Michele Kading
5 minute read
Sunday, Jan. 9, 2022
Over the years, I have had several encounters with butterflies that revealed their delicate beauty, adaptability and toughness. My first memorable encounter was while eating a nectarine on the front steps of my house. A butterfly landed on my hand, which was dripping with juice. I watched in fascination as the butterfly’s long tongue unfurled like one of those party toys that you blow into. The butterfly soaked its delicate tongue in juice before curling it back to its mouth. Transfixed by its trust in me, I did not ponder how this fragile creature survives our winters.My second encounter was when I worked at the Nutimik Museum. A movement caught my eye as I swept the front walk on a rainy morning. The wind had blown a large butterfly into a puddle. One wing was trapped by the surface tension. The other was waving in the wind. I placed my finger so it could grab me with its feet and I pulled it off the water. It stayed on my finger long after its wing was dry. I gently moved it onto my name tag on my shirt so I could continue to work. I forgot about it until the first visitors arrived near lunch. One visitor commented on my realistic brooch, reached out a hand, and was surprised when the butterfly moved in alarm. After the visitors left, I stepped outside, thanked the butterfly for its company, and it flew away. Again, I did not think about where this trusting creature would spend the following winter.So, where do butterflies go each winter? Monarch butterflies are renowned for their amazing migration from Manitoba to Mexico, where they winter as adults in mountain forests. But most Manitoba butterflies do not migrate. They must lay eggs or produce caterpillars that can survive our freezing temperatures. One familiar example of this (from a related group) is the tiger moth that overwinters as the woolly bear.One butterfly, the mourning cloak, survives Canada’s frigid winters as an adult. I discovered this in a forest during a February melt. To my surprise, I found a mourning cloak basking in the sun on a rotting log that peeked out from the snow. As the sun sank, the butterfly folded its fragile wings above its body and carefully wiggled its way into an impossibly-narrow crevice in the rotting wood. Butterflies — remarkably delicate and tough. Michele Kading is a community correspondent for St. Vital.
Over the years, I have had several encounters with butterflies that revealed their delicate beauty, adaptability and toughness.
My first memorable encounter was while eating a nectarine on the front steps of my house. A butterfly landed on my hand, which was dripping with juice. I watched in fascination as the butterfly’s long tongue unfurled like one of those party toys that you blow into. The butterfly soaked its delicate tongue in juice before curling it back to its mouth. Transfixed by its trust in me, I did not ponder how this fragile creature survives our winters.
My second encounter was when I worked at the Nutimik Museum. A movement caught my eye as I swept the front walk on a rainy morning. The wind had blown a large butterfly into a puddle. One wing was trapped by the surface tension. The other was waving in the wind. I placed my finger so it could grab me with its feet and I pulled it off the water. It stayed on my finger long after its wing was dry. I gently moved it onto my name tag on my shirt so I could continue to work. I forgot about it until the first visitors arrived near lunch. One visitor commented on my realistic brooch, reached out a hand, and was surprised when the butterfly moved in alarm. After the visitors left, I stepped outside, thanked the butterfly for its company, and it flew away. Again, I did not think about where this trusting creature would spend the following winter.
Read