“Who knew?” says the landowner.
Have you heard the one about the botanist, the entomologist, and the landowner who walk across a farm field? Well…there’s no punch line, but there IS a good story.
As they walk through the field, the land owner, says “this looks like a farm field, but three years ago we converted it to a mix of native grasses and wildflowers.” With that, the entomologist stops and whispers “shhh…hear that?” “You mean crickets?” asks the landowner. “Not crickets. Those are meadow katydids,” replies the entomologist. “First I heard one species. Then I heard three more less common ones, and just now three more that I rarely hear. It’s a symphony of meadow katydids!” He gently grabs one of the small green grasshoppers and holds it carefully between his thumb and index finger. “So much variety of these in one place, and so many individuals…this is incredibly rich habitat! They would NOT have been here when it was just row crops. His astonishment is infectious. “Who knew?” says the landowner. “It was that way for decades before us. A monoculture of corn or soybeans, always sprayed with chemical pesticides and fertilizers. To think that this place could go from a field with dead dirt…not even an earthworm…to a katydid symphony in just two years? Talk about a vote of confidence!”
As they continue through the field, the botanist points out tall stalks of bright yellow Canada goldenrod, Indiangrass and big bluestem, bouquets of light green mountain mint and brilliant purple coneflower. “The southeastern grassland seed mix you planted is really coming along nicely! Just think of all those green lawns out there that could be full of color and life like this,” he says. They notice many different types of pollinators covering the wildflowers – bumblebees, small wasps, butterflies and moths. “This place is literally humming with native insects,” says the entomologist. “Thanks to the diversity of native plants you’ve reintroduced,” adds the botanist. With that, they all watch as an indigo bunting swoops down to capture a sphinx moth.
They continue on, and the landowner comes upon something he’s been hoping to find. “This confirms it,” he exclaims, holding up an open pod of silky milkweed seeds. “I wasn‘t sure if the common milkweed had flowered this year, but it did, and it’s going to seed so it can spread naturally. Success!” In this case, success means this field supports reproducing populations of monarch butterflies. This iconic species has been in steady decline in recent years, partly due to the loss of common milkweed across their range. They spend their whole life cycle on this host plant – laying eggs there, so the brilliant striped caterpillars can eat the leaves before spinning their camouflaged chrysalis on the stem, awaiting a spectacular metamorphosis into unmistakable orange and black butterflies which nectar on the flowers before making their legendary journey south toward wintering grounds in Mexico. Just then, a monarch butterfly passes over their heads. Then another. Then three more, all heading in the same direction. South.
So as the entomologist, the botanist and the retired entrepreneur leave the field, they all agree it’s clear that, if you look at a farm field long enough, and close enough, you’ll see that it’s so much more than just a farm field. You’ll see the beauty and the diversity of life it supports.
