“Have you noticed the yellow butterflies?” he said.
It was Wade Woods calling, known at Columbus’ Hitching Lot Farmers’ Market as the “blueberry man.”
“You know winter is coming when you see the yellow butterflies; they’re headin’ south,” he said.
I had noticed the yellow butterflies, sulphurs they’re called for their color. They’ve been flitting around the yard. They’re especially attracted to Sam’s watering. The yard is dry and his watering attracts butterflies. Sam broadcast grass seed on dry dirt hoping it would germinate if he watered it enough, even though the seed salesman wasn’t encouraging. All across the wet dirt the yellow butterflies, cloudless sulphurs, soak up minute amounts of water.
The butterflies linger on my damp towel, the one I drape over the porch railing after swimming exercise with Shirley, my former walking, now swimming, partner. Shirley leads swimming exercises at our neighbor’s pool. It’s been a nice break from pounding the pavement in sweltering temperatures. Prairie neighbor Eleanor Hairston joined us, though she was reluctant to get in the water. We had to promise that her hair wouldn’t get wet; the next thing we knew Eleanor was modeling six new swimming suits.
On Sunday afternoon I walked in the garden amid the blooming cosmos standing a full six feet tall. There were Prairie petunias with their blue flowers displayed only for a day, the cascading fuchsia petunias having recently revived, blue salvia, and a few remaining zinnia blooms.
Between the cosmos and the Prairie petunias, I was surrounded by a cloud of butterflies. The sulphurs fluttered all around and there, on a tall cosmos, was a tiger swallowtail. Earlier, low to the ground, I had seen a skipper. I would not have known the skipper had Dianne Paterson not introduced me. I thought they were moths due to their fuzziness but no, they’re butterflies. They are so small one might fail to notice them at all. I think perhaps I’ve seen a “blue,” but I can’t be sure.
Some butterflies are fueling up to travel further south. The sulphurs definitely have a migration, though not as well-known as the monarch’s Mexico migration. The monarchs all leave at one time whereas the sulphurs meander south. I’ve read that some yellow butterflies are remaining behind hoping to survive warmer winters and expand their habitat. but when the temperatures dip to 20, they won’t survive.
It is the adult butterfly that migrates south. Then in the spring the adults head back north, stopping anywhere from Mississippi all the way up to Canada. When they return they will lay their eggs and the process begins all over again.
If you find yourself traveling in an east-west direction, keep your eyes peeled for crossing butterflies. Most of the time, though not always, you will see the quite visible yellow sulphur butterflies crossing the road from north to south, and you can be sure you have just witnessed the yellow butterfly migration.
Shannon Rule Bardwell’s column is a regular feature of Monday’s Dispatch. Her e-mail address is [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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