[Illustration: _Monarch Butterflies and Daffodils in January_]




                           WINTER BUTTERFLIES
                               IN BOLINAS


    [Illustration: Publisher logo]

                                   BY
                             MARY D. BARBER

                              PUBLISHED BY
                          PAUL ELDER & COMPANY
                             SAN FRANCISCO

                          _Copyright, 1918 by
                            MARY D. BARBER_

    [Illustration: decorative illustration]

The Monarch Butterfly _Anosia Plexippus_ is a familiar object in many
parts of the United States, but the fact that it migrates, covering in
its flights hundreds and even thousands of miles, is not generally
known. This butterfly appears in immense swarms every year early in
September at Bolinas, a sheltered haven on the coast of California,
about ten miles north of the Golden Gate.

A southerly beach walled by high bluffs, a quaint little village which
consists of trim cottages set in pretty, old-fashioned gardens; wide
stretches of sunny mesa, broken here and there by arroyos and groves of
cypress trees, make up a picturesque landscape; while to the south and
westward rolls the vast Pacific, the ceaseless surging of its surf on
the smooth sand a never-ending delight to the ear. This is the winter
home of the Monarch butterfly which comes not only from the Sierra
Nevada mountains but also from the western ranges of the Rockies.

On the meadows of these mountains a pale green caterpillar, ornamented
with glossy black bands, feeds on the leaves of the milkweed plant. This
caterpillar forms a chrysalis about an inch long, green spotted with
gold. The Monarch butterfly emerges from this chrysalis, unfurls its
wings, draws its sustenance from the milkweed blossoms, lays its eggs
and lives happily in the high altitudes till the chill of approaching
autumn in the air warns it that the time for migrating has come.
Thousands of these frail butterflies start on their long journey toward
the Pacific, in search of a mild climate, free from frost and snow, in
which they can live all winter.

  _Fly brown butterflies out to sea,
  Frail pale wings for the winds to try;
  Small brown wings that we scarce can see
        Fly._

  _Here and there may a chance caught eye
  Note, in a score of you, twain or three
  Brighter or darker of tinge or dye;
  Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
  Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;
  All to the haven where each would be—
        Fly._

In Nevada County great flocks of them have been seen, following the
course of a stream downwards from the mountains towards the sea. Before
they reach the end of their journey they scatter, for although they
appear in Bolinas suddenly and in large numbers, no flock has ever been
seen approaching _en masse_.

The Monarch is of a reddish chestnut-brown, veined with black and
bordered with a band of black which is ornamented by two rows of small
white spots. The under side of the wings is paler, an ashy buff color
similarly veined and bordered. The butterfly is large, measuring between
four and five inches from tip to tip of outstretched wings.

When these butterflies arrive, the air seems full of them, hovering,
flitting, whirling like brown autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind.
Having reached their winter home they swarm on a cypress tree which
affords the best shelter during wind and storm. Each year they come, not
only to the same grove, but to the very same tree, and always to the
southerly and easterly side of it. This tree is within sight and sound
of the surf which perhaps reminds the butterflies of the roar of rushing
streams and waterfalls in the mountains whence they came. Is it
instinct, or scent, or the climatic advantage of some especial tree
which guides them in their choice? It is certainly a mystery that a
newly arrived flock should choose the identical tree which was the home
of their predecessors the winter before; for they migrate but to end
their days, and can not return to show the way to their progeny which
will hatch next spring into stupid caterpillars having no desire but to
eat till their time for sleep arrives. The instinct or intelligence of
the awakened butterfly is inexplicable.

On sunny days the Monarchs feast on the flowers that bloom all winter in
the village gardens, calla lilies, marguerites and heliotrope being
their favorites. One day a bee and a butterfly were vying with each
other for the possession of a marguerite. The butterfly alighted on it
first, but the bee buzzed his way in under the wings of his rival who,
realizing that his companion was dangerous, flew off, leaving the bee
sole possessor of the coveted flower.

At evening the Monarchs return to the grove where they may be seen
hanging on the cypress branches. A tree appears brown, as if covered
with dead leaves, as the butterflies, in countless thousands hang close
together with folded wings to conserve the warmth of their frail bodies.
In stormy weather they remain thus dormant for days and even weeks,
benumbed by the cold, yet clinging fast to the branches. Many, however,
are wrenched from their places of refuge and lie scattered on the ground
like a carpet of fallen leaves.

One evening a number of these which had hardly a spark of life remaining
in their water-soaked bodies as they lay on the grass, were picked up
and brought into the house where a fire of driftwood blazed bright on
the hearth. The butterflies soon revived in the warm atmosphere, hung
themselves to the curtains in lieu of trees and went to sleep for the
night. Next morning dawned bright and clear. The captive Monarchs
awakened early and flew away, happy, when the window was opened to
release them.

The many birds that choose Bolinas as their winter home would have a
feast if these butterflies were edible, but Monarchs are protected by an
acrid secretion which is distasteful to birds, and enjoy a long life on
this account, living not only all winter, but long enough to taste the
sweetness of the spring wildflowers.

The Monarchs are great migrants. They have crossed the Pacific Ocean,
probably on ships, and have reached the Philippine Islands and
Australia.

When on a yacht bound for the Farallone Islands members of the party saw
one of these butterflies soaring over the ocean about ten miles from
shore. It did not rest on the boat, but with wings spread before the
east wind it sped away, following the path of the setting sun like a
soul in quest of the ideal. That evening a storm came on suddenly. What
was the fate of that lone butterfly?

  He died, unlike his mates I ween,
  Perhaps not sooner or worse crossed;
  And he had felt, thought, known and seen
  A larger life and hope, though lost
        Far out at sea.


_This is the tale of the Winter Butterflies in Bolinas, as told by Mary
  D. Barber, and put into permanent form by Paul Elder and Company under
  the direction of Ricardo J. Orozco during the month of January of the
  year Nineteen Eighteen, with decorations by Rudolph F. Schaeffer._




                          Transcriber’s Notes


—Silently corrected a few typos.

—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
  is public-domain in the country of publication.

—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
  _underscores_.