The call of the prairie ditch

The Monarch season begins sometime in June, as a generation of Monarchs arrive in Manitoba from the

Southern states. They have flown 3000 km and arrive here with tattered wings from the rigors of flying

50 kilometers a day. Even so, they are determined to survive. They quickly get to work by laying tiny

white eggs on the leaves of milkweed, the only food source a Monarch caterpillar will eat.

At this time I venture out into the prairie ditches of Manitoba, testing my back and hamstring flexibility by

pouring over milkweed to find the tiniest treasures. Hope in the form of a tiny Monarch egg. While I am

bent over with my face in the “weeds”, I am overcome with scent of wild roses drifting in the air. The air

itself is calm, and I feel the warmth slowly dissipate as the sun sinks in the western sky. I can feel my

excitement as I find more eggs, 1, 2 and before I know it, 30 eggs in my care and many, many more to

find. I wait. 3 days, 4 days, 5 days, and the tiniest creatures emerge from the shell with 1 goal in mind.

Grow.

Over the next days these minuscule beings, will grow by 2000%. Shedding their skin 5 times and eating

so much milkweed leaving me with serious janitorial duties to keep their home clean. Everyday they

need food, so I wander back to the prairie ditch, spotting more eggs, or wild born caterpillars, but I also

notice other creatures I haven't seen before. A beautiful red beetle whose name I do not yet know,

whose feelers look exactly like a Monarch caterpillar poking out from under a delicious milkweed leaf.

I notice there is much about the ditch habitat, plants, flowers, grasses, I don't know the names of. I think

of the Tallgrass prairie as the grasses scratch at my legs and consider that there may need to be some

"new to my yard" native Manitoba plantings in years to come. More habitat for the nearly endangered

Monarch, pollinator and nectar plants, and without a doubt, varieties of milkweed for my Monarch friends.

I know a major change is coming when the biggest fattest caterpillars begin to wander. Higher they go to

the top of the enclosure, spin a sturdy silk pad and hang themself into a J. Within 24 hours the caterpillar

will be gone, and instead a gold rimmed, turquoise green Chrysalis emerges. This miracle of nature, up

close, and visible, connecting me to wonders I could and did not observe before. I share it with friends,

and their children and they too, are amazed. I message my sister who updates me on her Monarch

escapades.

The greatest transformation is yet to come. Within those Chrysalis walls the butterfly forms. A thorax,

an abdomen, a beating heart, proboscis, legs, wings. Time passes and suddenly the Chrysalis grows

dark, with splashes of orange wings shinning through the now clear final skin. The Chrysalis cracks and

out the Monarch emerges, pumping fluid into the wings to enlarge and dry them. 3 hours of rest and after

nearly a month in my care, a butterfly is ready to go. She climbs on my finger, and with a few test flaps

of the wings, she is gone. And off I wander, hearing the call of the prairie ditch to do it all over again.

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