Joy of the Monarch, An Update

Hello Friend!

I say friend, because if you’re still subscribed to this abandoned place, I owe you. I’m revisiting some old posts, updating them and sweeping out the cobwebs on this domain to publish again. I had the honor of releasing a tagged Monarch butterfly today, so how could I not think of this post? As the butterflies flew from our palms, I was covered in goose bumps and a deep sense of gratitude. Thanks for reading!

When I was a kid, I hated Fall for the following reasons:

* It got dark too early and I couldn’t play outside until bedtime.
*Back to school meant back to shoes, instead of the bare feet of summer.
*Worst of all, everything turned brown and died.

There WAS one particular fall when a magical experience with nature created one of my favorite childhood memories. That was the year I fell in love with the Monarch butterfly.

1973, I was playing outside, barefoot and getting cold as dusk approached. I found a Monarch butterfly on the honeysuckle bush beside our house. She didn’t fly away when I came too close. She climbed onto my hand when I reached out to touch her wing. I tried to shake her off, encouraging flight, but she clung to my grimy 11 year-old hand. I deduced that this butterfly must be hurt, so I snuck her back into the house when my dad whistled his time-to-come-home whistle.  Having seen the movie “Dr. Doolittle”, I was totally convinced that I was the girl version of him for most of my childhood.

I kept that butterfly in my closet for two days as I “nursed her back to health.” I provided fresh water in a pickle jar lid and took her outside before and after school each day. She fed on the honeysuckle blossoms, unfurling a graceful proboscis while I watched in wonder. When she quit feeding I’d hold my hand next to her, she’d climb aboard then back into my room we’d go. On the third morning, when I lifted my hand after her breakfast, instead of climbing across my finger, she flitted away. Gasp! Awe! Pure joy!

Those two days meant the world to me, especially when we studied the epic journey of Monarch butterflies in science class. Their migration path is directly through my home state. From then on, every April and September, I cheered when I saw the orange and black miracles fly over me. While they made their way north in the spring and south in the fall, I felt like a secret part of the process.

When I became a Mom, I introduced the kids to my migration ritual and they clapped along with me. These days they call me to report their sightings and cheer with my grandkids. Many times over the years, Monarch joy carried me through difficult seasons, reminding me how precious and fleeting life can be.

*June 1988 – I was suddenly a single mother with a two-year-old daughter and a five-week-old baby boy. I noticed a chrysalis on my front porch bannister on a grueling morning as I scrambled out the door, kids in tow. It felt like a gift for me. Watching it go through its life cycle sustained me those few days after my world crumbled.

*April 1995, Oklahoma City and September 2001, New York City – While trying to come to terms with the horror and sorrow of the world during those days, witnessing another migration of Monarchs through my state brought much needed solace.

*September 1996 was the last time I spent the morning with a friend (who later became paralyzed in a motorcycle accident.) We ate his famous chocolate chip pancakes on an apartment balcony, planning our visit to the state fair while watching thousands of Monarchs dot the sky as they flew southerly toward us. We joked about how jealous we were of their impending winter vacation in Mexico.

I’d been planning a blog post about my love of Monarchs and heard a quote that spoke to me about true joy. Was it trite to compare my love of these little insects to a spiritual experience? I tried for years to write about it without sounding like a weirdo; but from the time I was 11-years-old and felt that surprise rush of joy when she flew away, the experience with my butterfly felt sacred.

When I Googled the quote, imagine my delight when I clicked on the link for beliefnet.com in the search results list. The quote was illustrated with an image of a Monarch butterfly.