America is a beautiful country, and I’ve been lucky enough to drive through it countless times. Every year, from late June into July, as summer begins to settle in across the southern United States and gradually creeps northward, I notice something. Fields—vast, open fields—come alive with native perennial plants. I see Asclepias syriaca (common milkweed), Vernonia (ironweed), Verbesina, Solidago (goldenrods), and many more. Sometimes, as a gardener, I even think, “That’s a bit much.” But nature doesn’t plant with restraint.

Just as the milkweed begins to bloom and monarch caterpillars emerge, something else happens. Something that’s been happening for decades—centuries, really. It’s the first hay cut of the season.

Tractors roll through those fields, mowing down everything—grass, goldenrod, milkweed, caterpillars. All of it flattened. Baled. Wrapped. Removed. A process repeated again later in the season, leaving no room for the plants—or the monarchs—to complete their cycles.

And as sobering as this is to say: the hay bale kills the monarch butterfly.

A Complicated Conversation

This isn’t an attack on farmers or rural landowners. It’s a nuanced conversation about land stewardship. Private landowners have the right to manage their property as they see fit. For many, haying is a tradition and a practical source of income or feed. But that doesn’t make the consequences invisible.

The person on the tractor isn’t intentionally killing monarch caterpillars. Most don’t even realize they’re there. And the reality is, mowing just three weeks later could make all the difference. Give the milkweed a chance to bloom. Give the caterpillars a chance to feed, pupate, and emerge as butterflies.

That’s the cycle. And every year, it’s interrupted.

What You Can Do

You may own land. Or manage it. Or know someone who does. You may see a field looking unruly and feel the urge to mow it clean. Uniform. Controlled. I understand that. But wild things—especially native things—have value beyond aesthetics.

If you notice a lot of milkweed in a field you normally mow for hay, try shifting the cut date. Just by 3 or 4 weeks. You’ll be amazed at the difference it makes. Especially when it comes to the monarch.

This butterfly isn’t just a backyard visitor—it’s a continental traveler. From Canada to central Mexico, its life depends on native milkweed scattered along its migratory path. From egg to caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly, each stage plays out over the course of summer. And the timing matters.

The Bigger Picture

Let’s not pretend this is a new issue. The practice of haying in North America dates back to the 17th century. It was practical. It fed animals. It created order. It didn’t ask what was already growing there, whether it was goldenrod, aster, or milkweed. If it could be cut and baled, it was more useful as hay.

But today, we’re more aware. Or at least, we can be.

If you’re using your land to feed your family or sustain a working farm, I’ll never suggest you change what’s feeding your children. But many hayfields across the U.S. today are not anyone’s primary livelihood. They’re often used to offset taxes, reduce maintenance, or bring in supplemental income.

Those are the landscapes I’m asking us to reconsider.

Because what we’ve lost in those fields—once teeming with butterflies, bees, and blooms—wasn’t a luxury. It was life. And we can start to restore it with something as simple as paying attention and mowing at the right time.

This Isn’t About Milkweed Alone

You know my position: good gardens—not just milkweed—bring pollinators. I’ve written before that the fixation on milkweed alone is misleading. The monarch doesn’t need just one plant. It needs a functioning ecosystem. It needs stewardship.

So if you find yourself in a field full of milkweed in June, let it bloom. Let the caterpillars feed. Let the butterflies fly. Push the mower back to July. Steward the land like it matters—because it does.

And maybe next year, the hay bale won’t kill the monarch butterfly.