Lessons & Reflections from the National Butterfly Center

A few years ago, I had a man arrested at the National Butterfly Center for criminal trespass. He often called to ask what was flying and whether we would be willing to sell him eggs, caterpillars or live adults. Our answer was always the same, “No.” So, he decided to take matters into his own hands and came poaching.

From what I understand, this man owned a property in Cameron County, where he raised butterflies for sale. His commercial enterprise was successful and he shipped live caterpillars, chrysalids and butterflies all over the country for weddings, funerals, memorial services and Easter celebrations.

I know few other details about his business, but those familiar with him say they were surprised when one day the man packed up and left in a hurry, leaving behind the plants, enclosures and vestiges of what was known as the Butterfly Ranch.

Last Thursday I got the chance to explore the place, myself. The property has changed hands a couple of times since the “butterfly rancher” left; now, the new owners are interested in learning all they can about the bounty they’ve acquired.

I must admit a morbid curiosity took me out to California Road. I wondered what remains? What may be breeding here, sustained by exotic host plants integral to his odious operation? Are the descendants of lucky escapees to be found, flying freely, where they may or may not belong? Will a fantastically dense forest of wild things await?! Images of abandoned, former Olympic sites in decay danced in my head. Would Mother Nature, without human intervention, swallow the structures whole and erase a legacy of performance by prized creatures, cultivated for profit?

I am happy to report the grounds were both wild and tended. Native host plants, along with a few exotics, were growing in garden beds and meadows, throughout pasturelands and around enclosures that now house chickens, turkeys and ducks, goats, pigs and ponies.

The current owners are fascinated by the butterflies and flowering plants, and more interested in transforming their land into a sanctuary than anything else.

Today, something detestable is becoming something delightful—and we couldn’t be happier for the butterflies or the family that now share their home.

As I crossed the front yard to my car, more Carolina (or South Texas) Satyrs than I have ever seen before deftly avoided my feet, barely disturbed, fluttering at every step I took. It was the stuff of dreams and the reality I wish for every landowner. For the love of butterflies.