Regal Wings

(Written in October 2006)

There is a wondrous show taking place all around us on these late fall days, though we humans are often oblivious to being surrounded by such a magnificent stage. I have caught glimpses of the performers in many places. One flits over a stoplight at a busy intersection; another visits the bold yellow sunflowers basking in the afternoon sun of my garden. Still more drift through the busy parking lots of shopping centers, or pause to rest in trees along the sides of the highway. Some have a solo role and some act en masse. Their costumes are spectacular, self-made in an arduous process requiring weeks of preparation and patience. The silky fabric of their gowns glows in rich shades of pumpkin, gold and ebony. The sculpted sleeves are lined with tiny pearl beads that glisten like moonlight on water. These are dangerous parts to play for such fragile beings, but play them they must, for they know no other life but the great earthly stage. They will be assaulted by cold temperatures, predators, cars, and countless unknown perils, yet still they are consummate actors in this cosmic show. They will finish the production or die trying.

The players in this pageant are Monarch butterflies on their fall migration. Monarchs born in the late summer will outlive their spring counterparts by up to eight months, allowing them to make the great trek from North America to a dozen isolated and rare fir forests on the mountaintops just west of Mexico City. In this unique place, they will cluster in groups numbering in the hundreds or even thousands, and they will remain inactive until it is time to gather nectar and reproduce in the spring. These delicate faeries will never again see their birthplace. The adult Monarchs will usher in the children of the next generation only to send them northward on an ancestral road that leads to an endless cycle of death and rebirth.   

Another flash of color appears in the corner of my eye. This gentle little soul seems to float aimlessly past my car window, but I know it has a weighty purpose to its journey. To us, it may look like butterflies flitter and dance on rambling paths that have no direction. But like most arduous, life-changing expeditions, their courses are not straight; there are many twists, turns and stops along the way.  I wish I could know all of these winged thespians by name. I want to know what they see and feel as they take their place in a long line of actors in this natural drama. What is it like to undergo no less than four complete physical metamorphoses in the course of a short life, changing from egg to larva to pupa to full-fledged butterfly? How do I find my way thousands of miles to a place I have never been without a compass? Will I arrive to meet my brethren and continue the circle of life, or will I meet my end in the middle of a night with an unexpected frost, or lie broken-winged on the asphalt? Would I know and understand that I was born only to grow, transform, and die?

We humans, like all other animals and plants, also follow the butterfly way. We transform many times in our lives, both physically and emotionally. We come into this world and become part of a cycle that leads to our demise. It is strange to think that we are growing towards dying; these two processes seem opposed to one another. I wonder if the butterfly thinks about its purpose in life like we do. I wonder if the butterfly knows it is on a one-way course and feels despair. Perhaps the Monarch lives only for the journey, making the most of every stop on the path. She visits every flower to gather all the nectar she can; she flies when the temperature is right because tomorrow may bring a freeze. She accepts the seasons in life which call her to change, knowing that there is no other choice. Her only goal is to live for the purpose of living.

I watch the butterfly by my window fly off above a rooftop and out of sight. Sadness washes over me as I realize I will never see her again. She was like a flash of early morning sunshine through the trees – breathtakingly beautiful and fleeting. I wish I could know if this one would make the trip alone or would find companions on her adventure south. In my imagination, my winged friend safely arrives at her destination amidst a cloud of her relatives and friends. I thank her for visiting me and wish her well. I think she wished me the same.

© 2006 Olivia Herbert. All rights reserved. 

Clean-up crew

My rosemary plant from two years ago died and dried out but I just got around to tossing it in the compost pile. After two years of growing in the house, the roots of the plant had firmly adhered to the inside of its pot. Not feeling like scrubbing it out at that moment, I set the pot on the back steps hoping the rain would do some of the cleaning for me. While sitting at the computer one day, back door open, I heard a strange ceramic clinking sound coming from outside. I was surprised to see this chipmunk earnestly chewing away all the rosemary roots from inside the container. Nature's clean-up crew had arrived! Who knew this cute, efficient, (and sometimes destructive!), little furry creature loved rosemary so much?

Thanks for the help, now please stop eating my strawberries!!

Some days...

...it's all about the visuals. I can understand the attraction of the "Wordless Wednesday" feature that has become so popular around the internet. By the middle of the week you get tired and you decide to let pictures do the talking. While not an official Wordless Wednesday post (being a wordy person I can't go without saying something about each photo), this is a close approximation.

Please enjoy a quick peek at what's happening in the garden today.


I never realized how delicate and lovely a chive flower was until I accidentally broke one off and brought it inside to beautify my windowsill.

The sage bed that started as a few seed-grown plants two years ago has exploded into a hedge of flowers and a paradise for bees of all kinds.


A friend gave me a sad little cutting of comfrey a couple of summers past. Her husband was going to kill it because it wandered into the lawn, but she rescued it and gave it to me. I wondered if the poor thing would survive. Guess it did because now it's four feet tall!

Comfrey flowers in variegated shades of purple create a haven for bees. Besides being an amazing herb for healing skin wounds and mending broken bones, comfrey also has beneficial qualities as a garden fertilizer when used either as a green manure (mulch), or stewed into a liquid amendment. For more about how to use comfrey to nourish your garden, see this article.

I looked out my kitchen window to see this female wild turkey perched on top of our garden arbor. Below, at the bird feeders, was the male who made the daily visit with her. After a few minutes, he wandered off towards the edge of the woods and gobbled persistently for her to follow. The female seemed to be ignoring him as she remained on the arbor, surveying the landscape. Eventually the male gave up and returned to the feeder to wait for her, at which time the female hopped down and enjoyed her afternoon meal.


Who are you calling a TURKEY?


Remember those little seedlings I showed you on April 23? They are all grown up and getting used to being outside prior to transplanting this weekend. Wish them luck.


Little drops of water pooled in the leaves of a lupine plant become exquisite jewels. I was taken aback at how much it looked like crystal beads had been attached to the plant as if by the hand of a magical garden sprite.


Have a gem of a Thursday!

Moody Tuesday Musings

I took a little walk around the front yard yesterday with my camera to see what was popping up in the garden beds nearest the house. Watching nature always reminds me that life is filled with change and that things are often not as I expect (or want) them to be. I may plant that flower over there to the right, under the holly bush, but it comes up next year on the left, by the front steps. That herb that I planted two years ago that looked quite dead the second year, suddenly appears, full of life, in the third season. Yet, something that was robust last year at this time hasn't even poked a single leaf out of the ground this spring. Unwanted weeds will grow much better than any cultivated plant. Does this mean if I choose to grow weeds that they won't flourish? (Hmm, perhaps a good theory to test!)

Change is nature's way of keeping me on my toes. Nature is a source of infinite fascination because I never know what I might see at any time, day or night. Just when I think I know what birds I'll see in a certain area, some unusual avian delight flutters in - just for a moment. Better keep my eyes, ears, and heart open or I might miss that once-in-a-lifetime message from the Universe that conveys the meaning-of-it-all.

Ok, perhaps I am exaggerating just a little! Or maybe not. That is the point. You never know what unique insight might be standing there, three feet from your back door unless you venture outside on occasion, outside the ordinary, outside the routine. Look to your left instead of to your usual right when you glance out the window. Take a walk on the wild side today and get outside yourself. That is, stroll through nature's ever-changing scene and see if anything is blooming in a place you wouldn't expect it to be. Let me know if you happen to find the answer to the "meaning-of-it all" question while you are out there because I can't watch everywhere all at once. We need each other to get a 360 degree view.

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Where did this lovely Lily of the Valley underneath my window come from? I don't remember planting it. I think they were growing wild under a tree next to the house. What magical little creative transplanted it during the night?

These gorgeous, black-purple Johnny Jump-ups jumped up about five feet away from where they were planted last year. One plant decided it liked the shelter of the stone stairs, while the other preferred life in the open, springing up on two sides of a garden fence and in between the walkway and the garden bed. How reflective of the differing personalities of living things; even plants have preferences.

Chocolate mint moves forward with its plot to take over the world...or at least my front garden. Before you get too excited by the word "chocolate," this herb only has a hint of that beloved flavor and is mostly still mint. I also have pineapple, orange, and apple mints, plus spearmint, and peppermint in the back garden. All of them must have been in communication with the chocolate variety in the front yard as they are refusing to stay within the bounds of their allotted territory.

Ever notice that each yard seems to favor one color or another of violet? Some friends of ours only have a white variety, while our previous house only had a medium-dark purple type. This year our yard is inundated by this delicate and delightful pinkish-purple violet. I don't remember there being such a profusion of them in past seasons. I am not sure where they come from, but they are certainly always a cheerful presence in my yard.

This chive plant has had the benefit of a full southern exposure and is already making blooms, whereas its cousin in the north-facing back yard is just now receiving sunlight, so it is still in the small, green stages.

Winter Solstice

Sharing a little poem I wrote for the Winter Solstice in 2006...

Original painting by Matt Armington as inspired by poem. (Thank you Matt!)

Solstice Night

The moonless air is still
and dark.
Shadowless we wait
with eyes skyward
and frozen breath
curling
into the night.

Deep within our souls
we ache
with desire to embark
upon the timeless journey,
of night into day,
transforming
dark into light.

All wings must rest
folded
marking the time
until the heart calls.
Suspended in slumber
awaiting
time for flight.

Crystalline silken threads
spun
on winter dreams
by cryptic mystic spiders
lacing lives and loves
concealing
within a fragile web.

Diamond stars sparkle
escorts
from the shadowed realm
point to awakened roots
taking hold within us,
illuminating
slender slivers of hope.


Copyright Liv Herbert 2006