Macro Madness

Still no monarch eggs. But while hunting for eggs, I can sneak up on plenty of other buggy guests in the garden, so I pretend to be a National Geographic photographer--albeit one with an idiot camera and no training, or skill for that matter. I don't mean to insult my camera; I'M the idiot. I didn't even know what the "macro" setting was until last summer. I still don't know what any of the other buttons are for, but all you have to do for macro close-ups is get really really close to something, don't breathe, hold perfectly still, and use psychic mind control to make the thing you're taking a picture of hold perfectly still, too. I can appreciate the reluctance some people have about getting this personal with a bug. But how else are you going to get a proper look at the glossy sheen on this gorgeous creature?

This ladybug JUST transitioned from pupa to adult. That's
why it's still kind of wet and doesn't have its spots yet.

The ladybug's life cycle has 4 stages, like a butterfly: egg, larva, pupa, adult. You might've seen larvae around and not known what you were looking at. I didn't, till a wild Google chase finally led me to the answer. Aside from caterpillars, I'd always pictured most larvae as being blobby and squishy, like grubs (the larval stage of certain beetles) or maggots (fly larvae). But this barbed, scrappy-looking hooligan looks nothing like a grub. And its racing stripes and thuggish appearance don't exactly call to mind the polka-dotted ladybug it's about to become. 

The larval stage is about a month long. I found lots of
them on our azaleas and crape myrtles.

So this is how they go from brawny brute to fair maiden: in the pupal stage. It's kind of like the phone booth Clark Kent slips into so he can put on his slick Superman suit and fly. You can see some of those leftover bristles where our larva attached itself to the underside of this crape myrtle leaf before pupating. 

If you have nothing better to do in early summer
than go around lifting up every leaf  in your yard
(like I did), you'll probably find some, too.

This is the crispy leftover outer layer, or cuticle, of the pupa. At the butt end you can see where the adult cracked open the cuticle and shimmied out to dry off and then go test its new wings.

If you're a gardener, or even if you're not, you probably know that these guys eat aphids, which are basically ruthless sap vampires hell bent on sucking your plants dry. Even though a lot of ladybugs are actually alien intruders from Asia, it's still nice to have them around if you hate aphids as much as I do. If you're interested in learning more about protecting and restoring our native North American ladybugs, the Lost Ladybug Project has some great content and resources on its Web site.

Oops--this post was meant to be more about the awesomeness of macro photography of bugs, not so much the awesomeness of ladybugs. So here's another example of what's revealed to you when you get right up in bugs' faces with your camera lens. I thought I was just taking a picture of a dragonfly....

But upon closer--MUCH closer--inspection, it was actually a dragonfly EATING ANOTHER dragonfly:

See what you're missing if you're not following bugs around your yard with your camera set on macro?!

Waiting for the monarchs

First monarch of the season, slurping on joe pye weed.

We've been waiting and waiting and waiting for the monarchs to show up. Finally we spotted this guy, sipping on the joe pye weed in our backyard--but he's only going to help us indirectly to get what we're after: EGGS. We know he's a male by the pair of dots on his hind wings:

Tell-tale spots on lower (hind) wings.

Don't get me wrong--we greeted him with the kind of frenzied exuberance usually reserved for Justin Bieber or the Pope. But we won't be in business till somebody starts laying some eggs around here. That's because one of our favorite summer projects is raising monarch butterflies, not from a mail-order kit, but from eggs we collect from milkweed plants in our yard. We bring them into our kitchen to protect them from being eaten, or parasitized by certain flies and wasps--common fates for monarchs left to their own devices outside. (Normally I'd say that's just nature's way, so let it be. We step in because monarchs need a boost--see below.) We feed them milkweed leaves till they pupate (i.e. make their jewel-like chrysalis of pearly green flecked with gold), which we let them do pretty much wherever they choose. They've picked some weird places--the ceiling, the coffee maker, the bottom of the cereal cabinet...

And then after a week or so, they emerge, which is a spectacle as close to magic as anything I've ever seen.

Drying its wings, clinging to its now-empty
chrysalis on the wall by the kitchen sink.

Just about everything I know about raising monarchs, I learned from taking a class with one of my favorite grass-roots conservation groups, the Audubon Society of Northern Virginia. Check 'em out, or your own local Audubon chapter--they have lots of cool workshops and field trips to help you discover your friendly neighborhood wildlife. 

I never really understood what John Lennon meant by "instant karma"; it should mean immediate payoff for some good deed. Like THAT ever happens. But I came home from the Audubon monarch workshop and as I opened the door to let my dog out, what to my wondering eyes should appear but my very first monarch, in my very own yard, hovering around the milkweed I'd planted that spring. Like a complete freak, I tore over there and lay down on the ground and watched in a spellbound stupor as this exquisite creature squirted out 33 eggs (yes, I counted) right there in front of me.

an egg about to hatch...

The reason learning to raise monarchs qualifies as a "good deed" is that monarch populations are declining, and regular people like you and me (I almost said normal but I'm not sure *I* qualify) can do our small part to  give them a boost. For one thing, the oyamel fir forests where monarchs spend the winter are Mexico's most endangered forest type; only 2% of their original cover remains. But that's just part of the story. Monarch butterflies only lay eggs on milkweed, and monarch caterpillars only eat milkweed. And milkweed is disappearing because of herbicide use in agricultural areas, suburban sprawl, and other factors. People don't tend to think of it as a gardening gem--but look! It IS!

This is swamp milkweed.
Butterfly weed  is a more common species;
you can get seeds at Lowes or Home Depot.

So do the monarchs a favor and plant some milkweed in your yard. And then wait for the fun to begin. When we finally have eggs, I'll have more to say. I'm looking forward to more of THIS!

Just emerged--and some still chillin' in their chrysalises...

Getting up the nerve to fly away to Mexico.