Abe,
Last week we visited the Nature Center again. We decided to get a membership and you can look forward to many more visits to the otters and the fat bunny who sits lazily in a shady spot in his pen.
There is a special exhibition going on right now. In a makeshift quonset hut draped with fabric mesh, hundreds of butterflies cavort amongst a jungle of flowers. At the entrance they spray your hands with sugar water, to encourage butterflies to land on you. There were lots of monarchs, radiant orange and black. I told you about when I was a kid and your great grandmother got me started on raising monarchs. The caterpillars lived in huge pickles jars that I would refresh daily with milkweed leaves. I watched the pearlescent chrysalides impatiently, ready for the butterflies to emerge. When they did, they were bedraggled looking things, wet and crumpled. Over the course of an hour they would unfold until their wings were ten times their original size, velvet-rich and ready for flight. I'd launch them off the back step and watch them float around the backyard until they drifted over the house and out of sight.
In the butterfly tent there was a seven year old boy who sat patiently made scientifically accurate sketches of the caterpillars on display. To no one in particular he announced, “It's amazing to see what they become.” He didn't know he was talking about himself too. It was like a silver bullet to my heart.
Fly on,
Pa-