Miraculous Migrating Monarchs

Just about now, millions of monarch butterflies are arriving at their winter resting place in the forest shelters of the mountain village of Angangueo Mexico. And why do I know this riveting fact? Because one of the most miraculous events I ever witnessed was the migration of these monarch butterflies along the Rhode Island coast. And when it was over, I needed to know more about this intriguing phenomenon.

On a Sunday morning in 2004, my husband and I sat with friends overlooking the ocean, relishing the calm of September in Charlestown. As the sun began to take the chill off the morning air, we spotted a monarch butterfly just above the dune grass… seconds later there were several more… and within minutes we found ourselves among a flurry of fluttering wings. In the distance we could see that there were hundreds more monarchs along the beach, so we quickly headed across the road and began what turned into a two hour walk along the beach in the company of thousands of migrating monarchs.

As I said, at the time I knew nothing about this phenomenon. So the following day I headed off to find a book about these captivating creatures (that I cannot bring myself to call insects). I purchased one aptly titled “The Monarch” by Eric Grace. And then I found more information at

www.monarchwatch.org, where I signed up to receive updates about this annual migration. I continue to virtually follow them every year.

The short story (if you want the long one, you'll have to buy the book or go googling) is that at the first signs of frost each year, monarchs begin a journey of thousands of miles from Canada and the

United States to the 13,500 foot inactive volcano of Cerro Pelón just west of Mexico City. There they spend the winter months blanketing fir trees, in a state of semi-hibernation, until the warm spring winds call them back north. Thousands of miles... can you imagine… these delicate little fluttering things traveling all that way… with no GPS systems!

I see many monarchs in Charlestown every September and October. Some days I have even seen hundreds. But nothing has ever been quite like that Sunday in 2004. Last year I did witness the scene in this photograph as I headed out for an evening walk, where as the sun began to descend, the monarchs were all nestled together for the night on the pine trees near my house. Some day I will migrate myself to Cerro Pelón to see the end result of what I experienced that September morning. In the meantime, the memory of it will have to sustain me!