Mourning Cloak Becomes Butterfly

In April, mourning cloak caterpillars (Nymphalis antiopa) matured in our ornamental plum tree and became chrysalises.

I brought one into the house in a bug box hoping to catch the moment of transformation as it emerged as a butterfly. Resources said the metamorphosis should take 10-14 days. On the 12th day after forming a chrysalis, "Morty" emerged. As you might have guessed, one minute the chrysalis was hanging motionless, a half hour later I walked by and he (it) was pumping fluid into unfurled wings.

We missed the moment of emergence, but we still had the thrill of seeing how the black spiky caterpillar metamorphosed into a delicate winged butterfly. On the bottom of the bug box was a drop of fluid from inside the chrysalis. Some sources say this is extra pigment. Amazingly, when I washed out the box, the water turned an orange-pink. 

I always think twice about bringing a wild thing into the house because they belong outside. They have evolved to survive warm days and cool nights (saving a bird). We were diligent to maintain an even temperature and humidity, and to keep the enclosure out of direct sunlight.

At the same time, we watched a second chrysalis that was outside. The caterpillar had attached to the bottom of our "Welcome" sign 36 hours after the one we had in the house. We hoped to catch this second butterfly as it emerged, but...

As day 14 came and went without the color changes we had seen in the chrysalis in the house, we wondered if the cool night-time temperatures had delayed the transformation. We continued to watch the chrysalis and as the daytime temperatures warmed up, I started to see the yellow coloring coming through the chrysalis wall that had heralded the emergence of Morty. 

Then hot dry winds began to blow. I kept hoping the butterfly would emerge, but yesterday the color seemed intensified. (see original coloring) It appeared to be dehydrating. 

This morning the story ends. The photo shows a small hole gnawed into the side of the chrysalis. Some other insect has preyed upon the unlucky mourning cloak before it could complete its metamorphosis.

Morty is flying about the yard and hopefully some of its siblings are as well. I hope they will contribute to the next generation of mourning cloak butterflies.

On a recent trip to Orcutt Ranch Park, I saw a number of butterflies: mourning cloak, painted ladies (Vanessa cardui), western swallowtail (Papilio rutulus), and anise swallowtail (Papilio zelicaon).  Check out a video of this Hidden Garden in Los Angeles at TheEarthMinute.com.

Mourning Cloak Caterpillars

I first noticed them as a small mass of black threads high in the ornamental plum tree–black caterpillars about the thickness of a pen.

They were clumped together munching on the purple leaves. It has been a while since we have had mourning cloak caterpillars, but I recognized them immediately–bristly black caterpillars with spots of deep red. With all of the nesting birds gathering food for chicks, the caterpillars were fortunate not to be spotted in the top of the tree.

Mourning cloak butterflies are one of the few species, like monarchs that overwinter as adults. A tattered adult frequented the yard a few weeks ago. It must have been a female that laid eggs on the newly emerged plum leaves.

A few days later I saw them again, but the clump had become more dispersed and they seemed plumper. 

On Sunday, I just happened to see one "wandering" up the front of the house. It had trekked down the tree, across the ground, across the walkway and started up the wall. Wandering is the phase of a caterpillar's life when it leaves the food resource it has matured on and goes in search of a quiet place to start its metamorphosis into a butterfly. The caterpillar didn't know how lucky it was, I also spotted an alligator lizard waiting at the trunk of the tree and feasting upon some of the caterpillar's less lucky siblings.

Monday, I watched a second caterpillar troop up the wall of the house.

This individual attached itself to the bottom center of our "Welcome" sign. For about 24 hours it hung there, upside-down, in a "J" position.

But yesterday afternoon I was lucky enough to catch the moment when it dropped its spiky black outer skin and became a chrysalis. For a few moments it twitched and shuddered, hanging from the tiny base of silk that attached it to the ceramic sign. Then it became very still.

In the next 10-14 days it should emerge as a butterfly. How exciting! 

We planted nectar plants to attract butterflies and it seems to have worked. Hopefully, this is just the first of several butterflies species we will have this year.

Facing Drought in California, 2012

What does the face of drought look like? Plants that typically should be robust and green in March displaying leaves curled from water stress.

non-native spider plant

native currant

Natives like the currant which should be blooming, this year are producing only leaves. There are ramifications for later in the year. A lack of blooms means no summer fruit. Birds and small mammals will find less to eat in August and September.

native bush anenome

Are we really looking into the eyes of a long dry summer? I keep track of the rainfall in my yard. There is a reason why the California slender salamanders aren’t out and about and why the bush anemone is looking stressed. We have had very little rain this season.


From October to April is our rainy season. In 2010, our first measurable rain arrived on October 6th and by the end of February we had received 12.58 inches of rain. This year our rainy season began on October 5th, but as of today, March 5, 2012, we have received only 5.375 inches.


The average annual rainfall in Los Angeles since 1878 is 14.98 inches. Typically, weather forecasters measure our rainfall against a rounded-up 15 inches. If you look at the graph of annual recorded rainfall, patterns are tricky to spot. There are years of less than 5 inches spiked with years of 20 or 30 inches.

seasonal rainfall numbers sourced from National Weather Service

But if you delve a bit deeper into the numbers you see that the mean amount of rainfall since 1878 is 13.19 inches (a few years of heavy rainfall actually push the average up). Over the last 50 years the mean amount of rainfall has dropped to 12.48 inches. The two lowest years are 2002 (4.42 inches) and 2007 (3.21 inches).


If rain doesn’t arrive soon, we will probably arrive in June with a total of less than 8 inches of rain, drought levels. This impacts every living thing in Southern California, from frogs and fish, to agriculture and humans. The hillsides and their wild residents can’t ask for more water from a river far away. They have to survive on what falls from the sky.

battered mourning cloak butterfly

The mourning cloak butterfly has awoken from its winter hibernation ready to find a mate and breed. But it is tattered by a long year of wandering and the flower blooms that it needs to survive are few and far between.

Earth Day Gift

Happy Earth Day!


I've been too busy lately; busy at the computer, busy with projects. I haven't taken my own advice. I haven't been out in the yard. 

This morning the dog was barking at something and I went up the hill to see what had attracted her attention. It could have been a rabbit, a coyote, a raven. I didn't see anything but then, there on the ground was a butterfly clinging to the dirt. The mourning cloak butterfly, with its wings closed, looked like a dead leaf.

Was it dead or alive? I picked it up. It was motionless, but gripped my finger with surprising strength. I headed toward the house to take a picture. As I held the butterfly on my finger it started to vibrate, just slightly. It was like a shiver. It only lasted a moment, but before I reached the house the tiny creature shivered two more times. Each time the strength and length of the shivering increased. It was waking up.

Of course the batteries in the camera were dead and I couldn't find the extra set.


With a final quivering the mourning cloak awakened from its nighttime torpor, a mini hibernation. In the 50 degree evening temperature, the butterfly had gone into resource conservation mode. It's resting place, on an eastern-facing slope, had it positioned to warm up with the morning sun. But I had come along and disturbed it. 


Before I could get new batteries in the camera, the mourning cloak began to flutter its wings. I quickly scooped it up and released it outside. It flew up into the Chinese elm tree. Mourning cloak caterpillars.


The Bewick's wren chicks are begging for food from their haggard parents. The first lesser goldfinch chick of the season is learning to fly. And I held a wild butterfly on my finger and watched it wake up. Go outside and the wild creatures will show you what life is really about. Happy Earth Day!

Of Mourning Cloaks and Hummingbirds

The more I watch the life dramas that play out in my backyard the more aware I am of how interconnected life is.

Spring has come barreling across the Southern California landscape. Plants that survived the frost leafed out in record time.

The Chinese elm went from leafless to brilliant green in five days. The first hummingbird babies of the season took to the air March 23.

With her first brood of youngsters out of the nest, Alena, a one-year-old Allen’s hummingbird, began renovating a nest her mother, Hummy, built last year. This location, in a downward hanging elm branch, was not successful for her mother. Hummy’s second brood was discovered and eaten by a predator, probably another bird. (See Hummy on original nest)

When Alena chased off a group of bush tits that were eyeing the potential building materials available in this old nest, I thought she was anxious about the activity near her fledglings. I had no idea Alena had decided to build her second nest on top of her mother’s old nest.

If you look at the picture, you can see the cone-shaped bottom of the old nest. The rounded, upper half of the nest is new construction.

Enough with the background.

The real story begins with frass. That’s right, frass, the poop from insect larva. If you’ve ever grown tomatoes and had tomato worms, actually tobacco hornworms (Manduca sexta) you know what large-caterpillar frass can look like–tiny chunks of black charcoal. You may not see a tobacco hornworm or a cabbage looper but the trail of leaf damage and frass will lead a discerning eye right to the munching, pooping source.

Well, there was a lot of frass on the patio under the elm tree. Something was up there munching away on the new green leaves. Something that was numerous and rapidly getting larger.

For the past three years, western scrub jays have been infrequent visitors to our yard. West Nile virus has decimated the scrub jays, mockingbirds and American crows in our neighborhood several times since its arrival. But suddenly Saturday morning, a scrub jay was making a racket as it made it’s way through the trees.

Spiny elm caterpillars, the larva of mourning cloak butterflies (Nymphalis antiopa), were marching down out of the elm tree across our patio and up the walls of the house. Some of them were done eating and pooping and they were looking for a safe place to enter the chrysalis stage of their development. The jay had found a banquet .

While searching for roving caterpillars, the jay stumbled across another delicacy–hummingbird nestlings. From the far side of the yard a second female Allen’s hummingbird frantically voiced alarm calls. The scrub jay had found her nest in the eucalyptus tree. Alena and two other female Allen’s hummingbirds came to their cohorts aid. The foursome buzzed the jay and tried to drive it off, but it was too late. The jay consumed one youngster and flew off with the second. It was probably taking the morsel back to its own offspring.

The next morning, Alena laid an egg in her new nest.

But now the nest that seemed safe is in a dangerous place. Caterpillars continue to march down out of the elm and this morning two scrub jays were on the prowl.

The hummingbird egg sits quietly alone in the nest. Alena is not sitting on it.

Is she staying away so as to not draw attention to the nest? Has she decided to abandon the egg, realizing the nest is not in a safe location?

If the caterpillars hadn’t been so successful and their numbers so great, the jay might not have spent any time in the yard. The hummingbird nests might have been safe all summer. If Alena had made her second nest in a different tree or avoided the location that was probably raided by a jay last year, brooding her second clutch might have been as easy as the first.

Now everything is more complicated.

Life is a delicate dance. The living constantly effect each other. The weather benefits some and challenges others. No action or inaction is without effect.