I am starting you off with the joy and innocence of new wings. There really is nothing better than the reminder that the caterpillar builds its own liquidation — cocoon — and arises with a new form to soar to new heights.
We picked up our appointed caterpillars up from the nature center in a plastic ramekin, with a mesh-hoop of a hatching house. The small confines had me feeling a bit bad that these little bit-ties were in such a small space, for their short-lived caterpillar form before they became painted ladies; however, my son was excited, so I tabled my discussion on freedom for animals. Apparently you cannot take them out of the ramekin (I don’t know if that was true but with a 5 year old watching I followed the directions). So they ate and lived in the dining room “away from direct sunlight” as directed. Circling and eating for days while we waited.
And waited.
I am fine with waiting, but the bystander kept asking and honestly after a week plus, the slip-shod chrysalis was looking pretty grey to me. I had seen monarch butterflies emerge cocoon with their were a pop of color. This was not that.
One night, after my son went to bed, I tried to take a good look at the chrysalis, with a flash light. Didn’t look like much was happening to me, I shook my head. They were dead. I knew it. There was nothing I could do and I started to think about what would be a constructive story in the morning. Should I try and get more caterpillars? Would this be a worthwhile discussion? Should I wait a few days and just get rid of them and blame a gnome? I went to bed late and left it to be figured out another day.
Fast forward a mere eight hours later, “MOOOOOOOM, the butterflies are out!”
What? There in their upright mesh condo (you transfer them when they cocoon in the ramekin) were two unsteady, but very alive butterflies.
I called myself out silently for losing faith in the last moments. At the eleventh hour, I waned, and that is when grace, the natural cycle of things, came in on wings to remind me to stay the course.
We ushered these beauties out into the world and watched them soar high.
They went from a ramekin, to a mesh container after they emulsified their form, and then pumped themselves out into flight. There is a reason they fly past us so often, trying to get us to remember the magic. I keep looking at the discarded chrysalises in awe:
Those nubs are the remnants of their tails, their caterpillar bottoms, from which the chrysalis was formed. Is that not the wildest thing? With this full moon and beckoning horizons I feel like may of us are emerging and have no idea of what boundless skies await.
Just like these two ladies had a precious little hand beckon them out into their courage with a flower from his butterfly garden, unseen forces await to usher us through. I’m sure of it. That’s how these butterflies found out they could fly — with destined grace. What a journey life is when it is allowed to be.
Happy weekend of freedom. Be boundless and don’t give up right before the miracle,
Kate
If you need some coaching for your emergence, reach out.