OpEdNews » Death of a Monarch

Tags for This Article:

Populum Tag Cloud Control Panel
	Fine tune your search to access content

Articles	Links
Diaries	Products
Events	All

All time
Last 6 mos
Last month
Last week
Last 24 hrs

From:
Month Day Year

To:
Month Day Year

Alphabet Popularity	Count ON Count OFF
This Level	Sub-levels

Tag(s): Birds; California; Death; Dreams; Hope Hopefulness; Love; Maine; Mexico; Migration; Science-Nature; (more...) Spirit; Survival; Time; Wildlife (less...)
Add to My Group

June 20, 2008 at 14:47:50

Headlined on 6/20/08:
Death of a Monarch

by Jan Baumgartner Page 1 of 2 page(s)

www.opednews.com

SAVE FAVORITES

VIEW FAVORITES

View Ratings | Rate It

Not all complete the journey home no matter how valiant the effort.

The monarch (Danaus plexippus) is a milkweed butterfly (subfamily Danainae), in the family Nymphalidae. It is perhaps the best known of all North American butterflies

Monarchs are especially noted for their lengthy annual migration. In North America they make massive southward migrations starting in August until the first frost. A northward migration takes place in the spring. Female Monarchs deposit eggs for the next generation during these migrations.By the end of October, the population of the Rocky Mountains migrates to the sanctuaries of the Mariposa Monarca Biosphere Reserve in the Mexican states of Michoacán and México. The western population overwinters in various sites in central coastal and southern California, United States, notably in Pacific Grove and Santa Cruz.

The length of these journeys exceeds the normal lifespan of most Monarchs, which is less than two months for butterflies born in early summer. The last generation of the summer enters into a non-reproductive phase known as diapause and may live seven months or more.Monarch butterflies are one of the few insects capable of making transatlantic crossings.

In Australia it is also known as the Wanderer Butterfly.*

End of the Journey

When the near weightlessness of a butterfly collides with a fast moving vehicle, the crash and demise is silent.

As the car ahead of me sped forward, I saw the miraculous burst of tawny orange flit into the air with every intention of making it across the road, onward, toward home. After all, it had made it this far, across mountains and deserts and vast plains. It’s feather lightness had survived ravages of wind and hail and predator. If nothing more, these wings carried hope.

I witnessed the fleeting collision, the silent fall like an autumn leaf, the motionless wings in the center of the road. In the blink of an eye, the journey was over.

The seemingly impossible migration of this delicate looking creature who from birth and since time immemorial has followed an ancient path, a migratory route borne of survival, came to an end on a narrow country road in Maine. It had dodged innumerable obstacles in its path, but a fast moving vehicle in the middle of nowhere, between the sea and stands of pine, cut short its flight.

Since the beginning of time, man has looked skyward for answers. We look up at the sun and marvel. We smile at the moon and make promises we hope to keep. We wish on shooting stars and blow dandelion spores into the heavens. We watch in humbled awe the soaring eagle, a ribbon of a thousand migrating geese, a hummingbird hovering in mid-air, a lone raven sweeping across an endless stretch of sky. And so wish we could ride alongside.

We have longed and dreamed of wings. We have the need and longing to know how it feels to fly – to feel weightless – to feel air and clouds beneath us. To let go of the heaviness of burden and pain. Wings and sky, horizon and infinity represent our dreams and our secrets, and our hope. And perhaps that is why the death of any creature with wings is particularly the hardest to fathom. We want to believe that life forms that take flight are immune to hurt and destruction. We need to believe that flight can save from harm. That by the sheer lifting of weight and spirit into the air, we can transport ourselves to any place, near or far, in the safe arms of others, free from harm. Home.

Butterflies, birds and bees don’t take advantage of time. They seem to know that time and love and fate are fleeting and fickle and not ours to keep. We cannot hold onto the intangible.

We misunderstand time. We abuse the moment. We let it slip by without notice. Those that live for a mere eight weeks know the value of the moment. Theirs is not time to waste. Every second is golden.

Timing is Everything. And it is Nothing at all. It is ours, with or without wings, to choose which path to take; which migratory route home.

Some never find their way.

1 | 2

A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internationally, including the NYT, Bangor Daily News, SCOOP New Zealand, Wolf Moon Journal, Media for Freedom Nepal, and Banderas News in Mexico. She's finishing a memoir about her husband's death from ALS and how travels in Africa became one of her greatest sources of inspiration and hope. She is a Managing Editor for OpEdNews.

	Contact Author
	Contact Editor
	View Other Articles by Author

Bookmark this page: (what's this?)

(More...)

15 comments

Georgianne Nienaber is a writer, author, and investigative journalist. She lives in the world. Her articles have appeared in The Huffington Post, SCOOP New Zealand, Glide Magazine, Rwanda's New Times, India's TerraGreen, COA News, ZNET, OpEdNews, The Journal of the International Primate Protection League, Friends of the Congo, Africa Front, The United Nations Publication, A Civil Society Observer, and Zimbabwe's The Daily Mirror. Her fiction exposé of insurance fraud in the horse industry, Horse...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Georgianne NienaberGeorgianne Nienaber is a writer, author, and investigative journalist. She lives in the world. Her articles have appeared in The Huffington Post, SCOOP New Zealand, Glide Magazine, Rwanda's New Times, India's TerraGreen, COA News, ZNET, OpEdNews, The Journal of the International Primate Protection League, Friends of the Congo, Africa Front, The United Nations Publication, A Civil Society Observer, and Zimbabwe's The Daily Mirror. Her fiction exposé of insurance fraud in the horse industry, Horse...

to see more of bio, click on member name

Acadia

This piece reminds me of the Acadian Diaspora. When I am in New Orleans I literally haunt the cemeteries and feel a deep bond with all who rest there.

And if we are so fortunate to find someone who with common heart, wants to fly with us, to join us on this path, to lead us on the migratory journey to a place called home, then we need to part seas or walk on water or crawl on hands and knees to make it there, together.

I am also reminded of my favorite songwriter of late, Caroline Herring, who sings on Wellspring...

"Our plane descends into the desert...and I pretend that I am weightless...I fly away today from my beloved...

This is what good writing does, it reminds one of what brings comfort.

by Georgianne Nienaber (145 articles, 46 quicklinks, 13 diaries, 337 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 3:19:00 PM

In fact

Your last paragraph gives me so much HOPE that I am adding it to my signature

right after Ghandi

If you need to feel hope..please please read Evangeline...

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers --

-20-

Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

by Georgianne Nienaber (145 articles, 46 quicklinks, 13 diaries, 337 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 3:31:29 PM

A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Jan BaumgartnerA native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name

It is one thing

to write about hope. It is another to hold onto it. At this moment, I'm not feeling very hopeful. But it keeps nudging its way back into my life, even though I curse it at times, now. And, it will again. I guess as humans, we have no say in the matter - it's our migratory path.

by Jan Baumgartner (52 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 249 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 3:43:55 PM

Meryl Ann Butler is an artist, author and educator who counts First Lady Dolley Payne Todd Madison as well as two signers of the Articles of Confederation among her ancestors. Mary Ball, mother of George Washington is in the ancestral lineage of Butler's great grandmother, Blanche Ball. Grateful to know that the blood of America's founding mothers and fathers runs in her veins, Butler has been newly filled with matriotism as a direct result of the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections. Lest she a...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Meryl Ann ButlerMeryl Ann Butler is an artist, author and educator who counts First Lady Dolley Payne Todd Madison as well as two signers of the Articles of Confederation among her ancestors. Mary Ball, mother of George Washington is in the ancestral lineage of Butler's great grandmother, Blanche Ball. Grateful to know that the blood of America's founding mothers and fathers runs in her veins, Butler has been newly filled with matriotism as a direct result of the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections. Lest she a...

to see more of bio, click on member name

Breathtaking!

What a delightful piece, thank you! For me, this story is another assurance that it is really all about the journey, and the joy, rather than the destination.

One of my favorite quotes: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. (Hilary Cooper)

And, so, is death the end of a journey? or the beginning? (I think the answer is "yes.").

by Meryl Ann Butler (43 articles, 42 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 345 comments) on Sunday, June 22, 2008 at 12:56:55 AM

Stanimal is ???

I hear cries for freedom elsewhere, while the US becomes less so. I hear support for free markets, then demanding a bailout due to incompetence.
I roll my eyes at those that accuse others being oppressed while the US has and still continues to the same and much worse. Laughing at pinheads who purchase and profit from those they curse.

Every time I return to visit I see a country I no longer recognize. A shredded Constitution, a spineless Congress ...

to see more of bio, click on member name
StanimalStanimal is ???

I hear cries for freedom elsewhere, while the US becomes less so. I hear support for free markets, then demanding a bailout due to incompetence.
I roll my eyes at those that accuse others being oppressed while the US has and still continues to the same and much worse. Laughing at pinheads who purchase and profit from those they curse.

Every time I return to visit I see a country I no longer recognize. A shredded Constitution, a spineless Congress ...

to see more of bio, click on member name

On my bike trip I made

through Mexico 13 years ago, I went through the Michoacan reserve in early February, and the sight of the forest covered in brilliant orange of the multitudes of Monarch butterfly's was a great one to behold.

I read an article earlier this year that the illegal logging of the forest preserve has greatly reduced the areas natural protective shelter for this species. There was a severe late snowstorm and frost that decimated a large portion of the Monarchs that winter there this past Spring.

From the confines of a motor vehicle as is speeds towards its destination, the occupants are oblivious to the wanton destruction the mass of metal wages against the smaller inhabitants of the planet.

Where you witness these masses of death and the remains of former life from the seat of a bicycle, while it too snuffs out the life of insects as the wheels roll over unintended victims that have jumped or crawled into the bike paths trajectory. With little to no time in avoiding these collisions, least yourself become a victim of a larger vehicle's impact.

Tis a shame we all can't just slow down our hectic lifestyle just a bit in order for the other species who we share in inhabiting the planet to have a chance of an extended life as they know it.

by Stanimal (0 articles, 0 quicklinks, 17 diaries, 492 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 4:04:09 PM

A writer is a rogue goose. All other gees fly in a flock formation; every goose knows his place and time for honking. The rogue goose is undisciplined. He leaves the formation indiscriminately to have a look at it from aside. He roams back and forth, takes a peep at the leader, honks a little bit from behind, distracts everyone and writes on what he sees. Time passes and as he wants to return back to his place he discovers someone else there. Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Mark SashineA writer is a rogue goose. All other gees fly in a flock formation; every goose knows his place and time for honking. The rogue goose is undisciplined. He leaves the formation indiscriminately to have a look at it from aside. He roams back and forth, takes a peep at the leader, honks a little bit from behind, distracts everyone and writes on what he sees. Time passes and as he wants to return back to his place he discovers someone else there. Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest...

to see more of bio, click on member name

Ok, here's from me

A writer is a rogue goose. All other gees fly in a flock formation; every goose knows his place and time for honking. The rogue goose is undisciplined. He leaves the formation indiscriminately to have a look at it from aside. He roams back and forth, takes a peep at the leader, honks a little bit from behind, distracts everyone and writes on what he sees. Time passes and as he wants to return back to his place he discovers someone else there. Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest or join another flock in emigration. Those other birds could be cranes, storks or even crows. If he makes it he will become a rogue again. Whenever he goes and whatever he writes he never reaches a destination or enjoys a landing. There’s only Kipling’s God of Fair Beginnings and skies above and beyond. And the only way for a writer to make peace with the Deity is through the language of Poetry

Mark Sashine

by Mark Sashine (51 articles, 19 quicklinks, 244 diaries, 3454 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 4:55:25 PM

A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Jan BaumgartnerA native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name

Mark,

Yes, life as allegory, and your line:

"Thus he either has to wait until they land for rest or join another flock"

You have no idea how this resonates for me at this moment in time. Our mistake in life is often not recognizing when to wait and join in the landing, or when to move on, joining another flock. And in truth, I do enjoy the landing.

by Jan Baumgartner (52 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 249 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 5:19:04 PM

In 2004, Rady Ananda joined the growing community of citizen journalists. Focused mainly on elections, her blogs also address religious, gender, sexual and racial equality, as well as environmental issues; and are sprinkled with book and film reviews on various topics. She spent most of her working life as a legal investigator for private lawyers, and five years as an editor. She currently serves as a senior editor at OpEdNews.

All material offered here is the property of Rady A...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Rady AnandaIn 2004, Rady Ananda joined the growing community of citizen journalists. Focused mainly on elections, her blogs also address religious, gender, sexual and racial equality, as well as environmental issues; and are sprinkled with book and film reviews on various topics. She spent most of her working life as a legal investigator for private lawyers, and five years as an editor. She currently serves as a senior editor at OpEdNews.

All material offered here is the property of Rady A...

to see more of bio, click on member name

What a sad, beautiful piece

I'm so fortunate that after months of trying I landed a job within walking distance... of all the ways we Americans decimate the environment and biodiversity, I have to believe that driving is the worst.

Maybe with these higher gas prices, more people will rethink their commute.

by Rady Ananda (110 articles, 262 quicklinks, 28 diaries, 882 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 5:01:23 PM

Rob Kall is executive editor and publisher of OpEdNews.com, President of Futurehealth, Inc, inventor . He is also published regularly on the Huffingtonpost.com. He is a frequent Speaker on Politics, Impeachment, The art, science and power of story, heroes and the hero's journey, Positive Psychology, Stress, Biofeedback and a wide range of subjects. He is a campaign consultant specializing in tapping the power of stories for issue positioning, stump speeches and debates. He recently retired as o...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Rob KallRob Kall is executive editor and publisher of OpEdNews.com, President of Futurehealth, Inc, inventor . He is also published regularly on the Huffingtonpost.com. He is a frequent Speaker on Politics, Impeachment, The art, science and power of story, heroes and the hero's journey, Positive Psychology, Stress, Biofeedback and a wide range of subjects. He is a campaign consultant specializing in tapping the power of stories for issue positioning, stump speeches and debates. He recently retired as o...

to see more of bio, click on member name

dead bug

A beautiful piece.

Reminds me of how my friend Gary Schwartz described Carla Faye Tucker, the first woman executed in Texas. He said she'd gone from being a disgusting bug to a beautiful butterfly.

Hero's journeys are about opportunities to grow, wake and transform. Many stop short, many take you to a new place where you will encounter new opportuntieis, new calls to adventure. Butterflies start as ugly caterpillars, metamorphosize, then after a short time, die. But oh, the beautiful glory of those short lives. And we, have the ability to find new opportunities for thsi metamorphosis. Remember, you are not finished.

I spoke to a group tonight about the hero's journey and pointed out that it's not all fun. It hurts, there's a lot of shit, you get the crapped kicked out of you... all part of the journey. Hang in there. And then there's Kubler Ross's stages-- which apply to relationships too.

by Rob Kall (808 articles, 3921 quicklinks, 332 diaries, 1703 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 10:44:39 PM

allegory

yeah, I didn't touch on subtle allegory... but it touched me.

by Rady Ananda (110 articles, 262 quicklinks, 28 diaries, 882 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 11:29:03 PM

Muhammad Khurshid, a resident of Bajaur Agency, tribal areas situated on Pak-Afghan border is journalist by profession. He contributes articles and news stories to various online and print newspapers. His subject matter is terrorism. He is also heading Voice For Peace working against terrorism in tribal areas. The aim of the Voice For Peace is restoration of peace in Bajaur Agency, tribal areas and whole world.
Muhammad KhurshidMuhammad Khurshid, a resident of Bajaur Agency, tribal areas situated on Pak-Afghan border is journalist by profession. He contributes articles and news stories to various online and print newspapers. His subject matter is terrorism. He is also heading Voice For Peace working against terrorism in tribal areas. The aim of the Voice For Peace is restoration of peace in Bajaur Agency, tribal areas and whole world.

Excellent

Dear Jan, really it is a good piece of writing. I always find your writing as a fresh air in my life. There is great attraction for readers in your writing. Excellent work. You are a kind-hearted woman and this is the reason that there is great swiftness in your writing. May God the Great bless you.

by Muhammad Khurshid (292 articles, 31 quicklinks, 183 diaries, 145 comments) on Friday, June 20, 2008 at 11:42:21 PM

'The people are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.' Thomas Jefferson 1787
Munich'The people are the only sure reliance for the preservation of our liberty.' Thomas Jefferson 1787

Such an exquisite piece

Your words Jan, they flow ever so gently, like water in a stream

by Munich (0 articles, 67 quicklinks, 12 diaries, 831 comments) on Sunday, June 22, 2008 at 1:23:49 AM

A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name
Jan BaumgartnerA native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internat...

to see more of bio, click on member name

Allegory

When I wrote this piece it was based on a much broader picture than the death of a butterfly. I believe most who read it understood this. One, however, did not. And instead chose to attack the piece as a trivial look at the death of of monarch instead of understanding the attempted allegory. Due to the mean-spiritedness of the comment, and its lack of understanding of what this essay was about, it was removed.

When I wrote this I was writing about how fleeting life can be. How as humans, we do not embrace the moment. We naively believe we have nothing but time, more tomorrows than we can count or plan for instead of making a difference today. It was about taking care of those around us; our family and friends, strangers, the earth. It was about how, in our perceived indifference to time, we let go of what is imperative in the moment - the struggling of people, the environment, any and all; the interconnectedness of every living, breathing thing on this planet that we are either hell bent on destroying or turning a blind eye to the suffering.

It was about the journey - and choices, choices about how we live. Choices about how we use our time - to make a difference in the lives of those we love and the lives of those who struggle. It was about telling those we love that we love them. It was about letting a stranger know you care by offering a hand.

Yes, the planet is in peril; yes people on nearly every inch of soil are suffering or need help or a shoulder to lean on. This essay was about embracing the moment to make that difference - because life is fleeting - because it does change at the drop of a hat - because we need to act now in any way we can.

One chose to see this as a silly "poets" ode to a single butterfly. I am not a poet nor was this about a single lifeform. It was about the state of man. It was about life. Taking charge. Opening our hearts to compassion and understanding. Witnessing the Monarch's death was the impetus to write these thoughts - I'm sorry that someone was unable, in their anger or short-sightedness, to understand what this small piece was attempting to convey.

by Jan Baumgartner (52 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 249 comments) on Sunday, June 22, 2008 at 9:10:29 AM