I witnessed the most amazing spectacle in the garden one evening. I had just finished transplanting a few perennials when I noticed some flying crepuscular creature darting around in my garden patch. Against the waning twilight of late summer, I could see that it first appeared to be the size of a small bird, but it wasn’t flying smoothly like our avian friends typically do. No, it had more jerky movements like a grasshopper. And, it was coming my way.
It flew to five feet behind me. Whirling around, I saw it start to hover and steady itself above the rain lilies that had just opened from the soaking five days prior. I stood and watched the beautiful dance between hawkmoth and salverform flower. Flying about six inches above the plant, it prodded and probed to find the entrance, almost like when you try to plug an electrical outlet into the wall in the dark.
And, then the second surprise of the evening came. It descended towards the flower to barely an inch above the petals. The nectary and ovaries were really that deep?! Wow, I had never noticed that! I didn’t grow up with Cooperia drummondii (aka Zephyranthes chlorosolen) in west Tennessee, and after transplanting a few last year into my garden, this time was the first I’ve watched them be pollinated.
Finally, it hit me to pull out my phone and record the spectacle. I watched as it went from flower to flower to flower repeating the same pattern. The search for the tube, the dive in, and the move on. I noticed with this first round of feeding the hawkmoth took its time, perhaps spending 15 to 20 seconds or so per flower. And, the wings and proboscis were so powerful they were moving the surrounding flowers.
After the hawkmoth had perused the line of Cooperia, it flew off to another white flower in the garden that wasn’t a rain lily as it soon discovered. As I gathered my tools, I noticed it then returned for a second round, but this time the visit at each flower was only a few seconds. I suppose the first pass it had drunk the flowers dry. It flew off into the night, and I headed inside to try to ascertain which hawkmoth friend I had just made.
To my surprise, I learned it was the adult form of the tomato hornworm, the five-spotted hawkmoth. Even though I detest their destructive habits on my tomatoes, I suppose I could start leaving one or two to enjoy the fall feeding frenzy on rain lilies.
Cooperia drummondii flowering approximately five days after a rain. If you look at the bottom of the photo and follow the scape up, you’ll see the ovary where the green fades to brown.
A few weeks later, the seed heads rupture. I collect seed and scatter it to make more plants. If you look closely at the immature ovaries, you can see the wilting tube attached at the top through which the hawkmoth’s proboscis would have descended.
Seems hawkmoths aren’t the only insect that likes to pause at rain lilies.