2025 September 21 The Mourning Cloak

This Mourning Cloak butterfly was resting on my hammock this morning in the garden.

The Mourning Cloak

The Mourning Cloak butterfly

shrouded in deep black

is hemmed in an earthy gold.

She reminds me that it’s fine

to mourn my withered Concord grapevines

that were stunted this year

by lanternflies.

I remember the glistening purple jelly

I made with joy.

That jar of sweet rich grape flavor

lasted all the way through winter.

I remember the smiles

when I brought “real grapes” 

to my class of middle schoolers.

They couldn’t get enough. 

They dared each other to swallow the seeds, 

or spit the seeds perfectly into the trash can. 

They shrieked when a tiny spider 

crawled out of the paper bag I brought them in.

They couldn’t believe how “real grapes” tasted

and they wanted more, more, more!

The birds loved the grapevines too.

Remember how the Catbird sang

from the top of the Mullberry tree

where the vines trellised themselves naturally?

She sang to us all day.

I follow the fluttering path of the Mourning Cloak,

but she disappears quickly over the vines and trees.

Hold on.

What is this healthy vine starting up over the arbor?

It’s the weedy Riverbank Grape,

and it’s climbing the woody old vines for support!

These are the grapes that the old trees know. 

These grapes were here long before my Concords.

I will have “real grapes” again!

I’ll send my gratitude to the Mourning Cloak.

I needed the reminder

that a loss brings back loving memories,

and opens the door to new growth. 

The native Riverbank Grape Vitis riparia is climbing the old Concord Grape vines up the arbor!