Monarch butterflies in action! (Photo Credit: Patricio Huerta)
Lucrecia Novoa is a Chilean-born artist and cultural educator who is physically as well as spiritually involved with her mask and puppet creations. With years of experience, Lucrecia dedicates herself to researching the historic inspirations for each puppet she creates in her Riverdale studio.
Lucrecia has joined NYBG during past exhibitions such as the Haunted Pumpkin Garden, when the Everett Children’s Adventure Garden was transformed into an enchanted land inhabited by magical creatures. For FRIDA KAHLO: Art, Garden, Life, she presents two giant monarch butterflies that introduce and welcome the exhibition.
Caterpillars often munch unmerciful on their preferred plants, but there’s usually the later butterfly’s pollinating habits to look forward to, at least. I think this one will become a black swallowtail butterfly (Papilio polyxenes). Then again, I’m no entomologist. Any confirmations from readers?
Joyce H. Newman holds a Certificate in Horticulture from The New York Botanical Garden and has been a Tour Guide for over seven years. She is the former editor of Consumer Reports GreenerChoices.org.
Monarch butterflies are among the most popular and prominent insects in the Native Plant Garden, easy to spot with their dramatically dark orange and black patterned wings. One reason for their high visibility and large numbers is actually their relationship with the tall milkweed plants, which are flowering now in the dry meadow. Without the milkweeds, we wouldn’t have the monarchs.
In fact, monarchs (Danaus plexippus) depend on milkweed throughout their entire life cycle—when they lay eggs and when their larvae, in caterpillar form, feed exclusively on milkweed.
Many different species of native milkweed provide nourishment for monarchs, including swamp milkweed, green, purple, redwing, whorled, and horney spider varieties. The dry meadow contains a total of more than 500 milkweed plants. Of these, by far the most numerous are the butterfly milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa).
As a student in Botany at the University of Wisconsin in the early 1970s, I became aware of Aldo Leopold’s land ethic philosophy. In A Sand County Almanac he wrote:
“This sounds simple: do we not already sing our love for and obligation to the land of the free and the home of the brave? Yes, but just what and whom do we love? Certainly not the soil, which we are sending helter-skelter down river. Certainly not the waters, which we assume have no function except to turn turbines, float barges, and carry off sewage. Certainly not the plants, of which we exterminate whole communities without batting an eye. Certainly not the animals, of which we have already extirpated many of the largest and most beautiful species. A land ethic of course cannot prevent the alteration, management, and use of these ‘resources,’ but it does affirm their right to continued existence, and, at least in spots, their continued existence in a natural state. In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such.”