mourning has broken

•



For this Lepidopteran, morning has truly broken. (A slightly veiled reference to Cat Stevens.)

I saw my first butterfly of the season—a mourning cloak—last week along the North Cove Trail at the nature center. It was a sunny day and the winged adult was taken full advantage of the pleasant conditions.

In this country, the butterfly owes its folk name to our early Scandinavian settlers, it comes from their Swedish moniker "sorgmantel," which literally translates to "mourning cloak."

Mourning cloaks are butterflies of the woodlands. They overwinter as adults, finding a safe place to tuck themselves away, having to hide to go unmolested. Doug Collicut writes, "They spend the winter frozen in "cryo-preservation,” frozen alive in tree cavities, beneath loose tree bark or in unheated buildings. Virtually anywhere they can fit into, to protect them from winter winds and keep them out of the view of birds and squirrels, will do as a hibernaculum (an overwintering den).”

And after enduring the long, dark cold weather months. They'll flutter free, find a mate, reproduce and soon die.

Doesn't hardly seem fair, does it?

•