An Incomplete Story

Posted on April 22, 2020 by Tina

This garden scene of a Gulf Fritillary, Agraulis vanillae, emerging from its transformational home is incomplete. I’m sure at some point, I observed and snapped a photo of the chrysalis, all on its own, but I didn’t witness the initial breakthrough into the world by the new adult, wings not quite ready, as it climbed out of its crib. Before that? There was a many-legged caterpillar, inching its way, up and down and all around, the vine that fed the insect in its infancy.

It’s obviously making progress, but stretching is a necessity.

Free from sequestering, the new butterfly rests.

It moves, just a little, finding a comfortable spot, taking a breather.

Wings not entirely unfurled, the butterfly relies on legs, much like it once did, in youth.

As wings dry, curls relax.

I didn’t see this butterfly’s final stage of emergence–wings dried and spread–nor its first flight from the nursery. Even so, this one is ready to fly, ready to pollinate, ready for the next phase of life. It looks determined.

An incomplete story, but complete enough.

I’m joining with Anna and her Wednesday Vignette. Pop over to Flutter and Hum for garden, and other, stories.

Worms to Wings

Posted on April 5, 2020 by Tina

In past months, I’ve reported about the Gulf Fritillary, Agraulis vanillae, butterflies and their procreation through the fall/winter months. Recently they’ve intensified production of their population. Many caterpillars, like this one, are currently feeding on my Common Passion flower vine, Passiflora caerulea.

Feeding voraciously means that caterpillars grow. And grow. Eventually, they’re so big that they must find a place to be, to attach, to sequester themselves in place to prepare for their adult life of winging among the flowers.

I wonder how a caterpillar decides where to stop, spin its anchor, and begin its process?

Near to the caterpillar-munched vine, hang individuals–former caterpillars, future butterflies–in varying stages of metamorphosis.

In the above shot, the two at far left are empty, having disgorged their winged adults, who are now presumably out-and-about, nectaring and finding mates–and not necessarily in that order. The blurred ones in the distance hang solemnly while important chemical work happens within their protective walls. The one in the center is probably a newby chrysalis; some of the spiny qualities of the former caterpillar are still attached, not yet sloughed off. The caterpillar leftovers on that chrysalis reminds me of one of those intricate, odd hats donned for horse races and other such fancy events that I’m unlikely to ever attend.

Bat-like visages, butterfly chrysalises are often hard to spot and that’s best for the survival of the insects during the vulnerable morphing stage. In the case of this little colony, there were quite a few attached to the underside of relatively flat ceramic bird bath, which sits atop a trellis post (hosting the passion vine) and at my eye-level. It’s an obvious choice for a morphing spot, safe from prying eyes, except for the gardener’s, who doesn’t view them as a meal.

In these past days, I’ve been extra careful as I deadhead this spring’s magnificent crop of Spiderwort, which are wrapping up their flowering and ramping up their seed production. I’ve got plenty of Spiderwort, thank-you very much, and they must be pruned so that there aren’t scads more next spring. I look twice before I snip, so that the evolving critters attached may continue their journey.

There’s always the comedian in the crowd, too. What was this one thinking? Maybe it was attempting prove that she/he could hold it for the duration of its transformation.

Just beyond that perpendicular, yoga-like position, one hangs from a different human construction, its neighbor connected to a stem. Both content, hopefully safe.

I don’t know which I prefer: to observe (usually over the course of a few days) as a caterpillar morphs to a chrysalis,

…or to bear witness when the new form emerges, or has just emerged.

Both are awesome.

If I were a butterfly, this is where I would choose my rebirth,

…if for no other reason than to add beauty to the garden.

This chrysalis, nearby to both butterflies and empty, was probably the temporary home for one of the butterflies as it transformed from worm to wings.

Chrysalises, still and quiet as we see them, but churning with change and alive with possibilities, are remarkable salutes to the continuation of life and acceptance of situation.

Winter Oranges

Posted on February 12, 2020 by Tina

Wet, cold, and gloomy describes recent days, but after all, it is February and some winter weather is expected. My Farmhouse Delivery of local produce came yesterday, and with it, some oranges. The the rogue grapefruit keeping the oranges company is from last week’s delivery and became my afternoon snack. Yum.

Hamlin oranges and Ruby-red grapefruit from Texas valley farmers. There were originally four oranges…

Fresh fruit aside, my real appreciation of winter oranges has recently resided with butterflies and blooms, here demonstrated by the orange-winged Gulf Fritillary, Agraulis vanillae, nectaring on a softer version of orange represented by a Globe mallow bloom, Sphaeralcea ambigua. My garden has enjoyed a surplus of the fritillaries this winter because its host plant, passion flower vine, remains green and providing for fritillary caterpillars hatching from eggs.

Globe mallow is a cool season bloomer. It’s a native shrub to high altitudes in far West Texas and New Mexico, but grows well here in Central Texas–in the right conditions. I struggled to find a place for this beautiful plant, but only have one spot where it’s grown successfully: it’s happily planted in a raised bed which is in year-round, full, west-facing sun. The mallow has stunning grey-green, frilly foliage, paired with salmony-orange flowers.

Another orange winter beauty is the Mexican honeysuckle, Justicia spicigera, which blooms prolifically during our milder winters. I especially like this plant because of its water-wise character in summer, its ability to thrive in shade-to-part-sun, and its role as a great pollinator attractor. During the warm months of the year, honeybees, native Carpenter bees, and a variety of butterflies all flock to these orange delights. In recent weeks I haven’t noticed any pollinators on the tubular blooms, not even the active fritillaries, but I know the nectaring insects will be back for their “orange” juice in the near future.

The orange has brightened my garden this winter, because even with tepid temps, there aren’t many flowers abloom. That will soon change: I’ve spotted an iris and a columbine, each with at least one bud that should open in the next week or so.

The oranges cheer dull days, timely and welcome reminders of joy in color and life from gardens.