I was surprised it hatched at all.
I had my eye on a certain chrysalis for a while. Its light-green color was stippled with black cracks.
In case you're a new reader, I raise monarchs outside in a mesh butterfly house. A chrysalis is similar to a cocoon. You can read more about my experience here.
When the butterfly finally hatched on Saturday, the upper section of its right wing was inside-out. It had folded in on itself but was still attached to its body.
This monarch will never fly.
I'd never been responsible for a broken-winged butterfly before.
File this in the there-are-no-coincidences category. Around the time my broken-winged butterfly was born, I was at the beginning of Jane Fonda's memoir, "My Life So Far."
Jane's mother collected butterflies. She would catch a butterfly in her net and then coax it into a jar. The butterfly would flap and flail until she dropped a cotton ball soaked in ether inside. After the butterfly died, she'd pin it on a bulletin board to add to her collection.
Entomologists use this method to study bugs, too. They call them "killing jars."
Minka the Monarch would not know from killing jars.
Yes, I named my monarch. Minka is a Polish name that means strong-willed warrior.
I never considered killing Minka. When I googled "broken-wing butterfly," ways to euthanize sick monarchs popped up.
Yikes. I hadn't considered that option.
The optimal method is to place the butterfly with its wings closed inside an envelope. Place the envelope in the freezer.
Death comes in 10-15 minutes.
Major world religions teach that death isn't the end. So does yoga. Yet, I couldn't hasten it for Minka via my freezer or a killing jar.
Monarchs only live two weeks, except for the last generation of the season, who live up to nine months. The final group has an extended life span, so they can make a round trip to Mexico and back.
Our Minka isn't ever going to see Mexico.
But she could experience my garden for just a little while. Two butterfly bushes and plentiful milkweed plants grow in my front yard. There she would have options.
I transported her to a juicy purple blossom in front of my house. Later in the day, I found her below in some dried-up yarrow, attempting to sip from dead flowers, so I placed her back on the butterfly bush.
On day three, I found her traversing the rocks in front of the butterfly bush. Her orange and black colors were stark against the white of the rocks.
Where are you going, Minka?
I returned her to a blossom-laden branch that would keep her alive.
In the afternoon, she was, lounging on a vast peony leaf.
In the next few days, I found her in different spots but never where I left her.
Tuesday, the wind was strong. Miraculously, Minka hung onto her peony leaf.
On Wednesday, it poured. Minka roosted in the shelter of the same protective leaf.
I resigned to stop interfering. Minka was living the best way she could without the ability to fly in her natural habit. She couldn’t win many battles, especially against the weather.
By Thursday, it had stopped raining. I couldn't find her anywhere.
British polymath Herbert Spencer coined the phrase, “Survival of the fittest.” If you don’t think too hard, it makes sense.
I question these words and much of the old wisdom handed down through the ages.
Who is fit to survive in this world?
Not babies, children, the elderly, or people who aren’t born with full mental and physical capabilities. Certainly not those living in poverty or war.
If we continue to poison Mother Earth, none of us will be in the fittest category.
But, we do have something going for us.
Humans have intelligence and empathy. When man or nature deals out a cruel hand, we can help. We have the ability to change and help the earth heal.
Minka didn’t die in a jar or the freezer. Ultimately, nature delivered her fate as it will inevitably give us ours.
How can we help Mother Nature with some wisdom and positive action?
Let me know how you’re helping the earth and its inhabitants in the comments.
Stay kind, friend!
Online yoga classes start next month. Click here for the details.