About a year ago the kids and I found a large and impressively-vibrant poison green caterpillar while at the Aberdeen bus station. It seemed in a precarious concrete-laden scenario so we brought it home to observe its transformation (we stopped at Rite-Aid to buy a jar as we were on bikes and couldn’t carry it easily and safely). The little creature seemed rather frantic (as far as I can tell for an invertebrate), waving its body around and spitting out strands of silk. That very day it spun its cocoon on a procured branch we’d included.
How long do such transformations take? I hadn’t even had time to take a picture of the critter and try to identify it, so I could not look this information up. We waited and the alien-looking, precisely-formed bundle remained inert. When we found our new house carefully we moved the jar to a windowsill on our porch. I watched anxiously as weeks, then months trickled by. I began to be sure we’d messed up. Ralph or a guest occasionally ashed clove cigarettes into the glass even. I felt terrible about this. I began to think we’d done something incorrect that had killed the animal, but what? I thought of carefully slicing the cocoon open to see what the insect looked like mid-change, but I thought to myself What if, what if it was still alive, then I will surely have murdered it.
Today as I closed the porch windows against the first real rain we’ve had in some time I observed the glass where it has sat for so long and to my surprise, the cocoon had changed, split neatly one-third of the way along the carapace, vacant and mutely perfect like the cap of an acorn. I looked about quickly but of course, she must have made her escape in the many times we’ve had our door oppen. I wondered if this has been the brilliant white moth I’d seen a couple days before, simply beautiful, regal, on my porch railing. In any case although I felt a small sense of sadness I had not elected to screen the top of the jar that we might observe the miracle, I was so glad she was free, ephemeral, unhindered by our human meddling.
Wow! I anguish over my own meddling as well. Even with rocks… While I rarely seem to find words to reply to your posts that chronicle life’s struggles, it is easy for me to share how heartened I am to read your prose detailing moments of ease and observation of nature.
How wonderful that it survived and then quietly made its escape when no one was looking. I often wonder whether we should really see things like caterpillars emerging or not; sometimes it seems as though it would ruin the magic of it all. On the other hand, to be able to see the insect emerge, wings and all, from its self-created shell would be SO COOL and I’ve often thought about buying one of those butterfly nurseries so my kids could see how it all happens and ooh and ahh in amazement.
@luckchrm
No comments are necessary for my ego, but they are always appreciated and I work hard to try to respond!
@Jen
At my son’s playschool they did the butterfly nursery thing and the kids loved it. I honestly think helping kids with insects, birds, pets, wild animals (even when what we’re demonstrating is NOT meddling) is crucial for helping all of us, grownups and children alike, develop a thriving sense of empathy.