Butterflies Are Killing My Zen

I took up butterfly farming--as my 6-year-old grandson calls it--over four years ago. Initially, I did this for Boone and Rowan so that they would see the butterfly cycle, but, in all honesty, it was I who became entranced with our experiment.

Four years ago, I ordered a kit for the boys that included a net pavilion, a jar of butterfly eggs, and a bottle with a dropper of a liquid nutrition. I next made a huge production of reading "The Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar" before I had the big ta-da moment of showing them the set up. I was excited, imagining their happy faces. No smiles. Disappointed questions. "What are those? Where are the butterflies? Is that dirt in the jar?" Like so often, I'd imagined this scene much differently. Finally, once the caterpillars hatched, the boys did become more interested. Butterfly release day was exciting for us all. However, the burden of the first hatch was completely on Samantha, and so I put the the science demo on sebatical.

Last year, Samantha's friend Hannah gave us a milk weed plant, and I kept the tented plant on my lanai. The boys came by every few days to watch for caterpillar appearances and logged each one that crawled to the top, when a chrysalis formed, then waited for a Monarch to emerge. We'd release each beautiful Monarch as it burst forth, and it was breathtaking. I was hooked.

That hatch included nine butterflies, and the next two had seven and eight respectively. Rowan, Boone, and I were repopulating the endangered Monarchs all by ourselves. Summer came and vacations began, but we began again in late August. These caterpillars are not adorable little pre-butterflies. They are vicious!

Nine caterpillars emerged, but by the time the last one arrived, it was getting ugly in there. They'd eaten the milkweed bare and had begun stem gnawing. The fattest guy (or girl?) was causing the stem to shake enough to endanger the well-being of  the little scrawny caterpillar. I panicked. I was a slum landlord. Maybe a third world dictator, keeping my people caged in a food desert. I called Samantha. With very little preamble, I said, "The caterpillars are trying to kill each other! Can you find me another milkweed?" I'm pretty sure she thought I'd gone over the edge, but she did find four plants for me. I'm growing my own milkweed now and know to put in two plants the next time.

 The scrawny one crawled to the top--too soon, I fear--because the fatter food bullies wouldn't give him a stem. I put in a branch of one plant in for those remaining, and at this moment, the pavilion is not very pretty--just ten or so nubby, leafless stems in the pot and nine chrysalises on the plastic top.  It's waiting time now.

But--and this is not easy to say--my foray into the natural world freaked me out this time. I had seen nature as I know it to be but pretend not to see. It's a wild world. A dark world. Survival of the fittest, even with my pre-butterflies. Instead of being still moments to cleanse my mind and soul of the world of politics gone crazy, I've seen internecine war among caterpillars. I'm pretty sure the biggest was at least a bully if not a war lord. Butterfly farming has not been beautiful and calming this time. I'd seen its ugly underbelly. Yes, I will release these Monarchs as they emerge, but I do hope I've not accidentally bred a bunch of super preditors. All the zen motivators are gone now.

At this moment, I'm anxiously observing the two blue beta fish (females) swimming around their bowl, hoping they don't kill each other.

Butterfly Farming? Not Always a Zen Moment

I have had a few causes that are life-long. My latest is saving the butterflies, one Monarch at a time. It all began with the most noble of intentions as do so many things in my life. When Boone and Rowan were two and four, I planned a beautiful nature awareness moment. I bought a large copy of "The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar" and a kit for raising butterflies. It included a net pavilion, a small container of butterfly eggs and drops for feeding. But, as all it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-times, it was a it labor intensive. Not for me. For Samantha. She had to oversee the project, keep the pavilion in her closet (that the boys invaded to check on 'my' project. Oops.