Butterflies

I’m watching from the front porch as my boys walk up the street from school. Every day this week Jake has walked home with one or both arms outstretched in front of him—transporting caterpillars he’s found along the way.
“Look, Mom, two more!” He shouts from the street. He’s certain that each is going to go through it’s metamorphosis in his bedroom.
This is our first experience trying to nurture butterflies out of these fuzzy caterpillars.
But our experience with butterflies takes a happy journey back long before Jake can even remember. The summer John was only about 4 and Jake was just a toddler, John grew an insatiable fascination with monarch butterflies during a trip to my parent’s home. They have a huge bush that attracts the beautiful butterflies by the dozens. John got it in his head that he was going to catch one. Long butterfly net in one hand and butterfly house in the other, he marched safari style out to the yard to begin his quest. What ensued was one of the more delightful summer memories I have of him as a carefree pre-schooler. He would eye up the bush, pick out a pair of wings usually perched many feet above his head and then make a swing at the butterfly sending it skyward. The chase was on. I remember watching as he ran full speed, head to the sky, net outstretched and swinging wildly, his chubby legs cutting this way and jagging that way in hot pursuit of the impossible. He would give chase through the neighbor’s yard and down the street before finally returning home, red faced and breathless. Even though we told him a patient watchful method might work better than running them down, he was undeterred. Returning to the butterfly bush time and again to wildly chase down one of the elusive beauties.
And then, to our amazement, it happened. His little net swinging high in the sky actually contained orange and black when he looked inside. “I got one! I got one!” He screamed.
For the next day we admired the beautiful prize, feeding it sugar water and posing for trophy pictures. And then, we set him free, back at the bush where it all began.
In the back yard I now have a metal sculpture of a boy running with a butterfly net high above his head. It makes me smile every day as I watch my two adventurous little men stretch out their own wings and run headstrong into another carefree summer of caterpillars, cocoons and butterflies.