By KAREN MADORIN
Hays Post
Kevin Costner’s character Ray in Field of Dreams listened to a mysterious voice repeating, “If you build it, they will come.”
Against others’ advice, that farmer sacrificed a cornfield to construct a baseball diamond in the middle of Iowa farm country. If you watched this film, you know Shoeless Joe Jackson, members of the banned 1919 Black Sox team, and others show up to play some spirited baseball.
I love that concept. If you listen to good advice and prepare, adventure begins. In my case, the result wasn’t mystical, but it was rewarding.
An insect-loving biologist advised me to garden not only to produce food but also to support butterflies. I’d written previously about adding rows of dill and fennel to my garden. Through her encouragement, I took another step—I interspersed flowers and herbs.
I planted fennel and dill amongst zinnias, larkspur, Indian blanket, bachelor buttons, and marigolds. Over the summer, a visitor would ask about that that ferny-looking stuff that smells like licorice.
“That’s fennel.”
Friends also remarked on dill thriving in that flowerbed.
“ Yes, that’s dill. No, not making pickles. I’m growing butterflies.”
“Butterflies?”
Yes. Specifically, swallowtails. Their caterpillars devour dill, parsley, and fennel. Each spring either stunning yellow and black winged or black highlighted with blue and yellow winged creatures sipped nectar from lilacs, lilies, roses, and other summer blossoms. Then they mated and produced eggs.
Because I followed my friend’s advice and planted to attract more brilliant-colored pollinators, I counted scores of funny looking caterpillars hatching from that summer’s efforts.
When gardeners provide host plants, adult female swallowtails lay yellow eggs on the leaves. After incubating, these tiny deposits hatch into segmented creatures dressed in vivid green adorned by yellow, black, and white stripes, dots, and dashes.
This developmental stage camouflages pillowy caterpillars from voracious birds, but humans can easily spot these summer residents munching lacy leaves. If you don’t see them, you’ll know they’re busy digesting when you notice healthy poopers dotting soil and landscape rocks beneath garden greenery.
Before that year’s experiment, I was happy to see two or three ugly bugs in clown dress each summer. After adding additional fennel, parsley, and dill plants, I counted growing numbers of puffy, segmented caterpillars chomping foliage. One memorable morning, I counted more than two score of these future butterflies gobbling fennel fronds.
Blessings require patience, so I waited—and waited—and waited to watch these caterpillars transition into pupas.
Despite researching the process, I wasn’t sure how this worked. I didn’t understand how these insects moved from feasting grounds to the site where they’d morph into a neutral-colored chrysalis. This was a live and learn lesson. Then I waited through fall and winter before seeing butterflies emerge and fill the sky as temperatures warmed and yards greened.
Not every egg that made it to caterpillar stage survived transitioning to a butterfly. Despite those losses, vivid yellow and black swallowtails pirouetted above my front flowerbed that following spring. All that fennel, parsley, and dill multiplied as well, so the current homeowners will enjoy butterflies forever more.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.