Sultans of rot

A few years ago, I was walking the streets of Mission Texas, after attending the city's annual Texas Butterfly Festival. I passed several jack-o'-lanterns discarded at the base of a dumpster. It was two days after Halloween, and they were in an obvious state of decay. But I am a lepidopterist--not an authority in pumpkinity--and so what caught my attention was the attendant population of butterflies, flitting about and settling on the pumpkins.

Butterflies typically feed on floral nectars, but some groups enjoy fluids from rotting fruits as well. The wafting aromas of" fermentation are pungent enough to any human who has overkept a pumpkin, and they can attract butterflies several hundred yards away. Bingeing butterflies get so drunk and docile on the fruity alcohols that they can't even fly. I had no problem moving in to take" close-ups--though I had to hold my breath while focusing, to keep from disturbing their wings.

Conspicuous among the butterflies were malachites (Siproeta stelenes), members of the Nvmphalidae or brushfoots the largest family of butterfly. At least half the brushfoots feed on fruit, and the ones that do have more muscular bodies and fly much more rapidly than the ones that don't. I suspect that rotting organic matter offers more concentrated energy than flower nectars do. Conceivably, too, certain by-products of fermentation are useful in the butterflies' metabolism: even if butterflies--like us--are prone to alcohol addiction, that doesn't mean the libation lacks nutritive value.

People around the world have taken inspiration from the metamorphosis of the earthbound caterpillar into the ethereal butterfly, seeing in it the promise that the body will be transformed into spirit after death, and enter an afterlife. In most traditional Mexican cultures, butterflies are still regarded as embodiments of human souls. As I watched my woozy butterflies, I couldn't help reflecting that in "Mexico, los dias de los muertos ("the days of the dead") take place on October 31 (All Hallows' Eve), November 1 (All Saints' Day), and November 2 (All Souls' Day). Those holidays are a time of remembering and rejoicing, when, as many people believe, the dead return in spirit form--often as butterflies--to their earthly homes. To prepare, villagers clean gravesites, adorning them with breads, candy, flowers, and samples of the favorite foods and drinks of the departed.

Standing by the dumpster, with death and rebirth so closely joined, I felt that the real spirit of Halloween had become a treat for me--as it was, perhaps, for my ancestors as well.

GARY NOEL ROSS is a lepidopterist and writer living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He is the director of butterfly festivals for the North American Butterfly Association.

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