On the horns of a dilemma...what's a gardener to do?

Every decision we make in the garden has consequences, those we intend and others we do not foresee. The addition of a plant; the location it’s sited in; the techniques we use; all these and more create a small vortex of outcomes.

One of my decisions this year was to include the spectacular Asclepias speciosa (Showy Milkweed) in my cactus and succulent bed with other xeric plants. Since it likes it in well-drained, dry gardens with lean soil, and is hardy to zone 4, it should be a wonderful addition. Glorious, starry flower clusters of white and pink from late spring through summer are the obvious attraction, but the large fuzzy leaves will provide a great texture contrast for the rest of the season. Right?

So I ordered five plants this spring and put them in. It took a little while for them to establish, but they’ve been growing nicely. I don’t expect them to flower this year but hope springs eternal for 2008.

Now the consequence.

Every gardener loves butterflies. These ‘fluttering flowers’ add movement and grace to the garden, enlivening quiet summer afternoons. They visit our flowers to fuel themselves with sweet nectar. BUT they also visit in a slightly more insidious way.

Every boy who spends the summer outside knows that Monarch butterfly caterpillars can be found on our wild milkweed, Asclepias syriaca. It is, in fact, the larval host plant for the Monarch,Danaus plexippus and the black, yellow, and white striped caterpillars eat heartily despite the milky sap in the leaves which irritates many other herbivores.

Well, it appears that our eastern Monarchs are cosmopolitan in their diet preferences. They’ve taken to A. speciosa with gusto, like it is their own local food source. (Showy Milkweed is the native host for the western Monarch, so it’s not totally unexpected—just a little surprising that our eastern butterflies are so fickle).

With little warning, one of the five plants—of course it was the one in the most prominent position—nearly disappeared overnight. A striped beast as big around as a little finger, lay at the foot of the pathetic skeleton of a plant.

What’s a gardener to do?

Patrolling the remaining plants to pluck off greedy diners, (while hoping the plant that was savaged returns), is one option. But the plight of the Monarch, the most famous of the migrating butterflies (ours fly all the way to Mexico), and its declining numbers, make such a measure seem heartless. After all, the butterflies are no less beautiful, no less a part of the summer garden.

On the other hand, I want to see these plants thrive and bloom. So here’s my plan:

Elsewhere I’ve written of the need to preserve weedy patches for “good” insects. Part of that measure is designed to provide larval food sources for butterflies. The only way to save my special milkweeds AND the Monarchs is to find some sacrificial lambs. I’ll be checking the weedy corners and un-mown roadways nearby to find a stand of A. syriaca, the 'common' milkweed’, so that I can save the 'showy' one. Once found, I’ll commence a relocation project. Nevermind the disturbing analogy of moving these individuals from a highly desirable neighborhood to one of much lesser quality. When the caterpillars start talking to me, they can express their own preferences. Until then, they’ll have to put up with my decision.

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