wings open and close slowly in the golden September light. Its tiny feet tickle my palm, and the bright white spots on its wings and body stand out in sharp contrast to its velvety black scales.
As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over Harwood Lake, I reluctantly stand up and prepare to leave. I take one last look at the Monarchs perched on goldenrod nodding along the edge of the lake and wish them safe travels on their incredible journey.
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