In late May a friend of mine in Abiquiu told me that he saw at least 10 Monarch butterflies clustered together in one group, a sighting that warmed my heart because the year before I had seen so few.
 
Last year I was fortunate enough to have a milkweed plant seed itself by the casita. When the seeds ripened in the fall I scattered the silky airborne parachutes under the original plant hoping that the milkweed would re –seed. This spring I was rewarded. Three new plants emerged in a place that would be watered as long as we had summer rains. When I left Abiquiu the plants were doing well, but summer would tell the tale…
 
Milkweed is the one plant that Monarchs love and the only plant on which they will lay their eggs. I hoped that a small cluster of these plants might provide sweet nectar that would entice a few more of these butterflies to visit the casita during the summer and during fall migration.
 
It should be mentioned that milkweed also provides an intriguing form of protection for this butterfly. The milkweed juices make the Monarch poisonous to predatory birds. Additionally, the deep orange color of the butterfly alerts predators to the fact that their intended meal might be toxic.
 
Here in Maine I have a field that is covered in milkweed from early July onward. I have raised many Monarchs to adulthood over a period of thirty years because it has been relatively easy to find the eggs which are laid on the underside of the milkweed leaves beginning in late summer. The scent of the flower is, to me, intoxicating, and the clusters of tiny blossoms are so beautiful to look at in their myriad shades of pale pink salmon.
 
Ever since the milkweed started blooming this summer I have been on the lookout for Monarchs. I saw my first butterfly at Popham beach on the coast where Milkweed plants are plentiful growing amidst the sand dunes, and in wild coastal fields. I then glimpsed two around my house this week, and remain hopeful that I will see more…
 
Monarch butterflies are perhaps best known for their migrating habits. No other butterflies migrate as far; this insect flies up to three thousand miles each year. Millions of these butterflies will fly from Canada to Mexico this fall.  (Oddly though, populations in Florida apparetnly don’t travel).
 
More astonishing this entire trip will take four generations to complete. The Monarchs begin their southern migration September to October. Eastern and northeastern populations, originating in southern Canada and the United States, travel to overwintering sites in central Mexico. They arrive at their roosting sites in November. When the butterflies reach their destination in Mexico they return to the same trees that their forbearers did sometimes roosting deep in the forest. They remain in their roosts during the winter months and then begin their northern migration in March. No individual butterfly completes the entire round trip. Female monarchs lay eggs for a subsequent generation during the northward migration. Four generations are involved in the annual cycle.
 
Western populations, which would include the Monarchs in New Mexico, follow a similar pattern migrating annually from regions west of the Rocky Mountains to overwintering sites on the coast of California.
 
Many folks know that the Monarch butterfly population has dropped 90 percent over the past 20 years (Center for Biological Diversity). The species has become ‘functionally extinct’, meaning that the numbers are so low now that the Monarchs have little hope of long-term survival. Scientists look to monarchs and other butterflies as indicators of environmental health, since they are easily affected by air and water pollution, severe weather, pesticides, the presence of other toxins and, of course, Climate Change. It breaks my heart to acknowledge that most folks have not paid attention to the decline of these beautiful insects. Globally we are paying a huge price for our blindness and indifference.

When it comes to Monarchs the present is what we have, and I encourage anyone that gardens to create a milkweed patch for these wanderers in the hopes that we might extend their collective lifetime a few more years. It’s important to note that milkweed needs adequate water. Refusing to use lethal backyard pesticides and planting milkweed are two things we can do to help these glorious orange insects thrive in the short term. 

My friend Iren from Abiquiu just wrote me that on the full moon some fireflies were lighting up the night down by the river’s edge. I was so happy to hear that news because last summer those diminutive lanterns were absent around the casita even though it is situated close to the river.
 
In my Maine backyard this summer some green and gold lights continue to flash their signals just before dark lasting into the night. I find myself looking for patterns, and counting firefly numbers obsessively, almost against my will, remembering what was…
 
When I first moved to the mountains 30 plus years ago I camped in the field next to the brook and couldn’t fall sleep at night, struck by “lightening bug” wonder. It seemed as if the field itself was on fire with thousands of these magical lights that blinked as they skimmed the tall grasses, glowing like emerald jewels from the ground. When my camp was built it was awash in firefly light, and each year I anxiously awaited magical, mystical summer nights when my nocturnal friends would appear. The first evening or so after they arrived, I couldn’t resist capturing a few to keep in a ventilated jar overnight, just as I had done as a child.
 
When it started I thought it was my imagination. Maybe it was a bad year for fireflies I rationalized, the first summer I noted the absence of an abundance of lights hovering over the field. But I was wrong. Year after year, journal entries confirmed my worst fears. The fireflies were disappearing and there was nothing I could do about it.
 
Even now that I know that our insects are experiencing a holocaust there is a child in me that cannot accept that fireflies are leaving us and that its just a matter of time before these insects disappear for good. I recently read that tourists flock to places where (synchronized) fireflies are still abundant.
 
The grief I feel is visceral.
 
Fireflies are winged beetles. When a chemical called luciferin inside their abdomen/tail combines with oxygen, calcium and adenosine triphosphate, a chemical reaction occurs that results in bioluminescence. This ‘cool’ light is the most efficient in the world because almost 100 percent of the energy used is emitted as light and not heat.
 
A similar group of organisms are glowworms. The term “glowworm” can refer to firefly larva or wingless adult female fireflies—some of which are not in the firefly family Lampyridae. Both glowworms and fireflies are bioluminescent.
 
Each species uses it own pattern of lightening flashes to attract a mate, and most fascinating is that some fireflies synchronize their yellow, pale red, green, or orange lights. Several studies have shown that female fireflies choose mates depending upon specific male flash pattern characteristics. Higher male flash rates, as well as increased flash intensity, have been shown to be more attractive to females in two different firefly species.
 
Many would-be predators are repelled by firefly blood that contains defensive steroids, which apparently taste awful!
 
Some firefly larvae can emit light from underground, and in some species the eggs glow.  The underground-dwelling larvae of the lightning bug are carnivorous and feast on slimy slugs, worms and snails. Others live in the water, have gills and eat aquatic snails before coming ashore. Most adult fireflies feast on pollen and nectar.
 
Three main factors for firefly disappearance are habitat loss (when fields are paved over fireflies don’t migrate; they simply disappear – this fact may suggest that these insects may be tied to a particular place), logging, toxic chemicals like DEET (which tend to linger in aquatic environments where many fireflies start their lives), and light pollution.
 
Most species of fireflies thrive as larvae in rotting wood and forest litter at the margins of ponds and streams. And as they grow, they more or less stay where they were born. Some species are more aquatic than others, and a few are found in more arid areas—but most are found in fields, forests and marshes. Their environment of choice is warm, humid and near standing water of some kind—ponds, streams and rivers, or even shallow depressions that retain water longer than the surrounding ground.

As previously mentioned both male and female fireflies use their flashing lights to communicate. All species speak a language of light.

Human induced artificial light pollution (including those ‘cute’ little solar lights) may interrupt firefly flash patterns. Scientists have observed that synchronous fireflies get out of synch for a few minutes after a car’s headlights pass. Light from homes, cars, stores, and streetlights may make it difficult for fireflies to signal each other during mating—meaning fewer firefly larvae are born next season. Where fireflies once had uninterrupted forests and fields to live and mate, homes with landscaped lawns and lots of exterior lights (that some people leave on all night) are now the norm.

I find it distressing that so many folks are obsessed with the idea of ‘light’ in all its manifestations and yet we are losing the very creatures who actually speak the language made of light.
 

Last year I wrote about the giant Western toad that appeared in my garden in Abiquiu last August. Without sufficient summer rains to create pools of standing water I believed that this toad couldn’t have bred. I guessed by her size that she was a female.
 
I watched her bury herself in the ground in earth that stayed moist. She stayed around for about a month, submerging herself during the day, setting off to hunt each hot night. I was so thrilled to have her that I was determined to build a permanent toad pond this spring to entice any amphibians in the area to move in – including that giant toad, if she returned.
 
When I researched Western toads I learned that because of agricultural practices/engineering/river damming Western toads were considered “functionally extinct.” This phrase means that although there are still pockets of these terrestrial amphibians left, their numbers are so low that the species has no hope of long-term survival. This grim fact made me even more determined to create a home for toads.
 
This spring with the help of my friend Andrew we sunk a wooden barrel in the ground and surrounded it with hand picked stones. It was Andrew’s idea to create a channel from the roof to the pond, so that every time it rained the little pond would fill with clear water. After we completed this project I was excited to see how efficiently it worked. Even morning dew from the roof found its way to the pond, and a light rain kept the water clear without flooding. There is something that is incredibly satisfying about putting every drop of water to good use in the desert!
 
Now I needed some amphibians. I thought I would start with frogs. One tree frog serenaded me from the next field for a month, but even with adequate rain the spring cacophony of frog song was absent, so no breeding occurred.
 
Andrew and I waded around looking for frogs eggs in some other wet places without success, and I reluctantly returned to Maine thinking my little pond would remain empty all summer because there just weren’t enough amphibians in the area to populate it…
 
Here I have a number of Eastern toads living around the house. Although their numbers have also plummeted, for the moment the species is still extant, and the sounds of toad trilling sweeten each night. About a month ago I gathered some “toad-poles” down by the lake, gathered some in a pail and brought them to the house to put in a vernal pool that I had dug many years ago. It is situated next to the brook over a small seeping spring and I have raised thousands of toads and frogs over the years. It is immensely satisfying to know that although I can’t do anything to save a whole species, at least for the moment, I have a thriving population. I just wished that I could spirit some toad-poles to that small oasis in Abiquiu…
 
Imagine my joy last week when Andrew emailed me with the news that after the first good rain in July, he noticed two toads clasped together in his home dug pool and heard them calling. The following morning he discovered strings of toad eggs attached to underwater vegetation!
 
I already knew the story about how his toads came to him. One spring he noticed that there were tadpoles in standing water that was drying up on his property. He transported buckets of the wiggling amphibians to one pool that he kept full of water to save them from being fried by the sun. From then on Andrew had toads. In fact, I met one early this spring.
 
“Please, oh please, take some eggs to my pond,” I begged. And he did!
 
As of this writing all I know is that his eggs hatched almost immediately, I think in about three days.
 
The latest update from Andrew is that he thinks the birds ate his tadpoles and maybe mine too. Oh dear.  However, even if the birds got all the tadpoles perhaps a good monsoon rain will bring the adults out to mate again.
 
I remain hopeful that by the time I return to Abiquiu, I  will have a few nubbly brown croaking bug catchers hopping through the scrub around my pond.