I don't like getting dirty. I don't like icky things. I don't like slimy textures.
That has made the past couple of weeks a bit difficult, as the front porch has been occupied by some uncooperative residents who are pushing my limits of gross-tolerance.
It wasn't meant to be this way. These little residents were supposed to grow, transform, and amaze. They were supposed to inspire us with their beauty and add vitality to our lives.
Instead we got this:
A tropical milkweed that was stripped of its leaves by the 6 resident caterpillars within a week of bringing it home. We went traipsing into the Old Grove to see if the common milkweed we'd seen last year was still there, pulled some leaves and brought them home to our hungry caterpillars.
The first caterpillar had by now pupated and was hanging from a leaf in a pale green chrysalid, but as the supply of leaves was so scant for a day or so, another caterpillar ate away the entire leaf, leaving the chrysalid hanging precariously from the leaf rib.
A phone call was placed to a friend who lives in a lovely rural setting, asking for help; she found three plants growing at the back of their property, dug them up, brought them to us. We planted them in the garden, hoping to be able to maintain a supply of leaves for the remaining critters.
As the first chrysalid hardened, we noticed that it wasn't right. Its shape was slightly warped; it had a dent in the side. Concern for that monarch's survival began. Today, after its hanging for over 3 weeks, our hopes for it maturing to an adult monarch are gone. What is left of him is a discolouring, very sad looking chrysalid, a mockery of the jewels we had last year.
The second caterpillar to pupate found a safe spot on a twig, but recently fell to the floor of the mesh monarch cage.
A third enterprising caterpillar climbed to the top of the cage, hung there, formed a "j" and pupated, suspended from the mesh. This one still looks a bit promising, but hope is pretty thin right now.
His little friend followed his example and suspended himself from the ceiling of the cage. However, he wasn't strong enough to maintain his life through the days needed to pupate and died there.
So I'm stuck. I don't like these little dead bodies in my front porch, so I want to toss the whole works. But there's the possibility that one of them might still make it, so I want to keep it going. If I try to clear out the debris it's likely that I'll knock that last chrysalid from its anchor.
Truly, the whole thing is quite disturbing to look at, and while I can't bring myself to dispose of it all for the sake of that one little fellow, I'm repulsed by it every time I go into the front porch and think of visitors coming to the door and being greeted by this sight.
What to do?
