By KAREN MADORIN
As a youngster in the mid-60s, I loved the Byrds’ rendition of Pete Seeger’s, “Turn, Turn, Turn.”
The combination of words and tune kept me listening. As I became more familiar with the Bible, I realized Pete borrowed directly from ancient words shared in Ecclesiastes 3: 1 – 8. They speak to my heart, especially as I watch this year’s monarch migration pass through. Fluttering wings announce, “There’s a season for everything,” as they waft south to Mexican highlands.
Perhaps it’s my own life season that makes this passage resonate. Maybe it’s a world flooded with communication I must determine is real or artificial.
Regardless, that passing aerial ballet gently reminds me there is a time for everything: life-death, planting-harvest, laughing-weeping, love-hate, building-tearing down, war-peace. It tells me to take a breath—a slow grateful moment to appreciate majestic creatures on their way to winter in Mexico’s mountains where they will dangle like Milagros from tree branches before returning north next spring.
As we watched them from our deck, I oohed and aahed like it was a mystery they fluttered about our yard. My husband reminded me, “You planted flowers specifically for them last spring and waited all summer to see this many. That took patience.”
Coming from my persevering tree-stand bow hunter, his observation struck home.
Yeah, if you want butterflies to perform aerial pirouettes in September and October, you prepare each spring by planting tithonia, zinnias, lantana, snapdragons, cosmos, and other nectar-rich blooms.
Soaking up sunrays and observing monarchs focuses my mind on words Pete Seeger borrowed and set to the haunting notes of “Turn, Turn, Turn.”
There is a time for everything. My body reminds me of that daily. Years I ago, I could work longer and harder than I can now. My eyes didn’t need spectacles to see close or far. My joints didn’t ache nor did my heart miss loved ones who’ve passed. Those butterflies I enjoy so much confirm King Solomon’s wisdom.
It’s easy to think present generations are the first to enjoy grace or suffer harsh challenges. Pete’s song based on millennia of human experience and migrating monarchs reminds us we are not.
Life is composed of seasons—some gentle, some challenging. To be strong enough to face the difficult and pliant enough to appreciate the gentle, we must prepare. Butterflies spend a summer nourishing bodies for a long migration. The dozens in our yard last week paused their journey to refuel with feed and rest.
As I wrote this column, a cold front descended. Overnight every monarch disappeared from our still blooming garden. The season turned, and off those fragile yet strong creatures flew on this adventure’s next leg.
During snowy days ahead, I’ll savor photos and think about bright wings decorating southern climes, where some using soft syllables call them—mariposa—Spanish for butterfly.
Monarchs help us remember the essence of Ecclesiastes. There is a time for everything. Hordes of fluttering butterflies prompt us to gratefully breathe, watching creation pass in its
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover and sixth-generation Kansan.