Sure Signs of Spring in Saskatchewan

The sight of a robin is always my first sign of Spring. 

Except this year.

On April 5th, my young granddaughters and I were looking out my front window when a large, solid black butterfly flew by us, flittering away just under the roof overhang at the top of the window.

We couldn't believe our eyes. A butterfly in April in Regina? I've never seen that, and I've lived here for almost 50 years.

I looked online for information about butterflies that live in Saskatchewan in winter and the closest butterfly I could find that resembles the large all-black butterfly we saw would be a Mourning Cloak. Although their black wings turn brown when they are older, Mourning Cloaks are one of only three varieties of butterflies that hibernate in Saskatchewan in winter and come out early in springtime. 

A Saskatoon Zoo Society page states: "Mourning Cloaks, anglewings, and tortoiseshells are the only Saskatchewan butterflies that hibernate as adults. (Other butterflies and moths usually survive the winter in the egg stage, although some will overwinter in the caterpillar or pupae/ chrysalis stages). The amazing part is they freeze completely solid in the winter and come back to life when they thaw out."

Another interesting paragraph about the Mourning Cloak butterfly is from a Canadian Entomology Cool Insects blog: "How long do butterflies live? For most, the answer is “not very long,” after what may have been many months as an egg, caterpillar, and chrysalis. For the Mourning Cloak (Nymphalis antiopa), however, life as a butterfly can stretch over an entire year. Mourning Cloaks spend the winter in hibernation, under bark for example, and they are often the “first butterfly of spring,” along with their close relatives, the tortoiseshells and commas. Since Mourning Cloaks are widespread in North America and Eurasia, they are probably the most oft-encountered spring butterflies in the north temperate world. After feeding on various trees (elm, willow, and poplar are all acceptable fare) as caterpillars, Mourning Cloak butterflies emerge from their pupae in mid to late summer. They sometimes live as long as twelve months as adults. In springtime, they typically emerge from hibernation before the first flowers are in bloom, and they feed on everything from sap flows to dung to mud, in order to obtain the nutrients necessary for such a long life."

So there you go.  

I've never looked into the wintering habits of insects in Saskatchewan before, choosing to just appreciate and accept them with gratitude when they show up. The early butterfly in my yard this year does not quite match the photos of any of the creatures on this Butterfly Identification page, and entomologists are welcome to correct me, but I'm guessing my new friend is a young black Mourning Cloak.

Usually, a ladybug is the first insect I see outdoors in springtime, and we saw at least a dozen of those in my yard on the weekend too. But that large black butterfly this year sure showed up its friendly flying neighbours. It even flew in front of me today as I drove into my back alley. How wonderful!

A black butterfly is said to be a sign of faith, hope, and new life, and a symbol of positive change.

Welcome, Springtime! And a special welcome back to our flying friends!

This robin was in my front yard yesterday.

My granddaughter gently holding a ladybug

A butterfly in my backyard in August 2023.

 

Only you can make yourself happy

You have to make your own happiness.

This is a lesson that is reinforced daily after you lose a life partner. You learn it early in your grief journey - if you didn't learn it before then - and it hits you in the face often as you work at carrying on in your new life alone.

Isolation heightens the awareness that while there are others who influence your activities, actions or thoughts, you are still the only one in your body. You are responsible for the way you think, feel, and act. You are responsible for creating your own happiness.

I interviewed a fascinating man many years ago who spoke about living in a refugee camp. The physical conditions at the camp were best described as squalor. Still, he had been happy there ...  because he chose to work at being happy every single day.

I am working at that too.

This was a beautiful day in my neighborhood. Since physical activity boosts emotional wellness, I planned on taking a bike ride to distance-chat with a widow friend and compare notes on how we are each doing. She is struggling with this pandemic isolation on top of her grief at losing her husband - a concept that had struck me more times than I care to count during these past seven weeks - so we chatted and sent love by text messaging instead and agreed to connect again in a few days.

I then contacted another friend and rode my bicycle over for a distanced visit with her. I needed that connection, with a few laughs thrown in, to keep me saner and happier.

During my ride, I enjoyed the sunshine, the clouds, the scenery, and the moments of face-masked smiling and saying hello to passersby from a distance. (Here's another positive about wearing a face mask outside, aside from it keeping me safer - I won't have to wear as much sunscreen this summer!)

After I parked my bike at home, I set up a "Gravity Chair" I had purchased at the end of last summer and had not had the opportunity to use yet. I spent the next half hour sitting in that chair and staring at the fluffy clouds while listening to chirping birds. It was the most relaxed I'd felt in weeks. (Guess what I'll be doing a lot more of in the weeks to come!)

I then peered into my garden beds and was thrilled to see green shoots of Springtime!

I smiled. A lot.

When I finally went back inside my house, I saw a small, yet big surprise sitting on the kitchen counter.

A feather. 

A sign of love from my angels - my departed husband came to mind, of course.

This amazingly small yet perfect white feather was sitting on the counter in a house where there are no down-filled jackets or anything else containing feathers.

How did it get there?

Maybe it attached itself to my clothing during the bike ride or in my backyard and flew off my clothing as I turned the corner to enter the kitchen, landing perfectly still on the corner of the counter, where I could see it.

Or maybe not. The "how" doesn't really matter to me.

Because I am responsible for my own happiness, and I gratefully accept any help I can get from wherever I can get it.

And that feather is going to stay right where it is until it decides to go somewhere else to bring a moment of "happy" there.