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In Ohio, wildlife gardener Kylee Baumle–a friend I met online and in person over the years–hosted Sara in her home and set up talks with local schools. Her anecdotes about travelling as a single female on a bike and finding places to camp were interesting.
Part travelogue, part adventure, it is 100% a love letter to nature. She somehow manages to convey the heartbreak and the hope that comes with being an advocate for wildlife in our precarious world. Did you know that monarch butterflies leaving Mexico in March are not the same ones that return in fall, or even the ones that we’ll see in our gardens and around town? Last October, when I spotted this one on Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’, fueling up for the next leg, I wondered where it started its life cycle.
And then, she uplifts us with so much joy and encouragement that we look around our gardens and say, “I can do this!” My camping options were not obvious. There were open fields of young corn, rows of spiderlike agave plants, clusters of colorful cement houses, and the occasional grove of spared pine trees. Even though I had biked thousands of miles and deliberated over camping spots hundreds of times, each night was its own puzzle.
As Dykman states, “humans keep taking, and wildlife keeps trying to make do.” Go ahead and read the book, then join your voice with the others. “Do it for the monarchs.”Without a smartphone, my only option was to rely on the clues of the road, my horrible sense of direction, and my paper map. This map had been only semi-reliable on my first bicycle trip through Mexico. The creases were worn and I’d covered most of it in clear tape to protect it. What I was protecting, however, was a colorful piece of paper that was accurate about 70 percent of the time. Even if the cities were misnamed and some of the roads didn’t actually exist, I used it because it was better than nothing. You can truly feel the passion Dykman has for these butterflies, which is the most inspiring part of this book, although the fact that she biked 10,000 miles was also incredibly inspiring and made me feel that if someone can do that, I can also achieve my goals. I celebrated my birthday and my survival by ending my day long before the sun did. After sixty-five car-crazed miles, my mind, legs, and butt were all pleading, STOP! One “can only dream of the millions of bison that once chomped, wandered, and produced the prairie under the gaze of visiting monarchs. Looking out at the broken scraps of what once was, my heart is broken, too.”
While I appreciated her raw emotions in her story as they related to animal deaths or habitat, there was also a tone of hatred and condescension that really bothered me. Some excerpts talked as though cars are horrible things or the drivers are heartless because an animal is accidentally killed. Sie describes not being able to forgive those who destroyed pollinator habitat, even though she was describing farmers and general civilians who likely just didn't know. The author’s account is peppered with events and encounters both memorable and humorous. Her story comes alive through descriptions of details of life on the trail: ensuring her tent will not flood when rain is on the horizon—and dealing with it when it happens, setting up camp in places as unlikely as a commercial parking lot, finding her own brand of “sandwiches” (ingredients eaten one after the other instead of combined between two pieces of bread) less time consuming to prepare after a long, exhausting day, and doing laundry in a shower stall. Science, nature, and adventure come together in this riveting account of a solo bike trip along the migratory path of the monarch butterfly.I found deeply touching the moments Dykman spent having personal connections with creatures encountered along the path. In those passages, I found the invitation to look into the mirror Dykman was holding up, to show us how we can find ourselves in every living creature and become motivated to take action. I have read a number of enlightening and enjoyable books about the adventures of researchers trying to learn more about the natural world, but Bicycling with Butterflies is the best I have seen. With both humor and humility, Dykman offers a compelling story, confirming the urgency of saving the threatened monarch migration – and the other threatened systems of nature that affect the survival of us all.
Told with a writer's eye for detail and a biologist's sensitivity to the fragile nature of the systems that support wildlife and humans [...] a keen observer of the human condition, Sara draws attention to some of the patterns in our society that are in conflict with the greater good. Her narrative is an important wake-up call for the need to stay connected to nature."
Customer reviews
One of my favorite books of the year! Dykman does an excellent job of telling the unique account of her daring trip following the monarch butterfly migration through North America on bike. Dykman cares deeply. Her feelings, whether anger or pleasure or something in-between, are palpable in her narration. Saving even one caterpillar from a mower did not require too much effort. Instead, it signaled her commitment. If one individual could change the course of extinction through sheer will, Dykman would succeed.
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