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Illustration by Drew Shannon
I made his acquaintance on an August evening. Immersed in a pot of parsley, he wore a suit of black and white stripes with yellow dots. I snapped photos of him, believing the fellow to be a monarch in the larva stage.
I texted my friend, Shirley, asking for help to set up suitable accommodations for him. Shirley’s garden in Dundas, Ont., is a haven for butterflies. Each summer she rescues monarchs, collecting their eggs on the underside of milkweed leaves into huge jars and nurturing the emerging larvae to adulthood. She tags their wings before releasing them. One of Shirley’s tagged butterflies was recorded in Mexico months after leaving her.
A butterfly enthusiast knows that caterpillars found in parsley patches are not monarchs. Monarchs do not eat parsley. Nonetheless, Shirley and I admired the striped creature poking his head up from the leaf he was devouring. He was a friendly fellow.
“I’m going to call him Harvey,” I decided, “after Harvey Specter of Suits fame. His clothes exude power and confidence, same as this little guy’s duds.”
“His markings are that of a black swallowtail,” Shirley stated as we transported him on a parsley sprig to a large glass jar. We added a stick before covering the top with pink netting. “He feeds on parsley and dill leaves and doesn’t migrate to Mexico.”
I googled information on the swallowtail and watched Harvey munch, grow and shed his skin. I cut more parsley and removed the tiny droppings from his jar before stopping to consider that this little creature was eating the parsley we were growing for human consumption. I was giving this caterpillar the VIP treatment. Discomfort grew as I thought of other creatures in our garden munching on tomatoes and zucchini plants or making lacy patterns on hosta leaves. These are pests who, when caught, receive no leniency. Harvey was different, wasn’t he? I sighed while cutting more sprigs for his jar.
Harvey had put on a lot of weight when I suffered a panic attack. He wasn’t huge, but he was getting bigger and fatter than I had anticipated. I’m a little screamish at the sight of long, fat creatures of the soil. My family wondered at the incongruity of my protective caring for a caterpillar.
Harvey stopped moving for a complete day after shedding his skin. Was he sick? When he perched on the stick, a sign that he was ready to pupate, he did not move for another day. Shirley assured me everything was going as planned. Witnessing the pupating transformation was a wonder of nature, natural and amazing. Harvey secreted a substance, soft, pliable and apple green in colour, over himself, as if tucking into a sleeping bag, all while shedding his skin.
And then the wait began. The cocoon turned a brown colour, its texture rough, a perfect camouflage on a stick. For two weeks I waited for something to happen. Summer was coming to an end, bringing cooler nights and stronger winds. There was no sign of life in that cocoon.
Harvey emerged on his own time on the last Sunday in August. When I saw him, he was upside down, clinging to the pink net over his jar, limp wings folded away from his body. An amazing transformation had occurred. His body was black with white spots. He had sprouted black wings, his inside wings having rows of bright orange dots with sky blue and white spots along the edge. The other side of the wings featured rows of yellow spots on the black surface. Harvey was a beautiful butterfly.
I was so thrilled it was difficult to know how to handle these first moments. I gifted the butterfly with a blossom from my butterfly bush. He seemed as confused as I. He needed more time for his wings to dry. How would he have handled this period of time if he were on his own in nature? I allowed Harvey time to settle as he perched on a window ledge. After a few hours of rest, I opened the door to allow him to leave. He did not move. Another few hours passed. When I opened the door again, Harvey took off, flying high into the air toward a neighbour’s garden. A sadness set in as I wondered whether I would see my swallowtail butterfly again. I wished him well.
Harvey has made a difference to my life. My family and friends have heard my story and wondered how a mature woman could get excited about a butterfly. I was more aware of the consequences of my actions so I use no pesticides in our garden and have added more flowers and bushes to attract butterflies and bees. Milkweeds compete with tomato plants for sunlight.
I wish I could say that Harvey has come to visit, but I have not seen him since his release. I hope he is enjoying himself somewhere out there. In the meantime, I look forward to next summer when my parsley and dill patches will lure another generation of Harvey’s relatives to our garden.
Marlene Castura lives in Hamilton.