Butterflies on the Oprah Show

WC 838

Three Hundred Butterflies Show on Oprah’s Show

By Jack Rawlins

“Oprah, you netted me just in time. I’m leaving on a 2,500 mile trip as soon as I get off your couch.”

“Well, Mr. or Mrs. Monarch, I knew when three hundred members of the studio audience let you guys out of your individual little boxes it would make a beautiful butterfly spectacle. I just knew it would have the audience squealing with delight. And I was right.

“True, some of the squealing came from those who had a monarch land in their hair. But when the rest--except for you --fluttered in the sunbeams up through the skylight and into the wild blue yonder—well it took everyone’s breath away.

“Oh, and of course I know about the trip. That’s why you’re here and why I spent $2,250 for boxed butterflies. We’re celebrating “The Monarch’s Annual Migration. “

“Well, Oprah, I’m happy to be here. And it’s Mr., not Mrs. Monarch. But please call me 'Milkweed.' That’s my nickname.” Monarch is rather stuffy. I think our species was named in 1874 in honor of King William III of England, a big monarch at the time. Bill butterfly would have suited us better than monarch, but we had no say in the matter.”


“I must say, Milkweed, I’m impressed with your ability to communicate. Not many insects can do that.”

“Oh, come now… we are the only insects that can fly from Chicago all the way to the oyamel fir forest in the Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico--without a map, compass, or tour guide. We’re not like geese with a navigator up front. And we only get to do it once. It’s not like we remembered our last trip. We move en mass. Is it a stretch to think that we’re not good communicators?”

“It is amazing. The flying I mean. Not that you can communicate so well. Thoughts have wings, I know.”

“Well, yes. The flying can be a big problem. We typically do about fifty miles a day. And we never fly at night. We’re on the road about a month and a half. But what really ticks me off is the idiots who decide every year that monarchs should take off in hurricane season.

“Can you imagine trying to flutter your wings in a 100 mph storm? It is terrible! Everyone thinks we fly about 2500 to 3000 miles. Bird-stuffing! Some times we get blown so far off course we end up on another continent. “

“You lead a tough life, Milkweed. And I believe it’s a very short one?”

“Oprah, I am one of the lucky ones. I’m a fourth generation monarch. Earlier generations only live a few weeks. Our generation can live up to eight or nine months. True, we spend a lot of that time snuggled together in the oyamel trees until the weather warms up and heats up our libidos. “


“Oh my, Milkweed, I know birds do it. Bees do it. But it never occurred to me that butterflies do it too.”

Why of course we do. After cuddling up for months with one another, we’re all pretty much ready when it’s time to do it. And it is quite a performance! It’s something worth waiting for, from what I hear.”

“Could you tell us about it without being too, too graphic?”

“Well, Oprah, it starts with what you might call “Dirty Dancing.” When we find an attractive female—and there are thousands and thousands to choose from – we go into a nutty dance that makes break dancing look like a slow waltz. It is one energetic frenzy of libido on the wing.

“And the nice part of this ritual is when we finally do make love –that’s less graphic than copulate isn’t it?—it lasts for thirty minutes up to a full hour. Now that’s something nice to wake up to after hibernating so long. You might say it’s a mighty big breakfast.”

“Wow! And then what happens?”

“Some of us head north as temperatures rise. About sixty percent die a happy death before we get out of the mountains of Mexico. But some make it to Texas and other Southern states. That’s where the ladies lay their eggs on milkweed and launch a new generation. As I mentioned, the first three generations only live a few weeks. So I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Milkweed, I can sense that you’re getting a little fluttery. Are you nervous?”

“Oprah, I’m never going to catch up with my flight. And I hate flying solo.

“Not to worry, Milkweed. We take good care of our guests. I’ll book you a charter flight to Mexico City and you’ll be hanging in an oyamel tree when you friends show up to cuddle up for the winter.”

“Thank you, Oprah. It has been a pleasure chatting with you. Your generous offer is going to save me a lot of up and down flapping and fluttering for the trip south.

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