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Moths—Luring Exquisite Giant Silk Moths to Your Garden
Plants & Gardens News Volume 13, Number 2 | Summer 1998
by Janet Marinelli
Late one summer night when I was nine or ten, nose buried in a Nancy Drew book (instead of my pillow), I was startled by a loud thump at my window screen. Another thump. Some murderer or monster, no doubt! I was too scared to look. Finally, I snuck a peek. Silhouetted against the inky blackness outside my window was neither criminal nor alien, but rather the most captivating creature I'd ever seen—large, with sea-green wings and long, streamerlike tails.
This chance encounter proved an indelible memory. Today, the garden at my Shelter Island summer house is designed with plants to lure the nocturnal visitor, the lovely Luna Moth.
Luna Moth
Our Shelter Island patio, where my husband Don and I picnic on balmy days, brushes up against a butterfly garden we planted at the edge of the surrounding coastal forest. In keeping with the wild character of the site, this garden is a diminutive meadow. In early spring it's a wash of pastel purple when the birds-foot violet blooms, echoed by the iridescent flashes of tiny Eastern Tailed Blues, the first signs of butterfly activity. On the other side of the patio, the butterfly garden continues in a dampish area. Here we put a border of wetland bloomers, including Joe-pye weed, which waves its seven-foot-tall, butterfly-laden flowerheads in the late summer sun.
But the real excitment begins at dusk. As the sun sinks over Shelter Island Sound, the nighttime chorus of frogs and insects commences, the butterflies flee to their roosting spots, and Don and I pull up a chair, flashlights in hand, and wait for their nocturnal kin—the moths—to take flight, cloaked by the cover of darkness.
Creatures of the Night
Butterflies, which get all the good press, account for only about 765 of the more than 11,000 species in the order Lepidoptera found north of the Mexican border. The remainder are moths. These poor critters have gotten a bum rap—only a tiny percentage of species eat their way through prized plants or priceless woolens.
It's true that most moths are small, mousey brown jobs only an entomologist could love. However, some have spots, bands of color, and graceful shapes to rival those of any butterfly. They're so like butterflies, in fact, that often the only way non-scientists can tell the two apart is to look at the antennae: Butterflies have threadlike antennae with a tiny knob at the tip, while those of most moths are plumed or downright feathery. Male moths use their fluffy antennae to catch the scent of females on the night air.
Like butterflies, moths go through a metamorphosis of several stages, the most familiar being the caterpillar, or larva, and the adult. All night long, mature moths search for mates or flit from flower to flower. Some, like butterflies, sip nectar from blossoms. Flowers that attract moths often have a long, tubular throat to accommodate the creatures' lengthy proboscis. Three or four inches is the norm, but one African orchid with 18-inch spurs is visited by a moth with a tongue at least as long! While the flower is serving the moth its supper, the moth is returning the favor: Nectar-feeding species are major pollinators, absolutely essential to some plants.
There's a world of difference between flowers that strut their stuff by day and those that entice creatures of the night. Not surprisingly, blossoms that lure day-flying butterflies rely on visual appeal and usually come in bright colors. Those that attract nocturnal moths are typically glowing white or the palest green or yellow, and have a strong perfume. The fragrance of these flowers can be powerful. J.H. Lovell, inThe Flower and the Bee, recounts an experiment in which a moth was released 900 feet from a favored species. The creature made a beeline for the plant, a honeysuckle with intensely fragrant blooms.
Among the most fascinating nectar-sipping moths are the hawk or sphinx moths. These are some of the fastest fliers of the lepidopteran world. The wings of the adults are narrow, and their bodies are stout but streamlined, tapering to a point. Hawk moths hover over flowers with rapid wingbeats, like those of birds, as they probe the blossoms with their long probosces. One particularly striking species is the white-lined sphinx, with bold white or yellow diagonal stripes on its forewings and rose-colored bands on its underwings. Searching our Shelter Island garden with flashlights on summer nights never fails to produce a hawk moth or two hovering over the potted petunias.
Some of the most ravishing species are the giant silk moths, including the Cecropia, Polyphemus, and Promethea, as well as the Luna. In North America, these are among the biggest night-flying insects. In colors ranging from intense browns to bright oranges to luminous greens, the wings of these beautiful moths are accented by bright eyespots designed, scientists believe, to startle predators. Some species, such as the Luna, have incredibly long hind wings that trail behind them in flight. Sadly, the lifespan of the adults is fleeting: Because they lack mouthparts, they cannot feed, and live a few short days, just long enough to mate.
The only way to lure giant silks to your garden is to grow plants favored by their larvae. Lucky for Don and me, the oak forest that covers most of our property includes many of these moth magnets: sassafras, wild cherry, birches, blueberries, dogwood. That's probably why we've been fortunate to spot several species, including the spectacular Cecropia—the giant among this family of enormous moths, with a wingspan of six inches.
One of the great Cecropia stories can be found in Gene Stratton Porter's 1912 book, Moths of the Limberlost. One evening in mid-May, she wrote, "all the world white with tree bloom, touched to radiance with brilliant moonlight, intoxicating with countless blending perfumes," she put a female Cecropia on her bedroom window screen to beguile members of the opposite sex, then dozed off. (Some moth fanatics outfit the females with dainty harnesses made of thread and tether them to tiny cages outdoors!) After midnight Porter awoke to "soft touches on the screen" and went outside to find the night sky alive with lovesick Cecropias: "From every direction they came floating like birds down the moonbeams...I could feel them on my hair, my shoulders, and see them settling on my gown and outstretched hands." All night long Porter "revelled with the moths until dawn drove them to shelter."
Don and I have yet to experience a moth encounter quite like that. In fact, we're still waiting for a Luna to show up in our yard. But we have gotten to know many other nocturnal creatures. That's part of the charm of gardening with nature—the constant discovery and pleasure that comes as new worlds on the periphery of human life unfold.
Brooklyn Botanic Garden Director of Publishing Janet Marinelli is editor of BBG's renowned series of quarterly gardening handbooks and the author of Your Natural Home and The Naturally Elegant Home. Janet is a champion of the gardener's role in the preservation of the planet, a philosophy that informs her P&G News column, "Down to Earth." It's a philosophy that also serves as the bedrock for her book, Stalking the Wild Amaranth: Gardening in the Age of Extinction. In Stalking the Wild Amaranth, Janet tells of her quest for a landscape art that protects disappearing species, both flora and fauna. It's a gardening journey marked by humor—ecologically sensitive gardening needn't be a dreary affair, Janet insists. "We can do our part," she says, "and still have flair and fun."