We may have hit a record high in the DC metropolitan area last week with an 80d day in November, but the bare trees don’t lie. We’re well into autumn, and I have, in all likelihood, spotted my last butterfly of the season.

Each year I seem to turn more and more of my garden over to these beautiful marvels. They amaze and delight me. And as a photographic subject they challenge me in ways almost nothing else does.

In attempting to catch butterflies with a camera I have learned patience and stillness, because when you become part of the garden, they come to accept you or maybe just ignore you. Either way, they let you get closer.

In hunting them out, I have honed a visual alertness. I now detect them when their shadows flutter at the edge of my peripheral vision, or from the briefest flash of reflection off a tiny iridescent wing opened for a fraction of a second. The seasonal practice of photographing butterflies in spring and summer is training for my photographic reflexes, which grow a bit sluggish over the winter.

The more I observe them, the deeper the lessons become. One summer, as my family was struggling to come to terms with a recent chronic health diagnosis, all I seemed to notice were the damaged butterflies. It mattered not to them whether they had a full and resplendent wingspan or a battered, torn and patchy one  –  one antenna or a full set. The wounded found their flowers, did their work and flew on every bit as gracefully as their intact cousins. Butterflies might look fragile, but they are single-minded and resilient – strong even. This was exactly the lesson I needed that year.

Butterflies have shown me tenacity . . .

and grace. In this case in a matter of moments from the very same butterfly.

I don’t think of myself as a nature photographer, or even a butterfly photographer, for that matter, but everything I have learned from my seasonal practice of photographing butterflies informs my photography year-round, no matter the subject.

The sharper reflexes help with photographing children, the ability to blend into my environment helps with street photography, the heightened visual awareness and the patience – well I tap into them almost every time I pick up a camera.

So now, as I prune the butterfly garden and ready it for winter, I am looking through this year’s collection in my archives, reliving the beauty and wonder my little friends shared with me this summer, and already starting to think about next year’s garden.

Keep your eyes wide open,

Debbie