Sad at Midsummer, Again

Flowers from my garden, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

Every year, in late July going into August, I start feeling sad. Perhaps it is the continued heat and humidity forcing me inside with the air conditioning while the weeds proliferate. Perhaps it goes back to the days when I was a student and I knew that, come September (or August when I was in college), it would be time to go back to school and I'd lose my freedom. Or perhaps it is seeing the darkness in the early morning when it was once light, or seeing the sun's arc getting smaller as the days get shorter.

So it is this midsummer, except it is worse because this is not a normal year. It is the year of the coronavirus and things may never be the same again.

My life is one example. Doing simple things such as going to the supermarket or getting my hair cut has become more complicated. I have been working from home since March and will continue working from home through the end of the year, and likely beyond. I am OK with that. I find I am less and less comfortable walking outside where I can come into contact with people except for when I can get myself out early to walk on a trail and listen for any birds. But getting up and out is getting harder to do and I am feeling disconnected from nature. I try to go out on the weekends for a walk with MH or to run errands such as to my favorite farm market, particularly now that it is tomato season.

Tomato, basil and peppers, 2020
(Margo D. Beller)

Here, too, things have become complicated. I must be masked, stand six feet from a guy behind the vegetable bins, pointing to what I want, asking it not "be so wilted." Where once zinnias and other flowers grew for picking, every inch of land is filled with a variety of vegetables. That's a good thing because this farm feeds not only casual shoppers like me but members of its CSA community plus it donates produce to local organizations feeding those who would otherwise go hungry. (But for the grace of God that could've been me, too.)

To keep myself from feeling too sad, I think of what COVID-19 hasn't changed.

My flowers - yellow coreopsis, white daisies, purple coneflowers, goldenrod and the deep red flowers of the cannas - are in bloom. If I can't pick the farm's flowers, I can selectively pick my own.

My vegetables are growing, finally. I am waiting for a dozen little green cherry tomatoes and two large, still-green Italian frying peppers to ripen, and there will be more to come. The basil continues to produce big, green leaves I pick for sandwiches and to make pesto.

Fritillary butterfly (RE Berg-Anderson)

Hummingbirds have been visiting the canna flowers in the front yard and the feeder in the back. At this time of year the females need energy to find insects to feed their young. Soon the young will need energy to hunt and may follow their mothers (the fathers will have left long before) to the feeder. The birds started coming later in July than usual but now they are more frequent visitors.

The house wrens are long gone. They and other birds will be heading south soon, if they haven't already started. Those passing through won't be as gaily colored and they won't be singing territorial songs but knowing they're out there might be just enough for me to leave the house and reconnect with the outside world, in spite of this pandemic. The birds need to head south to reach their wintering areas and what we're going through will not affect nor deter them. Those not flying as far south will be stopping (or staying) in my yard when I put the seed feeders back out after Labor Day, less than a month from now.

Monarch butterfly (RE Berg-Anderson)

Butterflies will be heading south, too. I have noticed more tiger swallowtails on the purple flowers of the butterfly bush and some of the smaller butterflies such as the fritillarys. I am waiting for the first monarch butterfly to come.

The days will get even shorter, and there will come a time all too soon when it will be dark before 5 p.m. The inevitability of that depresses me. August is my late mother's birth month and the month her mother as well as one of my good friends died. It adds to the sadness of the period, much as I try to enjoy the flowers, birds and butterflies.

I expect I'll get out of this funk eventually, as I do every year. This year it might take a little longer.

Make Way for the Monarch

Birds are not the only creatures heading south for the winter. Monarch butterflies are filing the skies, heading to winter grounds in central Mexico. The changing colors of the tree leaves get most of the attention of travelers in late September into October, but for those with the patience to stop and look around comes the reward of seeing the majestic orange and black wings of this large butterfly as it stops at fall asters, sunflowers, goldenrod and other flowers for food to power its trip south.

Biddeford Pool, Maine, Sept. 2018 (Margo D. Beller)

Think about it: This butterfly, which weighs next to nothing, has to travel thousands of miles if it is going to live to fly north in spring, find plants suitable for laying eggs and then die. The travel is treacherous. Winds blow them off course, forcing them to use precious energy to keep going. I've seen monarchs traveling over water as they hug the coast, such as the dozens MH and I saw along the coast of Maine, undeterred by strong northwest winds pushing them from the side.

Monarch and bees on sunflower, Morris Townwhip, NJ, Sept. 2018
(Margo D. Beller)

They must avoid other hazards - hungry birds, spider webs (I've saved many a monarch from a web laid across a thick bush of dune rose. Have you?), careless humans accidentally or intentionally catching and killing them. Like the birds, they keep going. They are programmed to do this. If you provide them with suitable plants, they will stop in your yard and then continue. I've seen monarchs take advantage of all the flowering autumn mums currently offered by garden centers for suburban front doorways, for instance.

We hear about the importance of milkweed to the life cycle of monarch butterflies and other pollenators, and I've been seeing more and more of the plants growing in local parks and roadsides. But the flowers still blooming at this time of year - coneflowers, butterfly bush, asters, goldenrod - are, to me, just as important because without them the butterfly would not be able to travel far and would be killed by the inevitable cold weather.

There are many other butterflies, of course, but monarchs are threatened by habitat loss in Mexico. Up here, in my part of the world, unless you have planted many types of flowers to draw butterflies, you won't see them much if you have the usual kinds of nonflowering shrubs planted to make it as easy on the homeowner (and landscaping crew) as possible.

(Margo D. Beller)

This year's weather was not kind to my butterfly plants, which is why I have seen few monarchs in my yard. The spring rains washed out a lot of the soil where the joe-pye weeds grow, resulting in few, spindly plants and fewer pink flowers. The orange butterfly weed - a type of milkweed - bloomed and busted earlier still. I no longer grow asters - something I should rectify - and the type of goldenrod I grow did most of its blooming in the heat of summer.

Luckily, I have seen many other flower gardens elsewhere that have been drawing monarch butterflies, and for that I'm grateful.