I love marking the tiny epochs within a season. This is especially vivid in the spring when we’re desperately vigilant for signs that winter is in fact going away.

In the Midwest, it will begin with the snowdrops and crocuses peaking up from winter-brown lawns or a light snow, the first signs of life and color. Then appears the bright yellow shock of forsythia bushes and daffodils. The Easter-colored hyacinths appear in a timely fashion, followed by tulips of any shade imaginable, and then irises. Magnolias and cherry blossoms confirm that, yes, it is spring. And the birds concur, already well into their spring songs and rituals. The air warms up.

Lilac Season

As a kid, I tended to notice these things exploring the backyard in March and April. I learned that some flowers had already bloomed and would not be seen again for a while, and others would not appear till much later. Some could survive an early spring frost, others would wait for the blazing heat of summer. It remains a captivating process for me.

I realized this year that the lilac has its own special place in this cycle. They bloom intensely, filling the air with perfume, only to vanish a few weeks later. This year, I noticed that intense two-week period is essential to another part of the season: butterflies.

Well, duh, you might say. But this was the first time I actually got up close and saw it for myself. I usually tend to notice butterflies in the summer on a variety of wildflowers and bushes. I had not considered the lilac and its potent charms. I only had to look in one of my favorite spots: the Governor’s Mansion. There, I found many hungry butterflies and photo opportunities I would not have had after the lilacs were done blooming.

These photos were taken May 8, 2024. A week later, the lilacs were finished blooming and the butterflies had scattered to other sources of nectar.

Butterfly #1: Orange Sulphur Butterfly.

Do you ever consider this flutter of yellow? They are everywhere from spring to fall: common, ordinary, ubiquitous. Most likely, you don’t give them a second thought or a closer look. This one was sitting still long enough to have its portrait taken. It’s an “orange” sulphur for obvious reasons: that orange tinge on its upper wings.

The details reveal that this butterfly is a female (black outline on the wings and spots in the middle of the wings). Not all butterflies (or birds) have noticeable sex dimorphism, which are markings or traits that belong only to males or to females of a species (like mallard ducks). For example, you can only tell a male from a female red admiral (below) based on size: the females tend to be bigger.

Butterfly #2: Red Admiral.

I have wanted to capture a photo of a red admiral for years. For whatever reason, they have eluded me. They do not sit still, and they’re constantly defending territory–male red admirals will chase off other males during mating season–and I often see them flying on their own, enjoying some “me time” or at least some independence. Admirals set their own rules, after all.

These little critters seem to emerge earlier than their painted lady cousins, who like the late summer and early fall. Both belong to the Vanessa genus and are often mistaken for each other. I learned the difference during the great painted lady explosion of 2017.

Butterfly #3: Common Buckeye.

I’ve seen these little guys before, but it was usually a lone specimen surrounded by the flashier species: the monarchs and the swallowtails. Named for the brown spots, which resemble the nutlike seeds of a Buckeye tree (or the cookie), I always thought they were so full of personality. This one loves to move fast as well, so I was astounded that there were so many buckeyes in one place. They were too busy gorging themselves to care that I was photographing them.

Butterfly #4: Monarch.

This past year, the Monarch was taken off the endangered list, and while I’m happy that I saw several at the lilacs that week, I still worry about them. In my post from August 18, 2022, conservationists were keeping an eye on them, and no doubt still are. A changing climate is their biggest threat, especially as they migrate in the spring and fall.

The monarch in the top photo (alongside a red admiral) is female, due to its thin black veins. The one on the bottom left is a male, judging from the two black spots on the back of its orange wings. I was actually surprised to see monarchs on these bushes; monarchs are particularly dependent on varieties of milkweed, but not exclusively. Where there are flowers, there’s food.

Next to Arrive?

Everything! From peonies to roses to lavender to day lilies to wildflowers. Name it, and it’s probably already blooming and will continue to bloom as the spring surrenders to the heat of summer. More flowers, of course, means more butterflies. That means I’ll be keeping my eyes peels and my phone camera in hand.

Unfortunately, none of the flowers will be in my own yard. As my husband and I moved to a new house, I had to leave behind the wildflower patch I’d planted in front of my apartment building during COVID. I have no idea if it was mowed down or not. My hope is to plant a garden next year when life is less busy, and I’m on the other side of a wild season of my own. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the simplicity of the hosta and yellow daylilies growing out there.

🌻