Monarch butterflies may be struggling, but a University of Minnesota scientist has dedicated her life to their study and preservation.
Every time a monarch butterfly emerges from its chrysalis and unfurls its delicate wings, Karen Oberhauser stops to watch.
For Oberhauser, a University of Minnesota conservation biologist, an insect that weighs no more than a paper clip but flies to the mountains of central Mexico is a symbol of resiliency.
“Think about the relationship of this individual butterfly to the big picture of the phenomenon,” she said. “It is such a fragile organism that does such an amazing thing.”
Oberhauser has dedicated her life’s work to that fragile organism.
The 57-year-old Roseville woman runs the university’s Monarch Lab, as well as a series of projects that have uncovered some of the monarch’s mysteries. She’s rallied conservationists, engaged educators and galvanized a community of “citizen scientists” to track and count monarchs. This summer, she earned the White House’s “Champion of Change” award.
“Karen melds different worlds,” said Scott Black, executive director of the Xerces Society, which aims to preserve invertebrates and their habitat. “She’s a top-notch researcher who can balance her hard science with teaching and outreach. She really is this shining light that has helped us all get together.”
But while her career has blossomed, a bitter irony underlies it: Despite her efforts, monarchs are in steep decline in Minnesota and most of the nation.
Monarch larvae feed exclusively on milkweed, which has seen a 58 percent decrease across the Midwest between 1999 and 2010 because of herbicide use and loss of habitat. On what milkweed remains, Oberhauser’s Monarch Larva Monitoring Project has found record low rates of larvae and caterpillars. She and other conservation biologists say that while the monarch probably won’t go extinct, the future of its migration could be in jeopardy.
If that happens, Oberhauser said, we would lose one of the most popular, most accessible ambassadors to the natural world. The disappearance of migrating monarchs ultimately could foster a sense of futility about conservation efforts, such as Oberhauser’s.
“I don’t just want to be someone that documented the demise of monarchs,” she said.
Bonding with butterflies
Oberhauser’s initial interest in the monarch was purely scientific. She was curious about how species invest in offspring, and one of her undergraduate professors at Harvard College recommended she study the monarch.
It was only after years of research that she understood how much people connected with the colorful butterfly and its unlikely migration. She quickly realized that the monarch could be a tiny but effective tool to make natural science relevant again.
That’s when her connection to monarchs deepened.
Up went massive butterfly cages in her Roseville yard. Out went most of the lawn, which she replaced with pollinator- and wildlife-friendly plants. Oberhauser even found the time to manage 80 acres of prairie restoration in western Wisconsin.
“She struggles a little bit with being not busy,” said her daughter, Leah Alstad, who teaches high school in Milwaukee. “She pulls invasives to unwind, I think.”
Butterflies have been a part of her daughters’ lives, too. In fact, Oberhauser uses their childhoods as a frame of reference for her work. When Amy, her eldest, went to kindergarten, Oberhauser offered the teacher a few butterflies for the classroom. Soon all the teachers wanted some.
That led Oberhauser to start the Monarchs in the Classroom program, which offers curriculum templates and teacher workshops. Monarchs are a great teaching vehicle, she says, because their migration, which wasn’t discovered until 1975, is both fascinating and mysterious.
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