Wildlife Rescue Center

Want to see more fireflies in your yard? THEN YOU HAVE TO BE WILLING TO PUT IN THE WORK. I’m so irritated by people complaining about not seeing fireflies then telling me all the ways they’re actively preventing fireflies from thriving.

If you’re removing leaves and logs from your yard, you’re destroying habitat for firefly larvae. If you’re mowing your lawn frequently, you’re removing firefly perching sites. If you’re treating the garden for “pests” like snails and slugs, you’re ridding your yard of food for firefly larvae. If you keep that damn security light shining brightly into your (and your neighbor’s) yard, you’re interfering with firefly mating signals.

This is a photo of a firefly pupa. They glow as a warning sign to predators. This stage of life comes just before fireflies become adults. And it takes up to TWO YEARS to get to this point in their life. Fireflies spent 1-2 years as larvae in the soil and leaf litter feeding on soft-bodied bugs, before pupating and emerging as adults.

Many people manage their yards as pristine, weed-free and pest-free monocultures of grass then complain about the lack of fireflies. PUT IN THE WORK to change that. ✨

Condor 316 laid her egg in a cave on the edge of an Arizona cliff in April 2023, one of her last acts before avian influenza killed her. Her mate, Condor 680, was sick too. He stayed on the egg. For three weeks he incubated it alone, refusing to leave the cave to eat or drink. A California condor egg takes 57 days to hatch. A single parent cannot maintain the temperature alone for that long. The egg and the father were both going to die in that cave. 👇

Condor 316 laid her egg in a cave on the edge of an Arizona cliff in April 2023, one of her last acts before avian influenza killed her. Her mate, Condor 680, was sick too. He stayed on the egg. For three weeks he incubated it alone, refusing to leave the cave to eat or drink. A California condor egg takes 57 days to hatch. A single parent cannot maintain the temperature alone for that long. The egg and the father were both going to die in that cave.

On April 17, biologists from The Peregrine Fund who had been monitoring 680's movements waited outside the cave until the male made a rare departure to briefly stretch his wings. They scrambled inside, wrapped the egg in towels, packed it into a small field cooler with hand warmers, and drove 300 miles south to Phoenix. Jessica Schlarbaum, a Peregrine Fund spokesperson, said 680 had been so focused on incubating that he was not leaving to find food and water for himself, risking his own life.

At Liberty Wildlife in Mesa, Arizona, veterinary technician Jan Miller candled the egg, holding it to a bright light to see if anything was alive inside. The clinic had spent the previous month caring for flu-infected condors. More than half had died, including 316. Miller had little hope. She was looking for blood vessels or movement. She saw both. The mood in the room shifted instantly. Oh my god, it is actually viable.

The egg surface tested negative for the virus. The chick inside was poorly positioned and required an assisted hatch. Veterinarian Stephanie Lamb carefully cut away sections of shell. On May 1, 2023, the chick emerged. Liberty Wildlife staff spent two anxious days waiting for the HPAI test results. The chick was negative. They learned she was female. In a species where males outnumber females, her s*x made her survival even more significant. They named her Milagra, Spanish for miracle. Her official number was 1221. The Peregrine Fund normally identifies condors only by number, to avoid humanizing a wild species. They made an exception.

Within a week, Liberty Wildlife veterinarian Stephanie Lamb flew the chick to The Peregrine Fund's breeding facility in Boise, Idaho. Milagra needed to be raised by condors, not people. Her foster father was waiting. His name was Cuyama, officially Condor 27. He had hatched in the wild in California in 1983. When the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service made the decision to capture every remaining California condor on earth to save the species, there were 22 left.

Cuyama was one of them. He had spent four decades in the breeding program, siring and raising captive-bred chicks that would be released into the wild. Now, at more than 40 years old, he was raising one more.

Milagra spent over a year in Boise, first with her foster parents, then in a socialization pen with other young condors and two older mentor birds. She learned to eat, preen, interact, and establish her place in a condor social hierarchy, all from birds, never from humans.

On September 28, 2024, The Peregrine Fund opened the door of a flight pen on a red cliff at Vermilion Cliffs National Monument, 50 miles from the Grand Canyon's North Rim. Six hundred people watched from the basin below. Milagra was inside with three other captive-reared condors. The first bird left after 20 minutes. The second after 40. Milagra sat in the pen for an hour and 20 minutes. Then she walked out. She did not soar. She stepped onto the ledge and looked around.

She found a carcass that the field crew had laid out below the cliff and began eating. An older condor landed beside her. He was male, large, and his smooth pink head showed his age. They fed side by side. For a moment they turned and faced each other on the rocky ledge. The older bird was Condor 680. He was Milagra's biological father. Tim Hauck, director of The Peregrine Fund's condor program, said it was unlikely the birds recognized their family connection. For the humans watching, it did not matter whether they did.

Condor 680 survived. Removing the egg from the cave saved his life. He left the nest, recovered, and has remained healthy. Condor 316 had raised two chicks before Milagra. Neither survived to adulthood. Milagra is her last descendant.

Source: The Peregrine Fund / Audubon Magazine / Smithsonian Magazine / Associated Press / Salt Lake Tribune.