The Little Caterpillar Who Could

Rowan and Doc

The day we brought the monarch caterpillar that Rowan named “Doc” home in a zip-lock plastic baggie, I was filled with both intrigue and dread. As a child, I couldn’t ever remember capturing one of these sproingy, beautiful green guys and the thought of caring for him was daunting. Especially given that our experience trying to “hatch” tadpoles just one month earlier had resulted in the demise of one small froglet.

The friends who we “adopted” Doc from had plastic baggies hanging all over their house with caterpillars in every stage of development. As Lynn shared what we should watch for and how we should care for this tiny creature, the kids bounced around sing-songing facts about the wiggly guys, and how their transformation happens.

So, we drove home, with Doc in a zip lock baggie hoping for the best. Yet I couldn’t shake the bad feeling in my belly and the thought that I might have to have another “circle of life” conversation with Rowan was enough to make me sick.

As with life, Doc’s transformation didn’t go according to plan. Our friends assured us that he would begin chomping away on the milkweed leaves in the bag and when he started pooping a lot, he would attach to the side of the bag, at which time we would cut the bag away and hang him somewhere.

Doc chomped and chewed and when he started pooping more than most humans I know, we watched him with intensity. After returning home from a quick trip, we checked in on Doc only to find that he had in fact, become a chrysalis but he had not attached himself to the side of the bag.

Here comes that sick feeling again. I got on the phone and left a message for our friends – asking for their guidance on what we should do next. Doug wasn’t going to be home for several hours, which increased my anxiety as I had a feeling that we would need to take some action to help Doc survive. It was up to me. So, remaining calm (on the surface), I did what most people would: I Googled it.

Instead of focusing on Doc’s demise, I turned our dilemma into a challenge…propelling us forward by digging in. I recently realized that when I am under stress, nobody knows it. That’s not to say that Rowan was unaware, it’s just that when push comes to shove, I can channel all that fear into focused action and ultimately, results.

I found out quickly that in order for Doc’s wings to develop properly, he had to hang upside down. So, the fragile, beautiful green chrysalis needed to be hoisted and hung. “Great,” I thought out loud. Dealing with fragile and intricate details aren’t my forte. Doug and Rowan both know the kind of tense concentration it takes just to paint my own nails!

“Okay, okay, okay…” I kept repeating. And then, as most of the women in my family do, I began to talk through what we should do, out loud. “What we need to do is tie a string to the top of Doc and hang him.” “Hey! Here’s an old butter container, and here’s some string…”

Moving through the murky waters, trying to remain calm, all the while sweating the details. I was a nervous mess. In the end, with great care, I managed to rig Doc up to the inside lid of an old butter container and I even cut a hole so we could see his “progress.” By now I should mention that I was one hundred percent convinced that Doc would perish. If he hadn’t already crossed over, the trauma of my attempt to handle him “delicately” surely killed the poor guy.

So, for the next eight days, we watched as Doc’s home turned a variety of colors. All the while, with Rowan assuring us that “it was completely normal development” and that he had “researched it in school.”

Daily and most nights my thoughts would drift to Doc. “At what point is he going to get moldy and I’m going to have to have “the conversation?” I kept thinking. One night, before we drifted off to sleep, I shared my worry with Doug. “I am SO worried about Doc. I just cannot bear the thought of having another “circle of life” conversation with Rowan. After all, we did just kill a tadpole…” My husband, possibly one of the kindest, most patient people I know responded sleepily…”I know, honey. But let’s just wait and see.”

By now you know a few key things about me:

1) I rarely ever let “them” see me sweat.

2) Intricate details (like clasping my own bracelet or painting my nails) are not my strong suit.

3) Thankfully I married a patient man because I have little to none of my own.

So, we waited and we watched. And one Friday morning, Doc had turned completely black. My heart sank when I saw him. “Oh my gosh, he’s died and now he’s getting MOLDY!” I thought just as Rowan padded over for his early-morning check of the winged one. “Mom, he looks like he’s about to hatch,” he said. “What??? My head said. HATCH? That guy is as moldy as the bread we just composted…” Rowan continued, “Yep, Mom, it should happen any time.”

We continued with our morning routine and right before we left the house for the day, we checked on Doc once more. Peeking through the door on the makeshift butter container, dangling from the bottom of a blackened chrysalis was a beautiful monarch butterfly! Doc had hatched and he was extraordinary. Slowly, he stretched his wings and unfurled himself. It was a Friday after an extra-long week and in my mind, it was a miraculous sign. The little caterpillar that could…did.

Doc needed to be released. And we were going to be gone all day. So, we packed up the butter container with the butterfly who beat the odds and drove him to school – to share him with Rowan’s friends.

Such is the story of a wiggly, squiggly worm that I thought was done for. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on me. So many times, I have wondered, “how am I going to accomplish this task?” only to find out that deep within me, like every one else, there is a reservoir of strength and will to survive. And to think, all started with one little caterpillar.