Last Autumn I was privileged to watch Nature put on an act in our rock garden. It had nothing to do with gardening; yet, it was a fascinating performance. On a large rock under the big pine, a pendant swayed gently in the late September sun; a shining black cable supported the object. Cool green it was, with the tint and texture of ancient Chinese jade; flecked and half-banded with flakes of warm gold, interspersed by pepperings of black. No fabrication of Cellini, this pendant, no concept of lapidarian genius; just one of Nature’s inimitable masterpieces.
The previous week a yellow, black-banded caterpillar had glided from the grass and plodded diligently up the rock searching, searching for something that instinct and a turgid body made imperative. Numerous explorings brought satisfaction after a while: the caterpillar chose a nub on the rock, faced outward, then remained motionless for a period. Later, threads of viscid silk appeared from its posterior; threads which coalesced, as they touched time stone, into a firmly-attached button. Soon the caterpillar was anchored. Another period of lassitude, then up and back curved time zebra-marked head until an upside-down question mark hung from the silken button. Now a drying process became evident and skin desiccation began Ñ the outer skin burst and contracted into a telescoped ball.
Meanwhile a remarkable metamorphosis was taking place. No flayed creature was exposed when the glove of skin rolled back; here was something new and amazingly different. The exposed object was smaller by half than the caterpillar and encased in armor; flexible mail of exquisitely-joined plates; green sectors, dusted recently with gold. The new creation was a stout tapering cylinder of waxy texture, sleek to the touch. Nature had fashioned a chrysalis!
There hung the object, bright and green and golden. Surely such glory should be a tributed to time rarest of butterflies! Not so. This particular jewel was the chrysalis of a very common butterfly, Anosia plerippus, the milkweed butterfly. North America knows the migrant, as do Australia and Java and Sumatra. Its wings of black-ribbed red are familiar sights in England and the Philippines, too.
Perhaps your backyard harbors a chrysalid jewel. Why not look for yourself some time this Fall?
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