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Page 20 Fullerton Observer EARLY-MARCH 2009
FLY-BYS AND SLEEP-OVERS
By Diane Nielen © 2009
What’s this shadow on the driveway?
It’s a bird . . . it’s a plane . . . Oh, no,
goody: it’s a flutter-by! But what kind? If
you’re a butterfly aficionado, as I am, you
can get pretty sharp at identifying a skyborne
lepidoptera without even looking at
it. Some species have radically different
styles in the air and their shadows will
reflect that. The butterfly I was seeing
and am planning to clue you in about, the
Cloudless Sulphur, is the most jittery of
the lot. Always in a hurry, never able to
settle down for even a second. If you look
up to confirm the accuracy of your guess
and spy this monochromatic rich-yellow
beauty, you might conclude that this is
who put the “butter” in “butterfly.” For
contrast, let’s say you notice a shadow
which is lazy, graceful and swooping. You
can bet on it being the noble Monarch.
After all, it is royalty and should behave
like it.
Back in 2001 I wrote a primer for you
on how to recognize the most common
butterflies here in Fullerton. And, you
know what? The Cloudless Sulphur didn’t
even make the Top Ten. He simply
wasn’t around town then. But a lot has
changed on my homestead in the intervening
eight years. I know why.
Absolutely sure. The answer is cassia, a
plant which is also called senna. I never
planted it. Perhaps the Baumans, the
builders of this house, had. Or maybe it
planted itself.
I moved to my current home in 1999.
At some point I noticed a senna plant on
the back slope beyond the patio. This
shrub is commendable for an unusual leaf
structure - each is divided into dozens of
narrow leaflets – and its splurges of golden-yellow
flowers. But those are its only
redeeming features. It grows spindly and
its limbs wantonly die off. The black seed
pods propel scads of fertile missiles so you
will find the plants popping up all over
your yard. Sunset Western Garden Book
proclaims that senna “often escapes” and
describes its growth as vigorous, rank and
rangy. They tell it as it is.
Senna is a plant with grand ambitions.
It wants to take over the world. I was
motivated to let it have its way because I
knew who its friends were. This plant is
the larval-food-plant-of-choice of the
Cloudless Sulphur butterfly. I let the
upstarts go wild, and all because of betting
on a long-shot. Verrrry long. Maybe
5,000 to one odds? Maybe worse than
that. But there was hope. The years skidded
by. No arrivals. I was getting impatient.
But, truly, all things DO come to
she who waits. Finally I began sighting an
occasional visitor. And each year there
were more . . . . more plants and more of
the Sulphur butterflies. And now it is,
believe it or not, the most common kind
of free-range lepidoptera in my yard, even
more so than the gaudy Gulf Fritillaries
that I cater to with a passion vine.
Not being satisfied with the delight of
viewing the adults, I now yearned to raise
one. Toward that goal I allowed the volunteer
senna that had popped up in the
planter right outside my kitchen window
to remain, even though I knew its aspirations
were inappropriate to the location.
It wanted to surpass the roof. But I wanted
it to thrive at my eye level, so I had to
keep lopping it back. The spying opportunities
were irresistible. As I did the
dishes I was able to watch and monitor an
indecisive lady butterfly checking out all
the foliage, assessing which leaflet groups
were worthy of her entrusting her precious
eggs to. As I mentioned before,
these Cloudless Sulphurs are Nervous
Nellies. The female never seemed to
touch down long enough to make a
deposit. I’d go out and retrace her route
in search of the miniscule eggs to no avail.
Also I regularly searched for growing
caterpillars, but probably because their
predominantly green coloration was such
perfect camouflage I wasn’t successful.
Then one day I was routinely chopping
off the rampant growth when there smack
dab in front of me was a lettuce-green
full-grown caterpillar that had “assumed
the position.” That means it had affixed
its posterior to a branch, spun a silken belt
to lean back into and hung down in the
characteristic “J” shape as it prepared to
shed its final skin-exoskeleton in route to
becoming a chrysalis! That made my day.
Actually, that made my whole month.
I’ve raised three of these Sulphurs now
and learned when the butterflies emerged
that there are subtle differences in the delicate
markings on the wings between the
males and females. You would never
know that as they whiz by in flight. And
I’ll happily share that the Cloudless is the
fourteenth different kind of butterfly I’ve
been able to hatch.
But I was still to have another experience
with one of these sun-bright butterflies.
On a late afternoon I spotted a
Cloudless Sulphur while I was out gardening.
It was fluttering around a Catalina
cherry shrub. This made no sense.
Butterflies have only two reasons to be
interested in a plant – either as a source of
nectar or as a future nursery for their offspring.
This shrub didn’t qualify on either
count. It was nearly 6:00 P.M. when the
butterfly disappeared, darting under a low
leafy branch. As quietly as I could (not
very on a carpet of crunchy dried leaves) I
got down on my knees and peeked up
under the foliage. Sure enough, there she
was, wings folded back. In these scores of
years that I’ve been attuned to the butterflies’
world, this is a sight I’ve never been
privileged to view. A revelation.
Butterflies are truly creatures of the
midday, requiring an appreciable level of
warmth before they can fly. And those
garden beds are a dang lot colder than the
one you sleep in. They need a safe
sequestered spot to wait out the chilly
hours. Would this butterfly be overnighting
in my backyard? I hoped so. Next
morning I came down while it was still
cool and crawled back under the shrub.
Yep, there she still was, in exactly the same
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place. She had slept over.
This past month it was surprising
to be frequently visited
by a Monarch butterfly. I didn’t
deserve it because the milkweed
(which is the only plant
to which the Monarchs will
consign their eggs) that I had
planted didn’t survive. Finally I
figured out why I was being so
honored. In my front yard is a
marvelous vintage lantana that
covers over 150 square feet and
had become far taller than me,
way beyond what the Sunset
gardening resource says is its
destiny. In the fall I trimmed it
back radically and now it’s
nearly blanketed with miniblossom
clusters that are a mixture
of orange, gold and pink.
It seems an unlikely nectar
plant because the rounded
composite flower heads disguise
the fact that they are
made up of individual tiny
tubes. Butterflies do love it and
I’ve now sighted a Monarch
feasting there more than once.
Late Breaking News
Bulletin: Yesterday morning a
tiny bird announced musically
its intention to take possession
of the birdhouse outside my
study. This is the house that
brought me seven fledglings
last year. Hope I’ll be as lucky
again.
With Spring on the horizon
if you’re thinking butterflies,
think “Vegetation, vegetation,
vegetation.” Milkweed plants
should be available at the
Arboretum’s Potting Shed.
There’s no problem finding
lantana at local nurseries. Plus
I certainly have sennas to spare.
And if you’re not thinking of
butterflies, why not?
1) Cloudless
Sulphur caterpillar
with a string of silk.
2) The Cloudless
Sulphur Chrysalis
looks just like a leaf!
3) The rich-yellow
Cloudless Sulphur
butterfly perched on
my hand.
4) Senna, also
called cassia, is the
larval food plant of
choice for the
Cloudless Sulphur.