Joy Fixation

Why a caterpillar took over my life

When I first found a caterpillar roaming my plants, simple curiosity caused me to try and identify which kind of future moth or butterfly I might be hosting in my garden. The search revealed it was a Monarch, and that’s when a full on obsession broke loose. Eyes inches away from my plants, I scoured for more. I found a second bigger caterpillar, then a third, along with a teeny tiny baby just hatched. Which then lead to me to google “what do caterpillar eggs look like” while my fingers flipped over the milkweed leaves. So. Many. Eggs. I left on a weekend trip convinced I’d come back to a monarch farm, and a search engine completely confused about who was typing in all these bug questions.

 

It didn’t take me long to search the garden for all my bug friends when I returned from my trip. I found one caterpillar hiding behind a leaf… and that was it. No eggs to be found. No teeny baby caterpillar. The big caterpillar was found days later, an outline of his greyed shell stuck to the top of the fence.

With my Google buddy in my right hand, I discovered that caterpillars have to fight for their lives against the many prey looking for a good snack. At the egg stage their biggest enemies are ants who I can only imagine eat eggs like a sashimi rolls. For the larger caterpillar stage, birds and spiders can come along to gobble them up. Even in their safe chrysalis, pupa can fall prey to bacteria carried in by all sorts of little bugs.

And here I thought it was just the caterpillar that was very, very hungry. 

From then on, every chance I needed to know where the “survivor” was. I’d invite my toddler to try and find him with me, pretending like my new obsession was purely for his learning. No reason to fool anyone now, this was all for me. 

I’d find myself sitting on the lip of the back door, watching the caterpillar flip upside-down the right-side-up, scaling the geography of my plants. Those sticky legs bunching in twos then stretching forward, rhythmic. I’m sucked into nature, watching her do her glorious thing.

One day, I couldn’t find him. I searched high and low, under branches and lips of plastic planters. I scoured the floor, even checked under the outdoor rug in case I had accidentally squished him (break my heart). A whole day of passing by my little garden just to stop, stare, search; and nothing. Not even a sign of death, like the old buddy still dried to the top of the fence (RIP). 

Google declared that caterpillars can travel up to 10 meters from their host plant before they bunker down in the chrysalis. I surrendered to the fact that this was goodbye, and wished my survivor luck in hopes he was on a grand journey out of my prying eyes. 

And then, the next morning, I walk out to find him crawling across my doormat. You guys, my heart actually leapt. For a caterpillar. I scooped him up, and placed him safely on the milkweed plant - somewhat selfishly hoping he might decide this is as good a place as any to undergo metamorphosis. 

Now, a handful of days later, he sits under a wide-leaf succulent, starting to spin his silk anchor. Metamorph he will, and I get the chance to watch it all

. 

I must confess, I feel pretty silly being so into this. I am 30, and have plenty on my hands with a new home and area to adjust to, a very active boy toddler, amongst a long list of work and life projects and errands. 

I can play faux-psychologist and assume it’s the transition on top of transition that’s driving me to stare at a bug. Or maybe it’s the social stress of trying to find local friends and a faith support system. Maybe it’s the hunting and failing to find childcare on a budget, or the crest and fall of hoping to ever own a home in California. 

In the end, who cares why. I declare that this is simply my joy fixation.

I set my eyes upon the lowly caterpillar. And I delight in watching the progress of something beyond my control (well… except for the rescue from the ground and my toddler’s pokes). I fall into something much bigger than myself, contained in a small-striped, many-legged package. 

And when the survivor wraps itself into the chrysalis, I may find myself mirroring the Monarch’s intention. Hoping I too can emerge from this beginning-again season as full-bodied and beautiful as the butterfly — orange and bright. 

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Moment in Time".