New Resident in the Garland Community Garden--a female fashionista Scarecrow.

SCARECROWS

Many Gardens have a scarecrow and now the Garland Community Garden has one of its own.  We really don't have that much of an issue with crows, but when it comes to bugs--Bingo!  Perhaps a Scarebug instead of a Scarecrow.

Scarecrows are scary and creepy--Well, DUH! They should be, and the creepier the better. After all, they are designed for the practical use to frighten off crows in particular, and we all know how smart crows are. Ours isn’t so scary because we love little children who come to our garden and we want them to have fun--not be afraid.  They can read the newspaper for that.

Scarecrows are used around the world by farmers, and are a notable symbol of farms and the countryside in popular culture. Scarecrows have been with us for a long time.

In Kojiki, the oldest surviving book in Japan (compiled in the year 712), a scarecrow known as Kuebiko appears as a deity who cannot walk, yet knows everything about the world. He is sometimes referred to as the “God of Agriculture”

The Scarecrow is featured early on in American literature as well.  Nathaniel Hawthorne's short story "Feathertop" is a scarecrow made and brought to life in 17th-century Salem, Massachusetts, by a witch in league with the devil. Isn’t it interesting how some of us are afraid of witches but not afraid of those who kill them, or who want to kill them? Did you ever think about that?  We seem to have things backwards.

Our scarecrow is a gardener herself.  You can tell by her dirty hands and feet [made from the roots of discarded broccoli plants].

So, if you don’t like what is happening in the world today, just blame the scarecrow. In fact, you can even blame our friendly Garland scarecrow.  She won’t mind. In fact, that’s why she is here--to be a scapegoat. Blame her for all your problems and then walk away but not before you take a halloween photo with her.  [We recommend that you don't hold her dirty hand. ]

SHE WAS BORN ["eclosed"]

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
That was the end,
Of Solomon Grundy.

Here is her story told the short Solomon Grundy style (although we hope that she will make it to Mexico to overwinter and lay a few eggs in the spring of 2023 on her return through Texas, headed north) :

This is what the butterfly looks like just before emerging.  We didn't get to see this one in that stage, but I'm sure this is also how she appeared.  The chrysalis is transparent.After the chrysalis has been softened and often become transparent the butterfly will push through first with its legs also removing the triangular piece covering its eyes and proboscis. The butterfly then crawls the rest of the way out of the chrysalis, exposing the abdomen and wings.

When Charlie and I came home from an afternoon of volunteering at Good Samaritans, one of our local food banks, we found a healthy female butterfly in the Jar.

HOW DID WE KNOW IT WAS A FEMALE?

WHY RESCUE MONARCH CATERPILLARS?

According to most sources such as "Journey North", it is estimated that 95% of Monarch caterpillars do not survive to adulthood in the wild. The converse is true for Monarch caterpillars that are rescued as 95% of them are said to survive and be released as butterflies.  As of July, 2022, the Monarch Butterfly has been on the endangered species list.

                 St. Joseph's Cathedral in the Cotton Patch near Munday, Texas

In 2000, when I still lived by the beach in Southern California my mom called me as she often did, waking me at 4 or 5 AM because living out in North West Texas she never remembered the two-hour time difference.

“I’ve always wanted to see the church in the cotton patch,” she began.

“What hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t curse. It’s so unladylike. Yes, there is this Catholic Church out in a cotton patch near Munday [Texas]. I’ve always wanted to see it and your father would never take me there. Can you come home and take me there?”

My mom was always dreaming up some excuse to get me to drive 1,100 miles to see her.  On average, I made 5 trips back home every year--often only for a few days.

At the time I worked as a free-lance technical writer and was between projects. My next project was not due to start for 10 days so I agreed to come take her to St. Joseph’s in the cotton patch.  Even to this day mass is still held there 7 days a week.  It is known as “The Cathedral in the Cotton Patch”.  I had never heard of it until my mom mentioned it.

Although the church is literally in the middle of a cotton patch, technically the church is located in Rhineland, Texas but Rhineland, like most of the small towns in rural North West Texas is almost a ghost town.   As of the 2000 census, less than 100 people live in Rhineland, so few that it is no longer considered a town and is now incorporated into nearby Munday, Texas.

The church was built by hand, including all the bricks being made by the locals starting in 1927.  It was built to replace the previous church which was built in the late 1800’s as more and more German-Catholics moved into the area. 

After getting directions from a woman in Munday at Allsups Convenience Store, we drove out to the cotton patch where the church is located.  Indeed, it is quite lovely and unexpected as its spire rises up out of a cotton patch.

The windows in the nave of St. Joseph's Church depict central events in the life of Christ, such as His birth, His transfiguration, and His crucifixion. The windows in the sanctuary represent bread and wine themes found both in the Old and the New Testaments. Windows in the sacristy are, in the choir loft, and in the facade of the church represent important saints in the life of the church and in the life of the Rhineland community, such as St. Isidore, Patron of farmers, and St. Benedict, founder of the Benedictines.

My mom and I were walking around, reading the tombstones in the small cemetery connected to the church when the sky darkened with literally millions of Monarch butterflies.  They descended on the church and the graveyard.  They were in our hair, on our clothes--everywhere.

It felt like some supernatural event, but of course it wasn’t.  Apparently, St. Joseph’s church is located in the migratory path of the Monarch butterfly on its way to Mexico for the winter. 

It was fun at first, but then it got creepy as I realized we literally had insects crawling all over us so we got back in the car and watched them from there for a while.  Then we headed back home.

After that, I read up on Monarch butterflies and have had a special affinity with them ever since.  Over the years I’ve rescued somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 caterpillars. The most memorable was one that I rescued from our Garland Community Garden in late November of 2015.  The poor thing was clinging to a dried-up milkweed leaf.  Lucky for it. I had some milkweed growing on the south side of my house that was still green.  We kept her alive and she completed her metamorphism into a butterfly on Christmas Eve.

But we kept having cold snaps and Monarch Butterflies get very lethargic and have difficulty flying when it is below 50 degrees F.  Finally, after two weeks of waiting for the weather to get warmer, Charlie and I drove all the way to a preserve that is just west of Brownsville where we released her in early January of 2016.  Yes, she was a female and yes, that’s how far I will go for a Monarch Butterfly.  To me they are symbols of the fragility of nature that we must respect and protect. And they have a deep connection to a fond memory of me and my mother.