In Abiquiu, late one March morning, one glorious yellow swallowtail visited my narcissus, grape hyacinths and my glowing cactus garden. I watched this one butterfly with deep pleasure mixed with concern remembering years of Tiger Swallowtail abundance. These beautiful insects used to arrive in such numbers….
 
Swallowtails have always been one of my favorite butterflies and over the period of a lifetime I have raised many eggs to the adult stage. Two mornings ago while walking up a woods road here in Maine I was delighted to see 10 swallowtails “puddling” (the most I have seen in years). Puddling occurs when the swallowtails gather together to drink from small oases that are filled with salt deposits, and I have only witnessed this phenomenon in the spring.
 
With the catastrophic decline of all insects, seeing these delicate creatures become more of a gift than ever before.
 
I cannot tell the difference between eastern and western swallowtails but both are found in wooded or riparian areas.
 
The 'tails' and bright blue and red eyespots, that most of the butterflies within this family are adorned with, are a form of 'back to front mimicry' that helps to confuse visual predators. Birds will strike at these eyespots, and often get nothing more than a fragment of wing, leaving the vital parts of the butterfly unscathed.

There are a number of other characteristic traits shared by members of this family. Eggs are dome shaped or smooth and globular, and usually laid singly on the host plant. In the Southwest, cottonwoods, willow, fruit trees and chokecherry are host plants; in the north, poplar, black cherry, hemlock, fruit trees, chokecherry and alders are favorite egg laying spots. In the garden growing anise, parsley, dill, or sweet fennel attracts this butterfly. I noticed the swallowtails loved the wild purple mustard flowers in Abiquiu. Here in Maine I see them on the flowering crabapples and Queen Annes lace (wild carrot). The larvae are smooth skinned, and greenish and eggs are laid underneath the leaves. Early instar larvae often mimic a bird dropping. All possess an organ called an osmeterium that discharges a foul scent that discourages visual predators. 

Another form of protection that all swallowtail larvae use is to simply drop off a plant on a silk cord that these wily insects manufacture themselves to escape predators.

It is estimated that perhaps one in hundreds of eggs laid by each female actually makes it through the four stages to adulthood.

Once hatched the larvae grow rapidly; eating, defecating, and resting in between each molt. The later instar larvae have large inflatable eyespots towards the front end of the body, which supposedly mimic a snake's head, and presumably warn off visual predators. These are gorgeous creatures.

In about three weeks the caterpillars are ready to pupate and spin a chrysalis around themselves. They will remain in the pre-pupa stage for about a day before becoming  swallowtails who rest while drying their wings unless diapause occurs.

Diapause is believed to be a 'risk-spreading' strategy in an environment that may or may not provide enough host plant material for another generation right away. Individuals are mature and ready to breed when optimal conditions exist. 

If you ever find swallowtail eggs (the internet has excellent images for the curious) try to raise them. It is impossible to relate how exciting it is to watch this entire process unfold and I recommend it to anyone as one of Nature’s routine miracles. 

I first fell in love with the fiery red and gold trailing nasturtiums that grew in my grandmother’s garden when I was a small child. I believe it was my mother who first put the flowers in salads making each summer meal a festive event.
 
Both my mother and grandmother were gardeners, so I grew up with plants indoors and out. I participated gathering all kinds of ripe seeds and pods including wrinkled bright green nasturtium seeds that looked to me like tiny human brains that shrunk to half their size as they dried on screens in my grandmother’s attic. Later the seeds were stored in paper bags until spring.
 
The awe that I experienced touching any seed as a child is still with me. That each one carries its own story, its own DNA (protein) signature, and the form the seed will take, is a miracle worth reflecting upon.
 
The first flowers I ever planted were nasturtiums that came from my grandmother’s garden. I prepared little rock crevices that lay against a giant granite boulder on Monhegan Island, my first adult home in Maine. Located 16 miles out to sea, this tiny fishing village was flooded by tourists in the summer. When people walked up from the wharf passing by my house, they often casually plucked the flowers I cared for so tenderly. Putting up a sign made no difference and I was too young to feel tolerance for these interlopers, eventually moving my precious nasturtium patch to another garden behind the house!
 
Although I used the leaves in salads I had a hard time picking the flowers, preferring instead to enjoy the feast by sight.
 
As soon as my two boys were old enough, each summer they bit off the fragrant flames, even as a multitude of bees and hummingbirds vied for sweet nasturtium nectar. Sometimes, when childhood friends came over, my sons would pick and eat a nasturtium creating quite a stir. Other children were amazed. No one ate flowers!
 
My children are long ago grown and gone and I am still planting nasturtiums some fifty years later.
 
Last year, I planted the few seeds that I had brought with me from Maine, here in Abiquiu. I also ordered some from a familiar catalog that specializes in organic and heirloom seeds. I grew my own in a large pot, and planted the others directly into the ground on the east side of the house. The nasturtiums in the pot had yellowing leaves and yet the seeds from both were equally abundant.
 
However, the nasturtiums I planted in the ground held more moisture after watering, providing my house lizards with giant green leaves that both lizards and buds thrived under during the monstrous July afternoon heat. When the vines finally began to trail in early August the plants were festooned with a riot of color, much to my joy and delight. Nasturtiums were still blooming well into November.
 
To this day, I rarely break off and eat a newly blooming flower as sweet as they are to the taste, although I regularly use the pungent peppery leaves in salads.
 
Saving seeds from year to year was simply part of what I did without thinking about it until I began to write and celebrate my own rituals (almost 40 years ago now).  After making that shift I incorporated nasturtium seed gathering as part of my fall equinox thanksgiving celebration. Every year I invoke both my mother and my grandmother in remembrance and gratitude for their legacy – a long and unbroken line of growing these flowers and saving their seeds. Someday, I hope to find someone who will carry on my nasturtium seed story after I am gone.
Both the leaves and petals of nasturtiums are packed with nutrition, containing high levels of vitamin C. Ingesting these plants provides immune system support, tackles sore throats, coughs, and colds, as well as bacterial and fungal infections.

Nasturtiums also contain high amounts of manganese, iron, flavonoids, and beta - carotene.
Studies have shown that the leaves have antibiotic properties; they are the most effective before flowering.
 
Nasturtiums are native to South America; they are not an imported species, perhaps lending credibility to the importance of sticking to native plants during this time of Earth’s most difficult transition. They are known as a companion plant. For example, nasturtiums grow well with tomato plants. In addition, they act as a natural bug repellent so I always have small patches of them growing around my vegetable garden. Aphids are especially attracted to them leaving more vulnerable plants alone. Rabbits and other creatures aren’t tempted to eat their leaves or flowers because of their sharp flavor, yet these trailing vines attract many pollinators. Bees of all kinds love them. Although nasturtiums are frost sensitive, I note that even after germination the little green shoots with hats simply hug the ground if the weather turns inclement. Unless the temperature dips below the mid 20’s nasturtiums always bounce back. In fact even a hard frost won’t take all the adult plants at once because their vining habit protects some of the seeds and some flowers. I always end up pulling the vines and the very last flowers before all are withered (this is when I consume the flowers after picking a small bouquet for the house). For all the above reasons I think these tough and tender vining plants have a good chance of surviving in the face of Climate Change.