It seemed like such a good idea at the time –- mail-order butterflies. I had gauzy images of smiling children enthralled with the life cycle of the butterfly, learning, exploring, and asking well-thought questions that would lead them eventually to scientific greatness, and possible a Nobel Peace Prize or the cure for cancer.
Our tiny, translucent caterpillars arrived in self-contained cups. I was assured by the shiny instruction brochure that I need do nothing except watch them eat and grow fat, like retirees on a Caribbean cruise.
My lads and lassies were enthralled! Real class pets! “Can we hold them?” “Can I take the lid off, Mrs, Dahl?” “Can we feed them? I have an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich…”
We watched our little critters eat, poop out little yellow balls called frass (now don’t you just feel more intelligent knowing that little piece of trivia?), and we watched them shed their exoskeleton several times as their rapidly expanding bodies created a snug fit for their frames. Good things humans don’t work that way, huh? Stretchy skin is way better for yo-yo dieting!
We watched transfixed as the first chrysalis formed. Incredible act of nature! My goodness, you would have thought we ourselves were going to morph into some other creature. It took about 24 hours for all 11 caterpillars to zip themselves into their snug sleeping bags. Then we junior scientist laid out our predictions for how long it would be until we saw the first butterfly emerge. Honestly, these kids just crack me up. They all bow at the feet of the “smart one” in the class. They’re convinced he’s got a brain the size of a coconut. If he says something, well its just gospel. Einstein predicted 5 days. The boy standing next to him predicted 5 days (a mere coincidence?....I think not). Then the next one predicted 5 days. C’mon guys, somebody get brave here and offer an-out-of-the-ballpark prediction just for the fun of it!
Another five day prediction, and so on and so forth. Then it was The Non-Conformist’s turn. He gives a little tug to his chin and rolls his eyes to the ceiling while he cogitates on his profound hypothesis. “Hmmmmmm,” he muses theatrically. “I’m gonna’ say one million.” One million days till we see a caterpillar? “Yup.” And that was that. Wisdom had spoken. There was no further discussion necessary. I dutifully recorded six hypotheses of five days, and one that contained nine zeros.
When all chrysalises were fully formed, we waited a day, then my shiny instruction brochure said it would be safe to move them to their habitat. Done. Now we wait. The Brochure says it will take 7-10 days. That should be perfect. They should start emerging right after Easter break. Like expectant fathers, we settled in for the vigil. We tried to just go about our daily business, but it was HARD….I mean, running over to watch every five minutes makes it happen faster…right??
We learned the body parts of the caterpillars and could label them with little help. We journaled about our experience, complete with illustrations. And we waited. “Mrs. Dahl, I think it’s happening! They’re wiggling!” And sure enough, those little buggers would dance a jig every now and then. Really funny to watch. I’m pretty sure I was enjoying our venture into Marlin Perkins Wild Kingdom as much as the kids.
We wound down the week before break and before we knew it, Thursday had arrived and we were running out the door for vacation (and the kids weren’t far behind the teachers).
I showed up Friday to get my lesson plans done for the next week and out of habit peeked at my tubular babies. WHAT??? No, you can’t be emerging NOW! We have three days until school starts again. THE KIDS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE FOR THIS. I paid good money for you to hatch when it was convenient for ME!! Doggonit anyway….
Within hours nearly all had broken free of their cocoons and were timidly trying out new wings. And they were breathtaking! You think I got work done? Ha!! I pulled my camera out and snapped like the new parent I was, from every angle imaginable. Wow. What a show they put on just for me.
My shiny brochure said to wait 24 hours to feed them. But wait.... that would mean coming back on Saturday. I hadn’t planned to go to work on Saturday. In fact, I had 25 relatives coming to my house for Easter dinner. I really needed to get some work done at home. Saturday was clean-like-a-maniac day. Not feed-butterflies-who-don’t-have-the good-sense-to-hatch-while-the-kids-are-here day.
Well, whatareya’ gonna’ do? The ‘flys needed to be fed. And so, Saturday night after supper I hauled my carcass back to a dark, empty building to feed butterflies. Am I nuts? Don’t answer that.
Here’s where it got interesting. Putting nectar (fancy name for sugar water) INTO the habitat required opening the top up. The shiny brochure didn’t say anything about how to keep them from flying OUT of their enclosure. Well, how hard can it be? I never lost a child at the mall. I should be able to keep tabs on eleven tiny insects.
I tapped the sides of the habitat to encourage the winged creatures to head to the basement for a moment, which seemed to work quite well. But there was this one inmate that was watching and waiting for the prison gates to open a crack. Waiting and watching. Watching and waiting. Casing the joint for a breach in security. We have a runner! Lock down, lock down!!
As I helplessly watched Escape From Alcatraz happen before my eyes, I can hear the lyrics to Born Free flit through my mind. Action, Vonda! Go shut the door before he gets a whiff of the hallway and makes his escape complete. Whew…I made it! I spot the little felon trying to blend in with the bulletin board. Maybe I can capture him and get him back in the habitat. Shiny Brochure, you are WORTHLESS right now! I carefully approach him, get up on the computer table in order to reach him easier, but the sneaky critter flies away just as I reached him. The poor thing hasn’t had a bite to eat yet. Yes, I’ll admit it. I was worried about its survival. I looked for awhile longer, but I also knew I might never see the wily thing again, so I posted a sign on the outside of the door warning folks that there was a Painted Lady on the loose and please keep the door closed.
When The Seven Wonders of the World showed up for school on Monday, they were greeted by the sight of their new pets. What a priceless picture to see those excited little faces peering into the net enclosure ooohing and ahhhing over their life science experiment. You would have thought they single-handedly brought forth life into this world. There were fist pumps, and back thumps and congratulations all around. The only thing missing was Cuban cigars. They had succeeded in the metamorphosis of eleven butterflies and they were happy to entirely take credit for this miracle. The best part for me, Mrs-Everything-Must-Have-An-Educational-Application, was the bombardment of questions that flew at me. I have learned that when I must prompt question asking, it means they really are not all that engaged. But when they suddenly think of a kajillion (spell check is luvin’ that word!) questions with little or no prompting from me, then they are in the zone and absorbing everything I say. This was such a moment and ENORMOUSLY gratifying. The Slick Brochure hadn’t prepared me for THIS.
The entire day was a blur of Butterfly Inquiry. I kept the habitat close by and at eye level so that they could visit the “nursery” and have a peek at their babies whenever they wanted. We watched enthralled as they landed on the dish of nectar and unrolled their proboscis to drink the sweet stuff.
Our moment of brilliance came during morning snack time. One of my darlings (who is a very good eater. I mean he eats anything, and keep it comin’!), was munching contentedly on watermelon chunks. The Brochure had mentioned that Painted Ladies love to eat cantaloupe and watermelon. I had mentioned this to the class previously. Someone suddenly realized that The Human Food Disposal had a baggie of the stuff clutched in his hands. All eyes turned to him. It took a moment before he realized what the collective intent was. When understanding dawned, he froze mid-chew as he realized that one of his precious chunks was about to be requested for The Cause. I could see the wheels turning as he pondered his options. Hoard or share? Be class hero or savor the melon to the very end? To his credit, he did not hesitate for long. With a solemn nod, like the President himself had asked for service to the country, he got up and laid a sticky red chunk in my hand. He would do his part. We could count on him. Smiling I gratefully accepted his sacrifice and (barely) opened the top of the habitat. Quickly dropping the watermelon in, I zipped the top shut and watched amazed as “nectar from the gods” drew all eleven beauties. They were luvin it!
With our Painted Ladies gorging themselves, we turned our attention to math and were just conquering a word problem, when I shushed the group. “Listen!” I commanded. Talking stopped and surprised eyeballs stared at me. You could have heard a pin drop. “There. Did you hear that?” All ears strained to hear whatever it was I had just lost my mind over. “What is it?” someone courageously asked. Without saying a word, I walked over to the window, shoved a desk underneath it, and climbed on top in order to get a better peek at my quarry. Now I could hear and sense the confusion behind me. Six bodies clustered around my legs. “Mrs. Dahl, what are you DOING?” I looked down at my charges and grinned. “She’s up here in the window.” Six blank stares. “Our missing butterfly is sitting in the warmth of the sunny window.” Comprehension dawned and now they were excited and full of questions. “Mrs, Dahl, how did you know?” “I could hear her wings hitting the window when it was quiet.” I answered. “She really wants to be outside and is trying hard to get there.”
When the janitor showed up later (who’s really more of a personal assistant than a custodian. God bless that woman!), she was accosted by the tale of the Lady on the Loose and capably captured it under a cup and returned it to its buddies. All safe. Hurray!
Yesterday I thought it might be nice to share our fun with the second grade, and so for about an hour, our babies left the safe confines of the nursery and took a little road trip across the hall. My children were bereft! “Mrs. Dahl, when are they coming back?” “Why does the second grade need to see them?” “I miss them!” And on and on it went. Finally Miss Mother Hen couldn’t take the separation anxiety any more. She threw down her pencil in frustration and shouted, “I want them back!” She marched over to the door, opened it wide and yelled to the door of the second grade class, “Bring them back!” I was in stitches!
Shiny Brochure claims they will live approximately two weeks (in a first grade class, probably less, I’m thinkin’). So the plan is to observe them two more days and then have a Release Celebration out on the playground (weather permitting, of course). I already know that it will be a very sad day for The Magic Tree House. We are VERY attached.
But who knows? Maybe on some sultry summer day, we may catch a glimpse of silver and orange, and know that one of our own has propagated and left a legacy for us to enjoy. At the very least, we have thrilled in the miracle of nature and seven inquisitive first graders have learned that there’s more to life than video games and Nickelodeon.
I hope they never forget.
I never will.
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