Published by Timber Press, 2021, 280 pages

“Beyond my footsteps, mahogany-colored clumps dripped from branches of scattered trees. They shimmered in the sparse light, nearly indistinguishable from the tree trunks and pine needles. … Millions of monarch butterflies… Millions—clinging to the trees like shelved books waiting to be read, their stories of adventure painted on their wings. Each had flown thousands of miles to escape the freezing winters of the United States and Canada. Each had the potential to travel many more miles back north in the spring. As did I.”

In the spring of 2017, Sara Dykman followed the migration of the monarch butterflies from their overwintering spot in Mexico all the way to southern Canada. She did it on a bicycle—what she calls a “Frankenstein bike” made from several parts: ugly (therefore unlikely to be stolen) and sturdy.

Her starting point is the El Rosario monarch sanctuary in Michoacán, Mexico, one of four Mexican winter sanctuaries where they go into a sort of hibernation. Dykman spends six weeks at the sanctuary and finally sets off on 12 March, when the monarchs start to spread their wings and head north. The journey takes her through Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and then north and east to Ottawa, Massachusetts, New York and back west and south to Kansas and Texas and finally Mexico: a total of 10,201 miles. It takes her nine and a half months.

The distance covered is impressive, but more so when you think of the tiny butterflies that make this journey each year. Every spring, they head north, to lay their eggs on milkweed, ensuring that the growing caterpillar will have plenty to eat. The caterpillars become butterflies who continue their parents’ migratory route.

The monarchs Dykman sees when she returns to Mexico in November are probably the great-grandchildren of the ones who started out in March.

Like many other species on our planet, climate change is affecting the monarchs. Damp conditions followed by unusually cold temperatures can be fatal. In the winter of 2002, after freezing temperatures followed 48 hours of rain, their wings froze. An estimated 200 to 250 million monarchs died, covering the forest floor with their bodies.

Their habitat, too, is being lost. As wild spaces disappear, the milkweed they depend on to raise their young is often mowed down or lost to property developments. 

A growing movement of people is determined to preserve the monarchs and their migration. Dykman meets many of then on her trip: they grow milkweed in their gardens for the monarchs, raise awareness about them, and in whatever way they can, try to preserve natural habitat. 

As she cycles on the monarchs’ trail, Dykman does her bit in raising awareness, talking to people she meets and to journalists, and giving lectures to both adults and children, with several speaking engagements in schools. The school lectures are special: not only does she get to educate a new generation but she gets to share in the children’s wonder and joy of discovery. 

This is one of the things I took away from this book: although there is reason for concern, given what we are doing to the planet, there is also reason for hope. As people become more aware of the effects of their actions, even the smallest ones, they are trying to help. 

And also, something I come across time and again when I read of women travelling solo: that people are often generous and helpful. Complete strangers open up their homes to Dykman. In Mexico, a man on a bike slows down when he sees her and stops to offer her an ice-cream cone. 

But in the end, this is a book about the monarchs: the beautiful and frail-looking creatures that, year after year, make unbelievably long journeys. I learned so much from this book about these tiny, indomitable creatures and their importance in our web of life.

This review first appeared on Women on the Road.