In the last chapter of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard writes about monarch butterflies’ migration south each winter:
Monarchs are “tough and powerful, as butterflies go.” They fly over Lake Superior without resting; in fact, observers there have discovered a curious thing. Instead of flying directly south, the monarchs crossing high over the water take an inexplicable turn towards the east. Then when they reach an invisible point, they all veer south again. Each successive swarm repeats this mysterious dogleg movement, year after year. Entomologists actually think that the butterflies might be “remembering” the position of a long gone, looming glacier. In another book I read that geologists think that Lake Superior marks the site of the highest mountain that ever existed on this continent. I don’t know. I’d like to see it. Or I’d like to be it, to feel when to turn.
here we are at the opposite time of year, spring approaches, as of yesterday there’s that much more evening light. the monarchs’ children are the ones who will migrate north again, continuing the cycle. each journey lasts a generation. monarchs weigh less than a paperclip and travel thousands of miles. it’s a good thing they don’t do it alone. you can stay up on the monarchs on this cute website.
I’ve been thinking about these small creatures, their being guided by something old and instinctual, passed on perhaps from their ancestors who lived at the same time as that mountain; and the ones after that, who maybe grew to love the thrill of going around the bend.
I’d like to feel when to turn, too. I’d like to be steered by that passed on, eternal place in me.