At least that's how it looks from my vantage point in the milkweed patch. A full week of unseasonably cool and rainy weather drove virtually all the wildlife in my backyard into hiding. I peered from windows, but other than the occasional rainsoaked finch on one of my feeders, there were no signs of fauna to be found. Worrying about the fate of my caterpillars, I pulled on my rain gear and sloshed out into the remnants of Tropical Storm Ernesto to see how they were faring.Much to my surprise, the cats were going about their business, undeterred by the 30 mph wind gusts that were whipping the milkweed stalks around. Raindrops rolled down leaves and left tiny puddles on the ground below, but caterpillars carried on their mission as if it was just another warm summer day. And that mission was clear. Eat and poop. Eat and poop.
These are the final generations of monarchs I'll see this year, as the gradual shortening of days signals the butterflies to begin their journey south. There always seems to be an abundance of caterpillars at the end of summer, despite the quickly dwindling supply of milkweed. I worry the leaves will be devoured too fast, and my trips to run errands become exercises in spotting emergency food supplies along the roadside.
This morning, the sun finally returned and the butterflies followed close behind. Still, my attention was drawn to the largest of caterpillars, who eat with a fervor that suggests they know they are running out of time. I suspect tomorrow many will be gone, having inched their way down bare milkweed stems, over mulch and weeds, and up a tree or downspout. In the morning, I'll search for a suspended cat in telltale "J" form, getting ready to pupate. Most likely all I'll find will be a lot of poop.
These are the final generations of monarchs I'll see this year, as the gradual shortening of days signals the butterflies to begin their journey south. There always seems to be an abundance of caterpillars at the end of summer, despite the quickly dwindling supply of milkweed. I worry the leaves will be devoured too fast, and my trips to run errands become exercises in spotting emergency food supplies along the roadside.
This morning, the sun finally returned and the butterflies followed close behind. Still, my attention was drawn to the largest of caterpillars, who eat with a fervor that suggests they know they are running out of time. I suspect tomorrow many will be gone, having inched their way down bare milkweed stems, over mulch and weeds, and up a tree or downspout. In the morning, I'll search for a suspended cat in telltale "J" form, getting ready to pupate. Most likely all I'll find will be a lot of poop.
