Did you know that the monarch butterfly, in its caterpillar stage, only eats milkweed?
I was delighted to learn this when a few of the black, white, and yellow striped creatures popped up among the milkweeds my partner had planted.
After a few days, all but one remained, plump and six times its original size. I’d looked up its stages of life and eagerly awaited the day it would attach itself to a secure base, hang upside down in the J position, form a chrysalis, and after two weeks transform into—in the precious words of Heimlich from A Bug’s Life—“a beautiful butterfly.”
Every day I stepped outside to greet my hungry friend. We enjoyed the sun and fresh air together (though I think I was more aware of its presence than it was of me…). Then one morning I saw it was hanging upside down, just like in the photos I’d pored over online. Change was on the horizon!
But the next morning, I was met with a morbid sight. A black goo had started to form around the caterpillar, its brilliant yellow bands obscured beneath. Some of the goo had dripped onto an adjacent leaf.
My stomach dropped. I whipped out my phone and Googled “monarch butterfly black goo” and arrived at an ugly conclusion. Black Death. Sometime between yesterday and the morning, a deadly bacteria had overtaken the fragile creature. It was incurable. I’ll spare you the horrific prognosis.
As I helplessly watched the darkening creature, I thought about the days it had spent preparing for a transformation that would never come. It had done everything “right,” was just minding its own business, and still nature determined that it would never fly, never be fully realized.
We gave it a few more days, hopeful and in denial. Eventually, we cut down the corpse and its contagious goo, burying it in some shaded mulch nearby.
Weeks later, I came home from picking up groceries and noticed a monarch caterpillar on the front steps. It had lost its way from the nearby milkweed and was baking in the sun. Delighted and alarmed, I dropped my bags and gently ushered the confused caterpillar onto a slip of paper, holding it against a leaf. It wriggled about cautiously before finding its footing.
I spotted another caterpillar on the steps. And another. And another. Four! I rehomed them among their chosen plant and hung out with them for a few minutes. One reached out with its stubby feet for a neighboring stalk and I assisted by pulling the plant closer. Another two sought shade beneath the plants. One started chewing at the leaves.
Four more reminders to appreciate moments as they come, to notice and cherish what’s in front of me. While it’s still here. While I’m still here.
Four more chances to fly.