A recent activity at my house is monarch caterpillar hunting. These creatures are easy to identify, if you can find one. If you close your eyes and imagine a caterpillar, chances are that colorful ringed beauty in your mind’s eye is a Monarch caterpillar.
By now you’ve doubtless heard about the decline of the Monarch Butterfly. Populations have dwindled by as much as 90 percent in the last five years, scientists report. This decline has been linked primarily to the disappearance of milkweed from the Midwestern cornbelt.
To confirm this for yourself, go for a drive (or a walk, run or pedal) on any country road. Notice how those rows of corn are creeping closer to the road? Also, who decided that remaining strip of ditch needed poisoning and mowing? Disappearing fencerows mean less milkweed, which means fewer Monarchs.
On one August caterpillar hunt we did find, after exploring miles of Wisconsin ditches, a couple of Monarch caterpillars. By which I mean two. We checked on them daily.
Caretaker of no domestic pets, I tend to worry about wild creatures. When I couldn’t locate one of the caterpillars on our last trip to the old milkweed patch, my four-year-old daughter Iris noticed my anguish.
“It’s OK, Dad,” she said consolingly. “I think he’s a pupa now.”
Aldo Leopold wrote that, “For one species to mourn the death of another is a new thing under the sun.”
There is a movement afoot to save the Monarch by saving its favorite food. You can learn about it by googling “save our monarchs.” The subsidiary effect of this movement could save a lot of mourning by members of my own species.
I’m Chris Fink, and that’s my perspective.