Witnessing the Migration of Monarchs
At 10,000 feet above sea level, the air was noticeably thin. It took concerted effort to breath in with expansiveness and steadily and fully exhale. I fought the notion that my calves were overworked and we still had another steep mile to go. Occasionally I paused to look up and stop my forward momentum. It was silent. The creatures we sought were unlike their buzzing bee cousins we had just visited days prior. They had traveled in colonies of 20 million over 3,000 miles to arrive by no accident in this place I was today. Soon I would meet them all. It would be no small thing, mis monarchas.
My heart pattered and my mind tried to calmly override the emotions that began to rise, only to be outdone when a fluttering monarch crossed our path as if to say Follow me. There’s so much more. In prep for the experience, our group had discussed the perfectly okay-ness of just releasing the emotions as they came -- i.e. a steady flow of tears. Apparently, the monarch is triggering for many. It makes sense as their transformation over their less than a year life cycle is one of nature’s most dramatic and symbolic. And their massive movement, while other subspecies perform minor or no migration, is deemed one of the most spectacular natural phenomena in the world.
I started to think about how our group of 15 women who journeyed from (mostly) Minnesota by plane, would now co-exist with these incredible insects that traveled from Canada on currents, relying on the dna of generations before and their own internal compass. I remembered the trees of my Southwestern Minnesota childhood landscape covered in a massive orangy vibrance I thought everyone was privy to. Not so. The monarch have their direct routes all over the world. To encounter these particular monarchs at their journey’s end in Michoacan, Mexico now, having known their origin in Eastern North America and arrival via my hometown of Jackson, MN, felt like a spectacular life-long journey I’d somehow accompanied them on.
Mid-point on our hike, we arrived at a meadow. Its flat plateau with soft light green grasses caused me pause. Memories of the meadow of my youth flooded in, while the present meadow filled with horses at the ready to carry weary souls through the remaining mile and elevation. I opted to hike the last leg and carve out solo space to take everything in.
My thoughts turned to a story I wrote called Meadow and Monarch just last year at this time, which I turned into a short essay, A Monarch Emerges (in Her Path Forward). Then came the launch of my brand with none other than a monarch in the logo, and the perfectly timed arrival of the invitation – complete with a capitvating monarch sticker -- to a 10-day Colonial Mexico getaway. There were no accidents here. Just a universal pull to practice radical self-love, say yes, and invite others in.
The invitation was right in front of me now in this full-cycle moment. There, among the oyamel fir trees, clusters of tens of thousands of butterflies presented. They clung to the branches in a dark synchronicity, fitting for an overcast morning at 11:00AM. The air was chilly, making me very grateful to have sacrificed fashion for comfort by donning my leggings under a romper/ culotte situation. The butterflies were chilly too, we were told. If they weren’t casually hanging in trees experiencing collective heat, they were doing a constant solo jig to create warmth and attract a mate.
Mi Monarcha
I studied their movements up close with reverence and willed one to land on me, perhaps one that had graced, or whose ancestors had graced, the trees of my childhood. A romantic thought indeed. Instinctively I extended a pinky right in front of a monarch’s path on a leaf and without hesitation he climbed aboard, exploring my hand for three minutes as firmly as a one-gram insect can manage. I wished him happy trails and returned to an awareness of my surroundings.
Humans were respectfully silent – no small feat. And when I looked up, the butterflies were silent too. I held back the horrific urge to toss something into their tree to create a stir. I realized I very much wanted to draw out and witness a swirl of orange and black in the sunlight. I ached to feel the vibrancy, sunshine, light, and motion they promised. They delivered on their timeline just a few times during our three-hour observation vigil. Truly magnificent.
They returned to stillness. Once again, the clusters on the towering oyamel looked ominous and unsuspecting, the butterflies following the giant downward then upward swoop of the branches. I was reminded in that moment that patience is a virtue. After a note to self that this was not a zoo, nor would the insects perform on cue for us, I relaxed into all that was happening or not. I took a cold, sloped seat on a patch of red dirt earth and willed myself to observe. I sat there for many, many moments thinking about the journey – theirs and ours – and what it all means.
I looked down to take in a sadness I wasn’t prepared for. Thousands of butterflies winged up, weighing merely one gram each. Newly flattened to the earth, layering atop those who had softly fallen before them. Their colors less vibrant the longer they’d been dormant. It was a beautiful journey mis monarchas. I am sure of it.
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Thank you to Rachel Greenhouse, whose scripty creative brand design in her Bloomington Ave. MN office window drew me into to meet her in 2015. Her energy attracts so much goodness, as witnessed on this Niteo Tours trip she hosted. Fifteen souls came together on this pilgrimage to experience the monarchs and more. The friendships created and journey will sustain me over a lifetime I have no doubt.
There is much to learn about the monarch and organizations that are working hard to sustain their habit and combat the effects of climate change. In the fall of 2021, Cathy Wurzer produced a worthwhile segment From Minnesota to Mexico: How do monarchs know where and when to go? (note: the segment focuses on El Rosario sanctuary in Angangueo, Michoacan, Mexico. Our group visited Mariposa Monarcha in Michoacan, Mexico.
