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A quiet hour
That wasn’t much of a summer to write home about, was it? All the ingredients were there, with the exception of the key one—summer weather. It almost makes you nostalgic for scorched earth.
So we had to take our pleasures where we could get them. Like the Lions Club Tuesday evening gazebo concerts. Like our officially-blessed-by-royalty farmers’ market. And for me, simply sitting on my back porch and spending a quiet hour watching the action around our butterfly bushes
And I mean action. From early August on, dozens of butterflies—mostly monarchs—have been drawn by the nectar in our butterfly bush blossoms. They are fun to watch, and they don’t seem to mind the nearby presence of people. And when you watch them closely, you realize that there is some method in their seemingly erratic movements. There is competition for prime feeding spots. I could swear I also watched two (presumably gentlemen) butterflies fight for the right to repoduce the species with a lady butterfly, with the alpha male butterfly naturally winning the skirmish. I also learned about the hummingbird moth, which I had never heard of. But to understate the fact, I am no biologist, so don’t read anything into that.
I suppose you can get the same sorts of thrills from watching birds and gardens, but birds tend to be more skittish around people—and gardens aren’t exactly the scenes of a lot of real time action. So I’m sold on butterfly bushes as a form of quiet summer entertainment.
Of course, there is always a negative side. Go to the Internet and you will find such titles as “Why ecologists hate butterfly bush.” Apparently, butterfly bush is not native to North America and is regarded in some quarters as a noxious weed. And critics say that while it provides lots of nectar for fully fledged butterflies, it does nothing to help larvae. But some hope is on the horizon. A hybrid bush that contains little or no seed is gaining acceptance.
If you’re looking for another reason to like watching butterflies, they’ve got such a great name for butterfly collectors: lepidopterists. They should, however, come up with a name that, like ‘birder,’ describes someone who is keen on the subject but doesn’t collect any specimens for a collection. “Lepidopterer’ sounds a little prissy, but it would look good on a business card; “butterflyer”—like “birder”—might be all right except that it might be confused with those in the aerial dairy field.
But the thing that I enjoy most about watching the butterfiles is the fact that, despite the frenetic action, it all takes place in silence. There is no such thing as the ‘mating call of the lesser spotted monarch.’ Nor do monarchs listen to blaring radios while they are out doing their chores. They just go about their business. Of course, there are lots of other things I could enjoy in total silence, such as sitting in my driveway watching my car depreciate, but butterfly watching has a behavioural aspect to it that watching a stationary car somehow does not. And when I say “silence,” I admit that’s a relative term: it’s hard to say it’s “silent” when the air is filled with the sounds of traffic and lawnmowers. So I really mean to say that butterflies don’t contribute anything to the ambient noise level.
So you could say that watching butterflies has given me a new appreciation of the value of silence. Perhaps Wellington should invest time in the promotion of a ‘quiet hour.’ For that blissful period, traffic would (somehow) stop on the Loyalist Parkway. Lawnmowers would be given a rest. People would engage in low key activities like counting their blessings or meditating or trying solve the Times’ cryptic crossword. They would still make tea, but they would make sure their kettles didn’t whistle loudly or for too long. I’m not suggesting this be enforceable with penalites for non-compliance or anything. It’s just an idea.
The riposte to my musing is easy to anticipate. If you wanted silence, I’ll be told, you should have come here anytime other than summer ten years ago; and even now, all you have to do is wait till November. Be grateful for the noise; it’s a sign of human activity.
True as far as it goes, I guess, but no help during butterfly season.
I suppose I am going to have to broaden my field of interests and develop a pastime that takes me beyond butterfly season and through the rest of year. Maybe I should investigate and see if there’s a local automobile depreciation watching club I could join.
David Simmonds will be taking a short break from his column. Don’t fret. He will return on October 4.
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