'Tis the time of kings, monarchs, that is #phenology

Until today, we've seen monarch butterflies occasionally, in ones or twos. Today we saw at least a half dozen as we drove home. According to the Journey North web site, monarchs first showed up around here from late May to mid- June. Those were first sightings only. We suspect what we're now seeing is a third generation phase:

The second generation of monarch butterflies is born in May and June, and then the third generation will be born in July and August. These monarch butterflies will go through exactly the same four stage life cycle as the first generation did, dying two to six weeks after it becomes a beautiful monarch butterfly.

monarch butterflies on blazing star

Photo by J. Harrington

Seeing the few early arrivals in May is like seeing the first robin of Spring. Later, watching a multitude of monarchs is comparable to seeing goldfinches flock at the feeders until they disappear for nesting season. Both rarity and abundance have their place. Each brings joy of a different type, but not different degree. The first raises hope, the latter satisfies it, for the nonce.

Canada thistle in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Another sign we're entering the peak of Summer is the wash of lilac shades appearing in roadside verges as thistles come into bloom. Goldfinches, which nest about now, are reported to use plant down, such as thistle, to line their nests.

Finally, for today, time for us to acknowledge, after all the complaining we did last week about the weather, that it has much improved. Today has been a pleasure. We look forward to more of the same this week ahead.

A River

By John Poch

God knows the law of life is death,

and you can feel it in your warbler neck,

your river-quick high stick wrist

at the end of day. But the trophies:

a goldfinch tearing up a pink thistle,

a magpie dipping her wing tips

in a white cloud, an ouzel barreling 

hip-high upstream with a warning.

You wish you had a river. To make

a river, it takes some mountains.

Some rain to watershed. You wish

you had a steady meadow and pink thistles

bobbing at the border for your horizons,

pale robins bouncing their good postures

in the spruce shadows. Instead, the law

of life comes for you like three men 

and a car. In your dreams, you win them over

with your dreams: a goldfinch tearing up 

a pink thistle. A magpie so slow 

she knows how to keep death at bay, 

she takes her time with argument 

and hides her royal blue in black. 

Shy as a blue grouse, nevertheless God

doesn’t forget his green mountains.

You wish you had a river.

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