Stalking Monarchs, and Encountering the Other Milkweed Caterpillar

Note: This post serves as a contrast to the horrific flooding in Houston from Hurricane Harvey, showing how stormwater can drive diversity rather than destruction, if we work with nature rather than against it. Unlike cities, the plants that grow in floodplains are built to pop back up within days or hours after a flood and just keep on growing and flowering. Most of these photos were taken in a detention basin, which is an acre-sized depression in the ground, dug to receive storm runoff from the Smoyer Park parking lot. The purpose is to "detain" the rain that hits the asphalt and that would otherwise rush into the nearby stream. Detaining the water reduces flooding in downstream neighborhoods. The detained water then either seeps into the ground or is slowly released through a small pipe into the stream after the floods have receded. 

Last year, a collaboration of federal and local governments with the Friends of Herrontown Woods converted this mowed basin into a wet meadow with floodplain plant species that thrive with these periodic pulses of runoff. Without regulations requiring it, the concave setting for this lovely oasis for native plants and pollinators would not exist, and the polluted runoff from the parking lot would have flowed straight into the local stream, contributing to flash floods.

Nature has offered up some surprises, here in the doldrums of summer, when people who aren't somewhere else sometimes feel like they should be. There was the unexpected, and unexpectedly affecting, chance to capture family portraits of black vultures in the previous posts; the weather has been unexpectedly cool; rains have come when needed for the third year in a row, and monarchs have proved resilient, rebounding from their diminishing numbers in recent years. Not many, as yet, but more.

Thinking them elusive creatures, I figured a zoom lens was necessary to capture their image. First came a peekaboo shot on the far side of a thistle at the Smoyer Park detention basin that we converted last year to (mostly) native meadow.

The blooms of Indian grass got pleasantly in the way of this shot.

With nowhere else to go in a sea of soccer and baseball fields, the monarch kept circling around the planted meadow, encouraging patient waiting for a chance at an unobstructed view. Finally, a clear shot from 100 feet away, while it perched briefly on a river birch. Congratulating myself on some success with a powerful camera, I plunged into the meadow to weed out a small clump of foxtail grass that would become way too numerous if allowed to go to seed.

And there, five feet away from my tugging and clipping, landed the monarch, easily photographed with an iPhone,

with a coppery background of Indian grass. That's what weeding a wild garden does--it immerses the gardener, creating opportunities for serendipity to work its magic.

Just across Snowden Lane from the park, behind Veblen House where our Friends of Herrontown Woods group has fashioned a clearing by removing invasive shrubs and wisteria, another sort of caterpillar munched on the leaves of common milkweed, which has prospered in the resulting sunlight.

Displaying proper Princeton colors, the milkweed tiger moth needed every milkweed plant there, and then some. We came back a week later and found every milkweed stripped down to bare stems. The common milkweed's strategy of aggressive underground spreading becomes more understandable, given the voracious appetites of these caterpillars.

Also called the milkweed tussock moth, the caterpillars become more colorful as they grow. As an adult moth, they are said to retain the cardiac glycosides they pick up from eating milkweed, and warn bats of their unpalatability by emitting a click as they fly about at night.

With summer almost over, a first sighting of a monarch larvae--on a purple milkweed, of which there are very few in Princeton, for some reason. Common milkweed can be a bit too aggressive in a garden, and swamp milkweed disappeared from our garden after a few years. Purple milkweed with its showy blooms may be a good alternative, if we can find any seed after the hungry caterpillar is done.

Monarchs Had Tough Year in 2012

Here's a disturbing headline for you: "Monarch Migration Plunges to Lowest Level in Decades". The New York Times article reports that the overwintering grounds for monarch butterflies in Mexico has dwindled to 2.94 acres. A number of factors are at play here. Increasingly erratic weather due to changing climate, the switch to herbicide-resistant crops in the midwest, which allows eradication of weeds that used to serve as food and habitat, and past logging of the high altitude forests in Mexico.

The warm weather last year sped the Monarchs' travel northward, which correlates with my memory of seeing them in Princeton last summer much earlier than usual. Their multi-generational travel northward in spring/summer is timed with the milkweed, so any change in schedule can affect whether the habitat is ready for their arrival.

In preparation for an upcoming trip, I was surprised to learn that the biosphere reserve where the Monarchs overwinter is  just a couple hours west of Mexico City. There are several locations where one can hike up to see them, though El Rosario is the easiest to access. Given the multiple locations, it's strange to hear that the total acreage occupied by the overwintering butterflies is less than three acres.

Though the butterflies cling to the tree branches at night, in February they become active during the day, flying down the mountain slope to a water source, then back up in the evening to roost overnight. Tourists typically stay over night in the small mountain town of Angangueo, then head to the overwintering sites in the morning. Having remained sexually immature during their long fall migration to Mexico, and through much of the winter, the Monarchs finally mate just prior to heading north in late March.

As farm country becomes increasingly an ecological desert, due to reduction in fallow areas and increased spraying of weeds, urban areas become all the more important for sustaining species like the Monarch. Looks like starting new plants of the local swamp milkweed will be part of my "managing water in the landscape" course at the Princeton Adult School this spring.

Carolyn Edelmann, who has a far-ranging nature blog, sent me this link to a 6 minute video about the Monarchs' migration and overwintering site.

Strange Goings On With Monarchs

Things are getting a little weird with this year's monarch butterfly migration. The Journey North website (they cover the journey south as well) is the only source of news I've found thus far, and their latest post is a puzzler. The reporter down in Michoacan, Mexico had found a small batch of butterflies clustered on a couple trees on the traditional days of arrival during the Day of the Dead, Oct. 31 to Nov. 2. Millions more were forecast, but as of Nov. 11, they hadn't arrived. Here's part of the report:

"He told me that in El Rosario no colony or even a cluster has been formed yet, and only an average quantity has been observed overflying the area. 

He confirmed the impressions that the way the Monarchs are arriving is very unusual and, being optimistic, it may be that they are flying too high up. 

Last, he told me that they have news that the massive colonies are possibly coming from the state of Tamaulipas."

No updates since then. I want to say, "Come in, Michoacan. Do you read me? Over."

Tamaulipas, according to google maps, is nine hours northeast of the traditional wintering grounds for the monarch. My concern has been that the migration behavior is somehow dependent on massive numbers, and that the migration could begin to break down if the population drops too far.

The Corn Snafu Deepens
Another twist on the decimation of monarch habitat due to Roundup Ready corn:

Most farmers have switched to Roundup Ready corn and soybeans, due to higher yields. Marginal lands and roadsides previously allowed to grow habitat conducive for monarchs have been returned to cultivation. But NPR reports that the massive corn harvest this year could actually make farmers more dependent on government subsidies. A corn glut outstrips demand, lowers prices, farmers don't get a return on their heavy investment in seed, fertilizer and pesticides, and government price supports kick in. Meanwhile, trains are increasingly being used to transport oil, causing the risk of spoilage to increase as it becomes harder to get the corn and soybeans to market.

In other words, a situation unhealthy for monarchs is proving problematic for farmers as well. For anyone curious about how or whether the government should intervene, this article makes for an interesting read.

Monarch Update

Anyone seen a monarch butterfly yet? You can get the latest update from "Journey North News," and even help track the monarch migration by reporting any sightings in our area. Their June 19 update says that, though the monarchs reached their north central breeding range four weeks ago, there have been no sightings of eggs as yet in the northeast U.S.. Their map shows one sighting reported in New Jersey, but it's not clear where. There's a good map here showing how important the midwest is to the survival of monarchs, and how that is also the area where Roundup-ready corn has obliterated much of the milkweed the monarchs have long depended on for raising the next generation.

Keep an eye out, and consider reporting any sightings.

Coneflower Attracts Monarch and Much More

Typically, my random butterfly sightings don't go much beyond a tiger swallowtail fluttering in the distance. But on July 19, the purple coneflowers in the frontyard raingarden drew a diverse crowd, including this beautiful monarch. This sighting added to a few sightings elsewhere to suggest that monarchs are rebounding from a couple very tough years in which the overwintering area they occupied in the mountains of Mexico dropped to only a few acres. The blog at monarchwatch.org confirms that they are having a comparatively good year. The magnificent monarch with its matchless migration will always be vulnerable, particularly given the destabilizing effects of climate change, the loss of milkweed in farm fields now that Roundup-Ready corn and soybeans allow elimination of weeds, and the ongoing threats to the evergreen forests the monarchs congregate in every winter. There's a lot more work to do to make their population more resilient, but it's heartening to see them on the upswing.

A black tiger swallowtail in particularly good condition.

This looks to be a variegated fritillary,

with a different pattern on the underside.

A skipper,

a bumblebee, of which there are many species.

It was an oak in the backyard that attracted this moth, possibly a tulip tree beauty moth.

A few days later, we were back to the tiger swallowtail.

Monarch Update -- March, 2015

There's a drama going on right now, some 2000 miles south and west of here, that will affect our summer to come. Though we're still caught in snow, the monarchs are struggling to begin their journey north from their overwintering sanctuary in the mountains west of Mexico City. I say "struggling" because they were doused by two days of heavy winds and rains just when they would normally head north en masse.

Journey North on learner.org provides weekly updates that described bustling activity in the first half of March as the Monarchs flew in crowded masses on the forested slopes, then mated prior to beginning migration. Though last summer's ideal conditions allowed the population to rebound somewhat from the previous year's record low, numbers overwintering were still only a fifth of what is considered average--the whole eastern migratory population covering a mere three acres. This map shows how the monarchs are concentrated in El Rosario, the main tourist location, with the rest scattered at various other locations nearby.

With the passenger pigeon the stuff of legend, it's remarkable to live in a time when a species still masses in such numbers that a March 5 update can still say 

"The monarchs would come out of the trees each time that cumulus clouds covered the sun. They reached almost unbelievably dense numbers, flying out over the llanos. The trees were nearly emptied at such times. Literally every cubic foot of air held at least one monarch."

A report of "Massive mating..." comes on March 12. But the next week's report is less sanguine. By March 16, the leading edge of the migration typically crosses over the Rio Grande into Texas, but this year the departure has been delayed. A March 19 update reported that cold weather is delaying departure, and "Terrible weather at the sancturies" was reported on March 16, as heavy rains and strong winds plagued the sanctuary for two days straight.

Five decades ago, we didn't even know where the Monarchs overwinter. Only when things start to go wrong does one have to start figuring out how something works, whether it's a car engine, one's body, or a wondrous annual migration. What once was dispensed free of charge by a generous nature now might not survive without human intervention.

Working in local habitats, I've seen what nature can do when a restored balance unleashes the native growth energy. The Monarchs are one more example of the tremendous capacity of nature to thrive, if only we give it a chance.

Milkweeds Mowed at Tusculum

An earlier post entitled Searching for Monarchs in Princeton mentioned spotting a monarch in a field packed with common milkweed over at Tusculum--the former estate of John Witherspoon on Cherry Hill Road. Here's what that field looked like a month ago.

And here's what that field looked like just a week or two later. Now, some of the fields at Tusculum are publicly owned, while others remain in private hands. This field is privately owned, and has for decades been managed for hay production. That's a big reason why it's still a field rather than a deeply shaded woodland where milkweed would have little chance to grow.

So the annual mowing can generally be thought of as beneficial, but the timing of it--while monarchs are still in our area, reproducing in preparation for their imminent migration back to Mexico-- is definitely not. I doubt that the current owners or the mowing crew had any idea that the field was important monarch habitat, and that waiting a couple weeks would have saved any monarchs maturing in the field.

It's another example of how important it is to communicate with those who own or manage habitat around town.  I've been told that the owners in this case will be contacted, with the hope of shifting the mowing regime next year to benefit the monarchs.

The publicly owned fields at Tusculum have not been mowed, as far as I know, though there as well ongoing communication is required, as is re-evaluation year to year in order to find the optimum timing and frequency for mowing.

A Morning of Music, Young Minds, and a Monarch

Last month, Martha Friend, the science teacher at Little Brook Elementary who is also very active in summer programming for kids in Princeton, sent me an email in August asking if I could drop by the Pannell Learning Center and do a program on music and nature with some kids in a YMCA camp. I had never heard of the Pannell Center, which is at the corner of Clay and Witherspoon, and wasn't sure how to incorporate music into nature study, but showed up with an open mind and a clarinet.

The kids, under the motivating guidance of class teacher Rosie, had just finished building musical instruments using straws. After hearing their impressive musical offerings from the straws, I explained that I had learned to improvise on clarinet while out in nature, sitting on the steps of a lodge overlooking Lake Michigan, playing a note and listening to its echo come back from a nearby hill. Later, on Ossabaw Island off the coast of Savannah, Georgia, I learned to play one handed so that the other hand was free to swat mosquitoes. It was an early lesson in the challenges of the music business. I told them about the piano tunes I'd written using birdsongs, and demonstrated a few on the clarinet. That was a good segue to head out towards Community Park School to see if there were any birdsongs I could imitate. Lacking any birdsongs along the first few blocks, I filled in with When the Saints.

While we passed by some interesting habitat--a concrete turtle that apparently found the astroturf to its liking--Rosie told me how she had gained a love of nature during visits to her grandparents' farm in Mexico, where she was put to work caring for the animals.

The kids ate lunch while I sought to channel a field sparrow's call through the clarinet. Then we asked the question, where do the pollinators find their lunch? Not much in the lawn beyond a few white clovers. We walked behind the school to where the Community Park Elementary's science teacher John Emmons has planted a miniature meadow.

That's where we saw lots of pollinators feasting, including a monarch--a rare sight this summer. (That's what the kids are looking at in the first photo.)

The back of the school is surrounded on three sides, making a courtyard where there's a lot of growth energy. Even the weeds in this photo (pilewort that not only grows on the ground but also one floor up on the wall) are looking good. Pilewort is a native weedy-looking plant that grows tall and fleshy but whose only ornamental offering is clusters of white seeds that the goldfinches take a liking to.

A plaque in front of a butterfly house expresses the connection between the growth of inner and outer nature.

During the school year, Rosie teaches an after school program called PrincetonYoung Achievers.

After such an inspiring morning spent with the Y kids in a landscape that is nurturing of inner and outer nature, it was time to head home, stopping by the raingarden at Spruce Circle to find it.....bulldozed! Life comes with its mixture of highs and lows.

Events This Week: Bees, Monarchs, and Eating Alabama

Tuesday, October 21, Noah Wilson-Rich talks about his book— The Bee: A Natural History, 6pm at Labyrinth Books on Nassau Street

Thursday, October 23, Panel Discussion: Monarch Butterfly: Species in Crisis, 7pm at the Princeton Public Library

Friday, October 24, film, Eating Alabama, 7pm at the Princeton Public Library


The list of panelists for the monarch event is as follows:

Maraleen Manos-Jones, Lecturer (apparently the first non-native to find the monarchs' overwintering location in Mexico)
Michael Gochfeld, Professor, Rutgers University (co-wrote the book Butterflies in New Jersey)
Robert Somes, Biologist, NJ Nongame and Endangered Species Program, DEP. Flo Rutherford, Chief Guide & Caretaker, Butterfly Atrium, World of Wings Museum

Finally, a Monarch!

Three days ago, a monarch finally came and lingered for a short while in the backyard, moving quickly from one late-flowering thoroughwort to another, gathering nectar for its long journey to Mexico. Several generations removed from the monarchs that flew north from the mountains of Mexico this past March, this individual is part of that special end of the season generation that will fly 2500 miles south and west to where they gather for the winter, west of Mexico City. Unlike the generations that headed north, it will not become sexually mature until next spring.

Monarchs had a modest rebound in numbers last year after their numbers dwindled, largely due to the elimination of milkweed from farm fields and edges since Roundup-Ready corn and soybeans became the norm. There was optimism this year that they could rebound further, but an "unprecedented" ice storm hit their sanctuary in the Mexican mountains in March just as they were leaving. Some had already headed north, but many were killed. That "unprecedented" makes one think of climate change's impact, which makes restoring habitat all the more important.

I had caught a glimpse of three other monarchs earlier in the summer, but none that settled on a flower. Fortunately, there was a 50x canon camera around to capture the fresh beauty of this magnificent insect, poised at the beginning of its long journey.

Monarchs in NJ head south through Cape May, and you can read about those who track their passage and count their numbers there on their blog.

I saw no caterpillars this year. In 2010, we had many on the swamp milkweeds in the backyard. My daughter grew some in a jar.

As a kid growing up in southeastern Wisconsin, I remember a day, probably in the 1960s, when the sky was filled with monarchs heading south. Thousands upon thousands, swirling, dancing, there all day, and then gone. It's one of those magnificent nature-in-abundance memories that feeds a vision for what could be if we nurtured nature's inborn vitality. In Princeton, there was a field full (in the tens or hundreds rather than thousands) of monarchs in 2007, feeding on tickseed sunflowers, at that sharp bend in Quaker Road, near the canal. Tickseed sunflowers (Bidens sp.) are annuals, and appear to have given way to other species out there.

A Milkweed-Lined Bicycle Ride To DR Greenway

I broke through one of those self-imposed glass ceilings the other day. No broken glass scattered everywhere, just a new feeling of empowerment, in that pedal power conveyed me with surprising ease to a destination I would normally jump in a car to reach. The destination was a reception for a new art exhibit entitled Color in Nature, at DR Greenway out Rosedale Road. The bikeride unexpectedly offered a nice warmup to the theme of the exhibit, with milkweed drawing the camera's eye.

Interesting to see how common milkweed, which normally toughs it out in fields and along road embankments, is being featured in front of a million dollar home on Cleveland Lane, mixing it up with tonier perennials with a well-groomed boxwood hedge as background. Maybe the homeowner is expecting some distinguished guests--royalty perhaps, or a Monarch.

Even without a tailwind, it seemed a breeze to get out to Greenway Meadows, and with a bike one can get off Rosedale early and take the scenic route through the park, with the rec department's pile of mulch standing guard over the vista just beyond.

With cool season grasses maturing in early summer, the milkweed stands out. Monarch butterflies depend on favorable winds to make their cross-continental migrations, but it's the strength and resilience of the common milkweed that has served as a metaphorical and nutritional "wind beneath their wings" through the millenia.

They line the pathway, like cheering crowds.

No monarchs yet, but a beetle or two.

Lower slung and less common is another milkweed, the butterflyweed (Asclepias tuberosa), which has a growth habit akin to orange broccoli.

No habitat restorationist can look at a meadow and not see something that needs tending to, like this incipient presence of porcelainberry, but maybe an annual mowing limits its spread.

And at the destination, art, a cool drink, some familiar faces. Bicycling has a reputation as being secondary in convenience to cars, but sometimes it feels first class.

(Check out another edge-of-town destination this Sunday, June 28 from 1-4pm, as they close off Quaker Road for the annual Ciclovia.)

A 3-Winged Monarch Learns To Fly

Monarchs usually have four wings--two on each side--but I found one on a bush at Littlebrook Elementary a couple days ago that had only three. That explained why it didn't fly away when I approached. When I presented it with my finger, it crawled on, and I noticed it had only four legs, instead of the usual six.

It looked freshly born out of its chrysalis, undamaged other than by a quirk of genetic fate. I showed it to some kids on the playground, and then called my daughter and her friend over to have a look. They adopted it instantly, and took it home, naming it "Buggie". That afternoon, during a playdate, they reportedly taught Buggie to fly by dropping it from a treehouse, and also discovered that it would follow orders. Clearly, a highly intelligent little butterfly!

Overnight, it stayed outside in a terrarium, with a squished tomato for food. The next day, it traveled back to school for show and tell in a 4th grade classroom. My daughter, though, arrived home with a sad face. After school, while they were on the playground, Buggie flew up and kept right on going, despite having only three of its four wings. Monarchs, which fly all the way to Mexico for the winter, are notoriously strong flyers, but no one had expected three-winged Buggie to soar off into the wild blue yonder.

I tried to console my daughter, who in her grief wanted to go to Petco to buy another pet. We finally headed out in search of a monarch egg or larva in various patches of milkweed I know about, but found nothing. I told her that she and her friend had done well, had fed Buggie and taught it to fly, and that now it was where it is supposed to be, with others of its kind, flying strong and far.

She wasn't quite ready to feel good about this.

Monarchs Arriving in the Mountains of Central Mexico

I'd like to think that this monarch, which visited our backyard garden in Princeton, NJ on September 20 to feed on some ironweed nectar, is arriving today at its overwintering site in the mountains of Michoacan, north and east of Mexico City. The red triangle at the bottom of this map shows their destination. It's quite a feat for them to zero in on the tiny spot on the earth whose microclimate cradles them through another winter. The last leg of their journey, buoyed by favorable winds and guided by the mountains, is described here.

Another site offers insights into their arrival's cultural significance:

"Every year, the first monarchs traditionally arrive at their winter home in Mexico by the first of November. People connect the arrival of the monarchs with two events that take place in Mexico at the time, the corn harvest and Dia de los Muertos."

Be well, monarch. May your children's children visit us next year.

Monarch Status and Glyphosate, Part 2

As mentioned in a previous post on this year's monarch migration down to Mexico, the weekly migration updates on the Journey North website stopped abruptly on November 11, with the main mass of monarchs still not having arrived in the mountain groves. No more news? What happened? Did the monarchs ever arrive? I emailed the website on Nov. 28, and got a same-day response from an Elizabeth Howard, with this good news:

"We're been waiting for news that the mass arrival has occurred--and just received word yesterday (that it happened the day before). We will be updating the sites soon-- maybe before Monday."

Great, the monarchs arrived, though nearly four weeks later than usual, and I'll feel better when their website is actually updated.

Another communication received, far less friendly, was an anonymous comment concerning the use of the herbicide glyphosate in habitat restoration. Part of the fallout from the massive use of glyphosate on genetically modified "Roundup-Ready" crops has been the demonization of glyphosate and everyone who uses it. The targets of criticism, in some people's minds, should include not only Monsanto and farmers, but also managers of nature preserves who may put a dab of glyphosate on the stumps of invasive shrubs so they don't grow back. Sure, I wrote, in what I thought to be a fairly insightful post, lets rail against the massive use of glyphosate on more than 100 million acres of farmland that once offered monarchs enough scattered milkweeds to prosper. But it's the massive use, not the chemical itself, that is the problem.

Antibiotics provide an analogous situation. Their power can be wisely used in medicine, or abused when indiscriminately given to animals in their feed. It would be unfair to vilify a doctor's careful prescribing of antibiotics because of industrial agriculture's wild excess. And the vilification of preserve managers, who use micro amounts of highly targeted herbicides in their work, is similarly unfair.

Personally, I haven't used herbicides of any kind in years, but any serious attempt to restore balance to a forest, to take on a monstrous, smothering stand of wisteria or thousands of winged euonymus and honeysuckle choking a hillside, will necessarily require some use of herbicide, well-timed and minimally applied.

If the anonymous commenter or anyone else would like to send an email, with name attached, I'd be glad to correspond on this subject. Maybe we can learn something from each other. In the meantime, a hope that the monarchs did in fact arrive and will be safe through the winter.

Wildflowers vs. Mowed Turf in Smoyer Park

There's a theme emerging in Princeton's parks, schoolyards and other public properties: How to sustain wildflower plantings in landscapes dominated by mowers? The bulldozing of the raingarden at the Housing Authority's Spruce Circle on Harrison Street was the most dramatic example of an ongoing struggle.

For instance, a friend contacted me earlier this week, upset about wildflowers that were mowed down next to the pond in Smoyer Park. They had been allowed to grow all summer, then suddenly got mowed about a week ago.

Town staff emailed her to explain that state regs force them to mow. 

• N.J.A.C. 7:20 Dam Safety Standards the dam must be regularly maintained and woody vegetation (trees) cannot be allowed to establish on the upstream or downstream faces of the dam. 
• Additionally, in accordance with the State-required Operation and Maintenance Manual for this Dam, the upstream and downstream sides of the dam shall be mowed monthly between April and October. This is to ensure that woody vegetation does not get established, but also allows us (the Dam Managers) to visually observe erosion, damp or soggy surface, settlement, cracks, animal burrows, debris, groundwater seepage, or other unsafe or unusual conditions.

The park's maintenance was recently switched over to the parks and rec. department, which apparently contracts out for mowing services. The contracted company had not been aware it needed to mow the dam, so had allowed the wildflowers to grow until now--thus the dramatic change in mowing regime. 

The logic of mowing here is questionable. First, there's all the grass clippings that are now rotting in the pond, eating up oxygen in the process. And though monthly mowing allows easier inspection of the dam for erosion, is it really being inspected monthly? This is a big dam on a small pond, built a few years ago to strict specifications. It's hard to imagine that such an impressive edifice could be threatened by a few wildflowers. Is the policy driven by evidence or ideology? Additional areas along the Smoyer Park pond's edge, far from the dam, were mowed as well, probably knocking out swamp milkweed that serves as a food source for monarch butterflies.

A bit of irony, here. Though regulations are aimed at preventing tree growth on the dam, the one tree growing on the dam was left standing by the mowing crews.

If one's worried about erosion, it would be better to mow less often, given that mowed grass has less energy to sustain a healthy root system. I had never seen the old dam at Mountain Lakes Preserve get mowed, and yet it remained intact for 100 years while holding back far more water than can be found in the little pond at Smoyer Park.

It's common, of course, for one government agency to promote its mission to the max (in this case, dam safety) at the expense of another, e.g. habitat enhancement and beautification. Another example of this, found not at Smoyer Park but along the natural gas pipeline, is described in a previous post about the planting of a highly invasive exotic called Chinese bushclover in the name of erosion control.

Meanwhile, riding home from Smoyer Park, I stopped by Little Brook Elementary to see how the nature trail is doing there. It's a wonderful trail through the woodlot where a tributary of Harry's Brook flows through the school's property.

While Smoyer Park is arguably getting more mowing than it needs, the trail at Little Brook Elementary has become overgrown for lack of attention during the summer. This isn't surprising during the summer when the school is closed, but even during the school year, its care remains uncertain.

Even though it is used for educational purposes, and the grounds crews can sometimes find time to do some clearing, maintenance is largely dependent on new parent volunteers coming forward each fall. I know, because I was one of the parents while my daughter was at Little Brook. 

There are, then, multiple factors working against the survival of wildflowers in the town landscape: policies biased towards turf, miscommunication, habit, the lack of plant knowledge and awareness among those delegated to maintain plants, and the built-in uncertainties of volunteer initiative.

Consider that, as Princeton goes, so goes much of the rest of the country, and it's small wonder that people are unlikely to encounter the beauty and diversity of native plants in their daily lives, and that pollinators like the Monarch are struggling.

Monarch Meadow and Mating Mantises

Each fall, I help a Princeton homeowner weed her marvelous meadow. It's light work because in past years we nipped a couple invasions in the bud, pulling out small patches of mugwort and Chinese bushclover--species that have taken over long stretches of the gas line right of way nearby--and bagging up the seedheads to prevent spread. We found only a few individual plants this year. I recommended removing some Queen Anne's Lace as well, a lovely flower that, alas, I've seen take over fields in the midwest, where it's more established.

Interestingly, what's causing some imbalance in the meadow are some of the native goldenrods, whose advance across the whole field is cutting back on populations of other wildflowers. This is a common shift in meadows. Many native goldenrods spread via rhizomes--roots that spread laterally and sprout new plants, creating expanding clones. I sought advice on the internet for how to bring the goldenrod back into balance with all the other desired meadow species. Midseason prescribed burns? Spot spraying with herbicide? Pulling individual plants? The online search yielded no clear solutions.

We watched a monarch sampling the meadow's millions of flowers, and then my eye caught something else entirely, a pair of praying mantises preparing to mate.

The male, smaller, clung tightly to the female's back. Weeding gave way to nature study, mixed with voyeurism.

A wasp had been visiting a flower just above them. The next thing we knew, the female was clutching the wasp in her claws and chowing down as if the wasp were a shish kebob or an ear of corn. This casual and timely catch of dinner in the midst of procreation, as we learned later, was really good news for the male.

Nice of them to show us their business ends--male on the right. Had a hard time later on finding any nomenclature or function for the antenna-like structures at the posterior end of both male and female.

Several times, the male curved its abdomen over and under the wings of the female. This capacity to bend around may have something to do with the male's greater number of abdominal segments (8 vs. 6), which along with overall size is useful for distinguishing one from the other.

My friend said she'd read that the females have a habit of eating the males after mating. For some reason, I found this disturbing. Is evolution trending in this direction? All the more reason for the male mantis to think twice about breaking out a cigarette.

There are in fact, for your viewing pleasure, videos that capture this charming behavioral trait, and explain that the female is merely reaching for the nearest high-protein meal she can find, to nurture the next generation. And what sort of life does the male have to look forward to, with frost quick approaching?

One video shows that the female begins by eating the male's head, suggesting little respect for the male's intellect. The beheading can cause the male to mate all the more ardently, as if knowing this is its last chance. Plants can have a similar response to stress, bearing abundant seed when death seems imminent.

At some point, my friend's dog navigated its way past us, plowing its way through the dense wildflowers. It may have been at this juncture, with the female mantis distracted, that the male got going while the going was good. It flew a short distance away, looking a bit like a helicopter, its long body suspended below four wings catching the bright afternoon sunlight. Cockroaches, a close but less beloved relative of praying mantises, fly in the same manner.

The female, perhaps satiated by the little snack of wasp earlier on, didn't react. One bit of advice for any male praying mantises that might be reading: though praying could help, it's best to bring a little snack along for the misses. Small acts of kindness could take the female's mind off of biting your head off. Although, given your imminent demise as winter approaches, giving your body to feed the next generation could improve prospects for your progeny. Tough choice.

Though there are native praying mantises, we mostly encounter the two species introduced from China and Europe. I just hope they stick to wasps, and each other, and don't include monarchs in their diet. A quick googling brings up this post, which suggests that we may want to reassess our view of praying mantises as an unalloyed good.

(Track the Monarchs' progress towards Mexico at this link.)

A Stream of Summer Flowers

A trumpet vine flower looks giant with Veblen House as a backdrop. It was a pretty sight to see a hummingbird visiting one.

Culver's Root draws clouds of pollinators of varied sizes.

A week or two before, the Culver's Root took on an upside down chandelier look during a brief drought.

Tiger lilies are an asian species found along Princeton's streets this time of year. A couple native species survive in the wild in our area, though nowhere in Princeton to my knowledge.

Here's a contrast between the native black-eyed susan

and a bred variety that puts on a big show but doesn't seem to attract pollinators.

Cutleaf coneflowers are almost as pretty in their bud stage

as when they open up.

The first of what will likely be hundreds of native rose mallow Hibiscus flowers in our garden, freshly opened and freshly chewed upon.

There are a few specimens of storax around, with its pendulant flowers.

One of my earliest interactions with plants was popping the buds of the hostas that lined our patio when I was a kid. If the buds are just at the right stage of development, they make a loud pop when squeezed. This type of hosta isn't very common in gardens now.

Common milkweed outside some classrooms at Littlebrook Elementary provided food for a bumper crop of monarch butterflies last year.

Purple coneflowers bloom for a longer stretch than most other flowers, which makes them so popular in gardens.

Lizard's Tail is a native growing along the shores of Lake Carnegie. It also does well in wet gardens.

Earlier in the summer, the tall meadowrue were attracting colorful hoverflies, which true to their name hover next to a flower before alighting. Send a photo of an insect to BugGuide and someone will quickly identify it for you. In this case, Allograpta obliqua, a common oblique syrphid.

The hoverflies did their job, judging from the abundant meadowrue seeds now forming.

A gathering of bucks grazing in the field at Littlebrook Elementary.