The Day the Monarchs Stopped by
Today, the Monarchs came through my yard. At one point, I counted sixty—scattered between the front and back gardens. They weren’t fluttering so much as clinging, their wings folded close as they fed. The Shrubby Boneset and Plateau Goldeneye were heavy with them, and even the self-sown Drummond’s Aster in the back corner shimmered with orange.
They seemed hungry—driven. When I stepped closer, they lifted briefly into the air, then settled again, clinging to the blossoms like living ornaments.
By the next morning, a cold front had swept in, and the garden felt strangely still. I haven’t seen many butterflies since.
Still, watching them pass through was a beautiful reminder of the quiet power of planting native species — how even a single yard can become a small haven on their long journey.
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