Postponing a Dream
In March 2020 I started hiking the 2193 mile-long Appalachian Trail, intending to traverse its entire length over six months. But we all know what 2020 was like. In this piece for AT Journeys I describe the emotions of cutting short my thru-hike due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
Millions of Monarchs
Written for ComSciCon 2019 - Atlanta
I admit, a big part of the reason I traveled to Mexico was to take a picture. My friend and I started from Mexico City at 5 AM on a crisp, clear day in late December. After four hours of dozing in the van we acquired our tickets, dodged souvenir sellers, and headed toward the park. While still in the parking lot, we caught a glimpse of what we came here for: a monarch butterfly. I did not take a picture of it; there was only one.
I climbed up the steep half-paved path, wheezing slightly from the altitude. I paused to look around and was rewarded by another glimpse of a red-orange butterfly drifting among the trees. Then another one! The higher up the mountain we climbed, the more butterflies flitted through the forest. Finally – the entrance of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in Michoacán, Mexico. One of the main winter resting grounds for the monarch butterfly colonies. A place so important and spectacular, it was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Monarch butterflies migrate seasonally, spending the winters in warmer southern regions like California or Mexico. The butterflies return to parks like the one in which I was standing every year at around the same time. That’s a fascinating feat, but the truly mind-blowing aspect is that these butterflies in the trees above me had never been to Mexico before. Not only that, but neither had their parents nor their grandparents. Every FOURTH generation of monarchs returns to the same forests in Mexico where their great-grandparents overwintered the year before. That is like if I returned to Spain for the first time since my great-grandfather emigrated in 1900.
The path wove its way through tall, stately Oyamel fir trees. The new generation of monarchs returns to these specific forests every year. Conserving these trees is fundamental to the butterflies’ survival. All the monarchs from the Eastern United States and Canada migrate to several comparatively small mountain forests. These forests have just the right habitat and temperature that the butterflies need to survive the winter. However, these forests lack the milkweed plants that their caterpillars eat, so the monarchs wing their way back north in the spring. The caterpillars need the milkweed and the adults need these trees, creating a 3,000-mile cycle with the seasons.
I had never seen so many of living organisms in my entire life. Millions of scarlet and golden motes flitted through the dark fir forest, gleaming like flecks of fire when the sun shone through their delicate wings. In addition to the butterflies filling the air, dark clumps of them clung to the boughs of the fir trees. The weight of the tiny insects bent them to near the point of breaking. As the sun filtered through the trees and reached these clusters, the butterflies warmed up and took flight. The forest looked like an eternal autumn where the burnished leaves would fall through the air but never touch the ground.
I climbed up the steep half-paved path, wheezing slightly from the altitude. I paused to look around and was rewarded by another glimpse of a red-orange butterfly drifting among the trees. Then another one! The higher up the mountain we climbed, the more butterflies flitted through the forest. Finally – the entrance of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in Michoacán, Mexico. One of the main winter resting grounds for the monarch butterfly colonies. A place so important and spectacular, it was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Monarch butterflies migrate seasonally, spending the winters in warmer southern regions like California or Mexico. The butterflies return to parks like the one in which I was standing every year at around the same time. That’s a fascinating feat, but the truly mind-blowing aspect is that these butterflies in the trees above me had never been to Mexico before. Not only that, but neither had their parents nor their grandparents. Every FOURTH generation of monarchs returns to the same forests in Mexico where their great-grandparents overwintered the year before. That is like if I returned to Spain for the first time since my great-grandfather emigrated in 1900.
The path wove its way through tall, stately Oyamel fir trees. The new generation of monarchs returns to these specific forests every year. Conserving these trees is fundamental to the butterflies’ survival. All the monarchs from the Eastern United States and Canada migrate to several comparatively small mountain forests. These forests have just the right habitat and temperature that the butterflies need to survive the winter. However, these forests lack the milkweed plants that their caterpillars eat, so the monarchs wing their way back north in the spring. The caterpillars need the milkweed and the adults need these trees, creating a 3,000-mile cycle with the seasons.
I had never seen so many of living organisms in my entire life. Millions of scarlet and golden motes flitted through the dark fir forest, gleaming like flecks of fire when the sun shone through their delicate wings. In addition to the butterflies filling the air, dark clumps of them clung to the boughs of the fir trees. The weight of the tiny insects bent them to near the point of breaking. As the sun filtered through the trees and reached these clusters, the butterflies warmed up and took flight. The forest looked like an eternal autumn where the burnished leaves would fall through the air but never touch the ground.
I had my picture. Several hundred, in fact.
Our guide told us that this year he saw the most butterflies in the forest since he started working there three years ago. His local knowledge was corroborated by the newest estimates released in January, which approximate the overwintering population to be 300 million monarchs. And I believe it.
That number may sound large, but these butterflies are at risk. Animals that depend on large populations need to stay above a certain threshold to maintain their genetic diversity. A local park ranger asked if people in the United States knew about the threats to the butterflies. In addition to climate change, the butterflies face habitat destruction and fewer plants to eat. He asked if people were doing anything to help. People in the United States can plant native milkweed plants for the caterpillars to eat and butterfly bushes for the adults.
I stretched out my senses, trying to capture this moment to hoard in my memory. The colors of these dazzling insects and the tiny flowers they pollinated. The smell of the fir trees, important as habitat. The warmth of the sun on my face, which awakened the butterfly colony high above me. And the sound – the susurration of millions of delicate wingbeats – like the pattering of a gentle rainfall.
I had come to see a beautiful phenomenon, but I found a natural force. I was not witnessing just something beautiful, but a complex and fascinating natural system. One that we can help protect.
Our guide told us that this year he saw the most butterflies in the forest since he started working there three years ago. His local knowledge was corroborated by the newest estimates released in January, which approximate the overwintering population to be 300 million monarchs. And I believe it.
That number may sound large, but these butterflies are at risk. Animals that depend on large populations need to stay above a certain threshold to maintain their genetic diversity. A local park ranger asked if people in the United States knew about the threats to the butterflies. In addition to climate change, the butterflies face habitat destruction and fewer plants to eat. He asked if people were doing anything to help. People in the United States can plant native milkweed plants for the caterpillars to eat and butterfly bushes for the adults.
I stretched out my senses, trying to capture this moment to hoard in my memory. The colors of these dazzling insects and the tiny flowers they pollinated. The smell of the fir trees, important as habitat. The warmth of the sun on my face, which awakened the butterfly colony high above me. And the sound – the susurration of millions of delicate wingbeats – like the pattering of a gentle rainfall.
I had come to see a beautiful phenomenon, but I found a natural force. I was not witnessing just something beautiful, but a complex and fascinating natural system. One that we can help protect.