We always look forward to the return of the monarchs. Over the years, though their numbers seemed to have diminished, we encourage the growth of milkweed and brightly colored flowers to attract them. But that's only one reason we like to see them. We are convinced that each year one of these little floaters is our good buddy Prunish from Galveston, Texas.

I know, it’s weird. But it’s similar to our looking forward to that little peck on the window from our mother's favorite bird, the chickadee. She visits regularly and also helps me with event weather management. I always ask for her help from the other side when there is a large outdoor event. Like our daughter's recent wedding: 80% chance of thunderstorms that did not happen, at least not here on the farm. All around Southport got rain. Mother arranged for clearing and beautiful sunlight. She was also consulted for a big wedding and outing at the Shipyard for the classic sail gathering. I had her working overtime and she answered the calls! Thanks mom!

The Prunish butterfly never fails to show up, even though, I realize, that these little flutter-bys do not make multiple trips from their winter homes. Prunish somehow manages to see that someone stops by. He was a bit of a magical creature in his own right. But every year there is one monarch that messes with me and I know it’s him.

When the milkweed begins the blooming process, I am always shocked by their fragrance. For years as a child, walking miles to school with neighborhood youth (Ha!), I cannot recall ever noticing their smell. I suppose that's because school started in September well after the milkweed plants had bloomed. In the fall the plants create their pods with silk and seeds, but no smell. I do recall breaking the pods open and flinging the silky contents across our path. That was generally around mile 13 on our trek to school!

The Prunish butterfly floats high over the rooftop to be sure I notice. Then, eventually it drifts down nearby, just close enough to be sure we connect. A few flaps of the wings on a plant just out of reach, locks us in. Then, just as I try to grab a quick photo, off he goes, floating and drifting about, laughing to himself I am sure. He is a playful chap even floating close enough to me to be inside the focal range of my lens. I can just hear him, “Ha, ha, Mitchell, Catch me if you can, you old goat.”

He lands briefly on my sleeve as if to say, “That's it for now, I'll be on my way. See you next year.” And off he goes. My guess is he has others to visit. Thanks for stopping by Prunish. We miss you.