The Mystery of the Swallowtail

Last time I was here the water was higher; it was early spring, and now it is early summer.  Up along the banks there are leaves and twigs and even rocks to show how high the water got during spring thaw. I am in the Catskills at a creek near my sister's cabin. Across the creek the land is state-owned, so it is rare to come across any other people down here. Carolle tells the story that one day she and her daughter were sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek, reading, at a time the water ran particularly high, and suddenly two kayakers swished past, each pair surprising the other. But today it is peaceful and quiet.  Except when we do some yodeling to make sure the bears know we are here.

I step out of the water to walk along the banks for a bit.  The water is icy cold and my feet need a break.  Turning to look for the others, I see a flock of yellow swallowtail butterflies drifting silently down the path made by the creek.  Truly, maybe fifty or more wafting past in a straggly line.  For the rest of our trek we spy the butterflies, mostly in twos and threes after the largest group went past, flitting by on their journey to somewhere.

There is no internet service up here - no cell phone service either - so I can't look up information on swallowtails.  Maybe I will when I get home; maybe not. Sometimes it's nice to simply enjoy a mystery.

Butterflies in November

I was watching the National Geographic channel last night -- a show about migrating animals.  Here is an interesting fact about Monarch Butterflies:

It takes four generations for monarch butterflies to complete their round-trip migration.  First batch leaves from Mexico in the spring, lays eggs and dies somewhere in the southern U.S.  Second batch hatches, eats, cocoons, emerges, and takes off for the upper U.S.; repeat lifecycle.  Generation 3 makes it to Canada, where they lay their eggs, and when Generation 4 emerges as butterflies, they head straight south, going the entire way back to the original starting location in Mexico before they too lay their eggs and perish. 

Why am I taking about butterflies on this cold and windy day?  Because their unfathomable migration echoes the mysteries in our own lives.  Things happen that we can’t explain, but that doesn’t mean they are less true.  And if we sometimes feel we are butterflies, being pushed by instinct instead of reason, maybe we should let go and take flight!