The challenge: Burn a mess season’s worth of fallen tree limbs in a backyard that has been drenched by one of the coldest, wettest Aprils on record.
The tools: One paper grocery bag and a box of the new 5-Minute Cricket Firestarters
Like most dads, I like to consider myself an expert at starting fires. Start off with easy-to-light tinder, add thin dry sticks and twigs. From there you build it up, starting with the smallest material first, finishing with the largest of your logs. Of course you will want to make room for air with either the log cabin or a pyramid shaped pile of wood.
But even when you know what you’re doing, it’s not always easy to get a fire started, especially in the backyard after a month of rain and snow. The ground is wet; the wood is wet; and even the damp air seems against you. This was the situation last week when I headed outside to begin some spring yard work. Even with a paper grocery bag as tinder, I’ve gone through a half dozen matches before I can get a fire to catch. Either they get snuffed by a gust of wind, or smothered by the cold damp, or they light just fine, but then go out 30 seconds later.
This time out, I was kind of excited to be testing a new product: the 5-Minute Cricket Firestarter. Originally from Sweden, these handy “matches” have recently been introduced to the American market. Like wooden matches, they come in a cardboard box with a strike strip along the side. Like matches, you pull one out and strike it on the box to light it. But that’s where the similarities end. The Cricket Firestarter is much thicker than a match, with a larger head, and once it’s burning it doesn’t stop for five minutes. It’s a match and tinder all in one.
With crumpled paper for my base, I lit a Cricket and dropped it into a fold of the bag. With ordinary matches, this would have smothered the flame and I would have to light another. The Cricket just burned, and burned, and burned.
Couple things to note for parents: The thick firestarters are great for smaller hands. A kid can grab base in a tiny fist and strike away. If you are teaching your kids how to light a campfire, this will make it easier. They’ll also feel pretty successful right off the bat. And for those very same reasons, it’s sound advice to keep them out of reach of little hands. If they drop a lit match at home, there’s a good chance it will go right out. Drop a lit Cricket and you’re going to have a problem. (This reminds me that I need to follow up with my kids about fire safety, and this summer should be the year to start teaching them how to handle flames responsibly.)
Frankly, I like the idea of involving kids in the whole outdoorsy-build-a-campfire project, but the best thing I like about these 5-Minute Cricket Firestarters is that they help me maintain my cred as the “expert firestarter.” I am pretty sure much of my dad rep will erode as the kids get older, but hopefully I can keep this bit going a little longer.
(The firestarters will be available a retailers soon. When you look for these at your local grocery store ofrcamping outlet, look for the box with the cricket!)
My house is crazy with books. Right now I am trying to read a book on landscaping with native plants (specific to Michigan) as well as one for folks with tiny lots who want to homestead. There’s also What the Robin Knows, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife with Native Plants, The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel, and Colonel Roosevelt by Edmund Morris—just to name a few from the stack next to my bed.
Eventually this current reading obsession will wear off. I can already feel my bones aching for action. There are, of course, the usual chores to be attended to. The garage needs cleaning; I need to build shelves in the workroom, clad our roughed-in staircase, and finish the entry hall. The crawl space needs to be cleaned out, and a vapor barrier needs to be laid down. And this summer has me painting the house, landscaping and gardening, and tending to so much yard work I am almost overwhelmed already.
I am also hoping to try my hand at hard cider. Bought some of the equipment last week, and now I am gearing up for a slow brew. My dream project this summer would be to recreate Thoreau’s cabin as a workroom/seasonal office on our property. I’ve been researching plans online, and I think I can score materials relatively cheaply, but it’s likely a pipe dream on my part.
And then there’s the writing, the most strenuous task of all. Writing projects are constantly on my mind. Back road guides to Michigan and Ohio are on the to-do list, but I also have a few more ambitious projects are also in the works. These later ones are more work and less sure, but a guy’s got to dream, right?
All of this is part of an underlying desire to push back somewhat against the onslaught of modernity. (I don’t find it ironic at all that I am posting this on the Internet, since you asked.) Having read Neil Postman’s Building a Bridge to the 18th Century a few years back, I increasingly find myself trying to create a less technological atmosphere for our family. A big part of that is getting outside as much as possible, but it also means finding joy in simple cooking, reading books, and projects that keep the hands busy.
So, what are you doing this winter? What are your plans for warmer weather? I’d love to hear what you’re reading and what the underlying philosophy is that guides your daily lives these days?
I really love to cook and experiment in the kitchen. Because of that, I love checking out blogs of others who cook and experiment in the kitchen. Since it’s winter and there’s not much going on outside (wind chill near -20 here right now), I thought maybe you would like to see what I’ve been up to food-wise.
I love pickles, but the whole process of canning pickles has been an obstacle to really having fun with it. I mean, you have to pick up pickling cucumbers by the bushel when they’re in season. Then you have to clear off all your counter space and chop up onions and garlic and whatever else goes into your recipe. It takes a lot of time, and the window for pickling cukes is pretty small.
All that is why I was so excited to hear about refrigerator pickles a few years back. Cut up some cucumbers (any kind you find in the store), add water and vinegar, some sugar and salt, and toss it all into a jar. The next day you got pickles. And if you want to try something unique, it’s no big deal. Just toss it into the mix.
Yesterday I decided to go a little crazy and pulled all the Indian spices from my cabinet—garam masala, curry powder, cardamom pods. Instead of dill, I added a dash and a scoop of all these, plus a little cayenne pepper for some heat.
The results are pretty good. I skipped the usual tablespoon or two of sugar and so they are a bit tarter than I was expecting, but the results are not at all unpleasant.
The food angle is a new one on the site—a little beyond the picnic lunches and such that we’ve shared—so I would love your feedback. If you’re interested in hearing more from the kitchen, or want more specifics on the pickles, leave a comment below. I would love to hear from you.
While a lot of folks look forward to this day after Thanksgiving, I am not that much into shopping for shopping’s sake (Go to Walmart at 5 a.m.? Isn’t that what the Internet’s for?). But November is a very full month for us. In addition to the usual full social calendar, school parties and activities, and church stuff, Grace’s birthday comes the week before Thanksgiving. So for us, the Thanksgiving weekend is three days of blessed rest.
For her birthday this year, we bought Grace a nature journal (The Nature and Observations Notebook, to be specific). Perhaps a bit girly in design, the notebook comes with pages for note taking (aka “observations”), rooms for sketching, envelopes for collecting specimens, and stationary for sending notes to your grandma.
I was under no illusions. The journal looks like a lot of fun, but kids are always missing the point of gifts—especially gifts we hope will deepen their understanding and lead to self-enrichment, etc. So I was actually surprised when Grace told us this was her favorite present. For two days she carried it with her wherever she went, even took it to bed at night.
A couple days later she had her first day off from school and she demanded we go to the nature center. Happy to oblige this surprise turn in our gift-giving experience, I took her to the nature center. There she sketched cattails, a garter snake, and a gray tree frog. The woman at the counter even came around to take a look at Grace’s notes. She practiced her spelling with CATTAILS and GARTER SNAKE, but I took dictation for the rest. I thought it would help her enjoy it a little more.
Since then I’ve had to stop the car to pick pine needle specimens, and stoop for any number of leaves and acorn caps. So as the whole country looks toward buying this holiday season, I will be humbly reconsidering all my expectations and keeping an eye out for a few more gifts that will open my daughter to the outdoors.
When Grace went back to school, Tater and I were at a loss. So much of his time is spent playing with his sister. Now that he was an “only child,” we had some retooling to do. This past summer I visited a lot of area parks doing research for a book. Many of them have nature centers, and I remembered all the time wishing my kids were with me.
So Tater and I decided we needed to check ‘em out. The big question for me was, Are nature centers any fun in the fall? (Heck, are they even open, or are they more seasonal then I imagine.)
Our first trek took us to the Indian Springs Metropark. The swampy sections of the park are the headwaters for the Huron River, which gains much in the way of volume and dignity between here and Lake Erie. The Environmental Discovery Center, as it’s called, overlooks a small pond.
Most of our time was spent outside, looking for snakes and frogs along the shore. Since this is classic massasauga rattler habitat, I was glad it was a cold day. A small brook connects the main pond with a smaller adjacent pond. Much time was spent watching the water flowing between the two.
One of the big attractions at Indian Springs (one surprisingly few people know about) is the Pond Room. The lower level (i.e. basement) of the nature center is below the level of the pond—roughly the same level as the pond floor. A clear tunnel leads out from the main building under the water to a circular domed room. From here you can watch fish swim by and get a close look at the habitat created by logs that have fallen to the bottom.
The Pond Room is my favorite part of the site, but, frankly, it kind of freaked Tater out. Confined underwater spaces, apparently, aren’t his thing. So after the Pond Room we went upstairs and looked at some of the animals on exhibit—a garter snake, salamander, turtles.
All in all a good visit, and Tater now tells his sister that the nature center is “his and daddy’s place,” which is kind of nice too.
Next week we’ll look for someone showing off animals. I think the boy is itching to hold a snake.
“The dorado did a most extraordinary thing as it died: it began to flash all kinds of colors in rapid succession. Blue, green, red, gold, and violet flickered and shimmered neon-like on its surface as it struggled. I felt like I was beating a rainbow to death” –Yann Martel, Life of Pi
Maybe once upon a time, Americans felt that they had to fight against nature. Just after they hopped off the Mayflower, perhaps. Or that first winter in Jamestown. Along the Oregon Trail. (although, if they’d asked the people that were already living here, they might’ve learned different, but that’s another column). For most of us, it’s no longer like that. Unless a disaster happens. Like it does to the main character of Life of Pi, by Yann Martel.
What I do want to do is examine this book on two fronts with you. Because Pi is unique because it is a book about both religion and nature. Our relationship with God, and our relationship with creation.
On the most basic level this is a story about a shipwreck. But there’s so much more to it than that (and why does every book I read this summer have a shipwreck in it, anyway?). Pi endures grief and fear of nature (the ship sank and he’s drifting on a lifeboat with a Bengal Tiger). But he also experiences transcendence through both nature in general and the tiger himself. He sees the stars from the middle of the ocean. He realizes that without the tiger in front of him keeping his focus, he would be forced to face his very real grief.
But I can’t quote the whole book for you. Read it if you’d like. Instead, let’s use the story as a launching point to think quickly about our own relationship to both God and nature. And since we tend to focus on parenting around here, let’s take that into consideration too.
Is nature something to conquer, or something to enjoy? Before you answer, think again. How many times have you gone mountain biking and talked throughout about how it’s you “against” the trail? Or climbed to the summit of a mountain and spoken of how you’ve “defeated” it? Victory!
Just exactly what is it we feel about nature, anyway? It makes a person wonder just how much of those pioneer forebears we still have inside our heads, shaking in their homemade shoes as wolves howl outside the door of their log cabin from the seemingly endless woods.
This is—essentially—what the title character faces in the scene that gives this post its title. Hunger and tiger danger are the wolves in this case, but regardless, Pi—a vegetarian his whole life, and a passivist one at that—needs to eat and needs to feed the tiger, lest it see him as food. So he does what he has to do to survive. Like those pioneers might’ve.
But the thing is, we’re not them. That’s not to diminish the real danger of nature, still. There are people who get lost on Mt. Washington or Denali, and some die. God rest their souls, but on another level, thank goodness we still have enough nature left that they can get lost in. That said, though, the point still stands: the USA has been completely explored and domesticated at this point (with the possible exception of Alaska). Not totally, no—but there are no wolves outside our door. Not mine, anyway.
And so, we stand before our children as their role models. How do we relate to the outdoors? Are they a challenge? Sure. But do they need to be a challenger? Do we need to speak of doing battle against it? Of course not.
And here’s where spirituality comes into play. Might we not do better to portray nature for our little ones as a gift from a higher power—call It what you will—that we are here on earth to care for? Dare I say, that we are here to be stewards of? (which implies to me a little more active caretaking).
The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” –Genesis 2:15
At first glance, Wildwood sounds familiar. Evil magical woman leader? Check. Kids as heroes? Yes. Ominous canines as femme fatales’s pawns? 10-4! Talking animals? Oh, yeah. Now that a second book is on its way, the set is even called “Wildwood Chronicles.”
I love the Decemberists. If you didn’t know, this is the band for which Colin Meloy is the singer and primary songwriter. However, I also deeply love C. S. Lewis. Enough to take a college class about him. To travel to England to see his home. Enough to search around Oxford with an old photograph from one of his books trying to find his grave (I succeeded). Suffice to say, I’ve read the Chronicles of Narnia a couple of times.
And yes, the above comparisons are true. When I began reading the songwriter’s first novel, I was… concerned. Just how close was he going to stick to Lewis’s plot lines?
But now that I’ve finished, I won’t deny the comparisons, but The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and this book are vastly different. While Lewis seems out to create a world of the past, full of fauns and dryads, Meloy goes for a much more “real” world. Yes, the animals speak, but they live a life much more like and aware of the “Outsider” world around them (there’s no “Spare Oom” scenes, in other words).
And there’s another aspect of Wildwood’s “accessibility.” Narnia is entered somewhat randomly, at the will of the lion Aslan, which reflects Lewis’s Christian slant and intentions for the books. When Aslan wants you, a way is made ready for you (which reminds one of the Buddhist maxim: ‘the teacher will appear when the student is ready, but that’s another story).
But Wildwood is different. Though protected by magic (c’mon—the book is aimed at kids after all), the main characters are seen over and over again, to each character they meet, explaining that they did nothing special, they just walked into the woods. In fact, in a major scene, Prue (the female lead) leaves the magical woods and simply goes home for the evening. Then decides to come back. And does. No crashing trains or fuss or muss (unless a giant ghost bridge is “fuss”).
And of course there’s the aspect I alluded to with the title. This is an up-to-date story for modern times, and that doesn’t mean nothing. Prue carries into the woods a messenger bag with Gorp inside. She rides a bike she upgraded herself. Her parents visit a farmer’s market (of course, these have been around forever—but you know what I mean) Maybe the C of N felt like this when they initially were released, but they certainly don’t anymore. They are still beloved, but as time capsules.
But those are only technical observations. There’s something deeper that makes me truly love this book, and feel the need to write about it here. And that is this theme of the accessibility of the forest for our own children. As I mentioned a few paragraphs back, Prue and Curtis simply walk into what they’ve been told all their lives is an Impassable Wilderness. Richard Louv, are you hearing this?
But that is only the start and most obvious instance of what I’m talking about. It’s more than access. The way Wildwood speaks to our relationships with nature encourages readers to interact with nature. Animals like owls and golden eagles who at first appear to be intimidating are later shown to be friendly and helpful. Birds in particular come off well in this book (Crane wife, anyone?). Three major characters of the story are plant life (two of these, benevolent).
We also see the city and the country contrasted in a reasonably subtle way. The northern part of the Impassable Wilderness is full of cute yet potentially vicious animals (a rabbit with a collander for a helmet, for example) that seem quaint but prove to be much more helpful in Prue’s mission than the seemingly sophisticated but dangerously narrow minded city folk (the south).
And in the wild part of the woods that separates the two live the Wildwood Bandits. These unexplainedly Celtic banditos seem to have paid a lot of attention to Robin Hood at some point in their lives (hence the accent, perhaps), but though they are essentially anarchists, they are fair and just. If I may step aside from talk about nature for just one moment, this oft-used contrast of scruffy (but noble) bandits & the beautiful (but quite evil) Dowager Governess is—to my mind—an excellent message for young female readers to hear. Not to mention the fact that the primary hero of this story is a seventh grade girl (cue smiling spirit of Madeleine L’Engle here).
The animals talk. That is an unavoidable comparison. But to suggest that they say the same things as Lewis’s Narnians is to not read either book closely enough. A little like Robinson Crusoe, Colin Meloy’s Wildwood is a figurative island/world not removed from, but present in the “real” world. And because of that, the book suggests what any forest can be to our kids. We longed to get to Narnia, but never could. But somehow, the Wildwood is everywhere there are still trees.
{Also, I like the illustrations better. Carson Ellis, Bravo!}
So, you have young kids and are heading out to the amusement park… What are you? Nuts?
This is what people asked me when we were planning to take our kids to Cedar Point in Ohio earlier this year.
It’s been years since I’ve been to Cedar Point. Last time I was there they had a whole Berenstain Bears theme for their kids area. It was close to the front and right on the main drag. Six years ago, a bunch of parks changed ownership, partnerships were hatched, and property merged. I am assuming this is when the bears were kicked to the curb in exchange for a Peanuts theme. But I digress.
I am writing to share what worked (and what didn’t work) when we took our two- and five-year-old kids to the amusement park.
My first bit of advice: Make a bee-line to the kids’ rides, preferably those in the back. The rides in the back make sense only if you can get to them in less than 15 minutes. If not, head for the closest. Interest wanes fast, and if you take your time (like we did) you get a lot of whining and complaining. Maybe it would have been better if we had ridden the easy-going drive-the-car ride before heading back. But instead, we jumped on the Sky Ride, and then leisurely walked around the back the park before coming up on the kids’ section. BIG MISTAKE. By the time we reached Jr Gemini Children’s Area, the fragile balance that is a functioning family unit was beginning to sway. It was only some amazing parenting that kept the kids pleasant enough to enjoy a few rides.
Of course, even kids get tired of the kids’ rides after awhile. That’s when they turn to Ferris wheels and carousels. So chose the timing of mainstream rides carefully. In most cases, the grown-up rides are simply off limits to the shorter set. But kids love merry-go-rounds. While there was hardly ever a line for the little kid rides, after noon we found the line for the Ferris wheel growing. Our two-year-old wasn’t going to wait 30 minutes in the hot sun for a ride he didn’t understand (why can’t they ever have shade?!), so that leads me to my third piece of advice:
Play in the fountain. Seriously. Why is it always 105 when you go to the amusement park? After a day of chasing shade, you will find you’re still sweating like a bear in a fur coat. And if you’re this hot, the kids are too. If you see running water they can play in, by all means stop. Their clothes will dry, and it’s really very likely to be the most fun they’ll have all day.
There are other tidbits that might make the visit easier: split the trip into two days, so you’re not fighting to “get your money’s worth” in one afternoon; spend the late afternoon at the beach; take a siesta and head back the hotel or campsite for naps. But we didn’t do any of these, so I will leave the dispensing of that wisdom to those wiser than me.
My daughter is slightly obsessed with “If a Tree Falls” by Bruce Cockburn. So I wanted to do a bit of a hyperlink experiment with the song. The results follow. Stay tuned afterwards for my thoughts on how this ties into the experience of all of us with our kids, outdoors.
****************************************************
Rain forest:
Mist and mystery
Teeming green
Green brain facing lobotomy
Climate control centre for the world
Ancient cord of coexistence
Hacked by parasitic greedhead scam –
From Sarawak to Amazonas
Costa Rica to mangy B.C. hills –
Cortege rhythm of falling timber.
What kind of currency grows in these new deserts,
These brand new flood plains?
If a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear?
If a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear?
Anybody hear the forest fall?
Cut and move on
Cut and move on
Take out trees
Take out wildlife at a rate of species every single day
Take out people who’ve lived with this for 100,000 years –
Inject a billion burgers worth of beef –
Grain eaters – methane dispensers.
Through thinning ozone,
Waves fall on wrinkled earth –
Gravity, light, ancient refuse of stars,
Speak of a drowning –
But this, this is something other.
Busy monster eats dark holes in the spirit world
Where wild things have to go
To disappear –
Forever
If a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear?
If a tree falls in the forest does anybody hear?
Anybody hear the forest fall?
***************
This is of course only one—rather pedantic, but beloved—song that could be used to teach your kids about the outdoors. But there are so many other directions to take this idea:
This is a topic that could be taken in at least three different directions that I’ll discuss here, but I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll come up with many more.
The first is represented by Cockburn’s song. That is listening to adult music with your child and helping them to process it. Jack Johnson’s “The 3 R’s” is a good example of this.
Another path is music created specifically for children. It is slightly easier to find songs that relate to the outdoors in this genre. SteveSongs‘ “The Water Cycle” or “Spyrtle the Turtle” are great examples, as are many of the songs They Might Be Giants have been putting out for kids lately, particularly on Here Comes Science. “Electric Car” comes quickly to mind.
A third path would be songs that are related tangentially to the outdoors. A song about the plight of Native Americans could bring up great discussion with your child about how they feel about the earth. A song about mythical beings like fairies, mermaids, or the Loch Ness monster might provoke quite a discussion about what all might be out there in nature that we are simply unaware of… which brings us back to the rainforest, where new creatures are discovered all the time.
Give this article some life: respond in the comments below how you might use music to teach your child about nature, and I’ll incorporate it into the article itself!
Kids love dinosaurs. I remember years back my friend’s five-year-old son reciting the names of what must have been a hundred dinosaurs. He had dino toys, posters, and place mats. He was even pointing out where lazy editors had misidentified dinosaurs in his books. I am not sure he still retains this info at 12, but it was fascinating to see his level of interest.
So that’s what we’re doing this week: exploring the world of dinosaurs.
- Monday — Visit the library and get books on dinosaurs. Have a fun reading time, and then using our art supplies we’ll make our favorite dinosaurs
- Tuesday — A trip to the museum. In our case Dinosaur Ridge in Colorado. Back in Michigan, a couple traveling exhibits have passed through. But you can find dino shows all over.
- Wednesday — Freeze plastic dinosaurs (or, better yet, plastic bones) in large bowls of water. Using tools, “dig” for the “fossils.” Maybe grow dinosaurs (the rubber kind that grow after soaking a day in water).
- Thursday — Talk about the relationship between birds and dinosaurs (you can find information on this online). Go outside and watch birds for awhile. Then we’ll cut feathers out of construction paper and glue them on a picture of a dinosaur.
“I can’t believe my mind! … It’s glorious!” Now, I don’t know about you, but these are not words I typically hear from my six-year-old. They were prompted by the “birth” of our Monarch butterfly, which she promptly named Glory.
It’s not that The Pretender (she wants to play make-believe ALL THE TIME) isn’t impressed by nature. I’ve written before on this website about her lifelong love of being outside. But this was by far the most emotional reaction I’ve heard.
Maybe this was a mini version of what we all went through when our children were born. It involved patience, and watching, and waiting, and wondering. When would it happen? What would it look like? Will it like me? And so when Glory finally arrived, it prompted a smaller version of the emotional catharsis that I, for one, experienced when The Pretender was born.
So how did we arrive at this emotional moment? And how can you do the same with your kids? That’s what I’m here to tell you about.
So, the first thing you need to make this happen is a milkweed plant. These are the plants you may remember from your childhood as having pods of seeds that resemble a fish when they’re cracked open. I was told something about baby Moses in a basket that I can’t fully remember. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, go HERE.
Ideally, you’ll find a Monarch caterpillar on one of these plants. Or you can go to a mail-order place (teacher stores are good sources), but you’ll still need milkweed for the caterpillar to eat. And wow, do they! The Hungry Caterpillar book isn’t very far off the mark, lemme tell you. We’re talking about 2 or 3 leaves a day would be a good first guess. I brought home two whole plants and ours didn’t eat them all.
The fresher the leaves the better. My source said to wash the leaves but really—is the caterpillar going to do that in the wild? No. And try not to get the white “milk” on your skin—it’s sticky like pine sap and quite annoying.
We’ve looked for a long while, but it was Grandma that came through with our caterpillar.
We put ours in an unused fishbowl, but a large glass jar would be fine. It’s not like the caterpillar wants to do gymnastics. Just eat leaves. Just make it big enough that when it becomes a butterfly, there will be room to stretch out its wings to dry—and a clear way out. (This is why a soda bottle, etc. won’t work, although with plastic, you could just slice open the top when it’s time, so maybe it would work quite well!)
So, after a few days, which will depend on just how old she or he is when you acquire them, they will start to think about becoming a cocoon (aka chrysalis or pupa). How, you might be asking, do you know what they’re thinking? Well, they start to make a distinct “J” shape. I’m not sure why, but it’s a certain sign that they’re about to go into the cocoon. They’ll attach themselves to the side of whatever you’ve given them with a strand of … something, and then something happens that I didn’t see. I honestly don’t know where the cocoon comes from, but my unscientific observations suggest that it happened too fast and fit too tightly to be woven, like so many of us were taught. I think it’s a final layer of skin that comes from within the caterpillar. Whatever it is, you will be surprised by how pretty the cocoon is. Light green with brilliant gold highlights, and a shape somewhere between a pill capsule and sports car but unlike either one.
Ours greatly valued privacy and waited until we left to perform both this step and the next.
Now the waiting game begins. You will wonder if you’ve done something wrong. If that’s even possible once it is in this state. If it should be kept in sun, or shade, or … or … Deep breath. Relax. Everything is fine. You might want to make a note on your calendar when the little bugger makes the chrysalis, because it will be anywhere from 10 days to 2 weeks before you have a butterfly. Trust me—you’ll forget when it went in there. No matter how exciting it seems to you the day it happens, you’ll forget.
When the cocoon turns black, you are getting very close. It’s time to start thinking about cleaning out the jar, making sure there’s room to stretch wings, maybe stick some fresh flowers in there if you’ve got ‘em.
If you’re lucky, you’ll see the butterfly emerge. But don’t plan on it. I’m tellin’ ya, they’re tricky, private little creatures!
Metaphorically, this process is so rich with meaning, and so often referenced, that your child will obviously gain an intimate interaction with nature, but it’s worth remembering that they will also be given a vivid mental picture that will likely stick with them for their whole life.
There’s no overstating the point: seeing a hungry, striped little fat worm turn into a flying stained glass window is amazing.
