Just when the summer starts, the trees turn

Aaron and Madeline at Relay for Life 2012, which has become

an early fall tradition for us since they moved the relay to mid August.

I tried to ignore the burgundy hues on my maple tree, but fall is in the air.


It seems like summer just started, doesn’t it?


Somewhere along the way, it seems that summer got away from me yet again.


The pool that we were installing in the backyard is in limbo and almost silly to work on now. You’d think we would be contemplating closing it for the year, rather than building it.


The fence hasn’t been painted yet, but it may get done.


And although they’re late, tomatoes hang on the vines in the garden, soon to be juiced and canned. Ears of corn are developing, with a few ready to get plucked, boiled and buttered.


The petunias are scraggly now, but still blooming. A few perennials are faded and ready to drop their petals.


Lawn furniture needs to be put away soon and the deck could use a good cleaning and perhaps a coat of stain wouldn’t hurt either.


Fall reminds me that another year is almost complete—whether it was good or bad, productive or lazy.


It’s a time to reflect on the days gone by.


In my mind, I can still feel the anticipation of seeing the big, yellow school bus coming down our road, dust rolling behind it. My new jeans were stiff and tennis shoes so perfect and white as I climbed up the big steps.


For a kid living out in the country, miles away from their nearest friend, it was bittersweet when summer ended. Part of me wanted to spend all day rolling trucks in the garden with my brother and chasing flying grasshoppers.


Then again, the other part of me was ready to see my friends on the playground.


As a teen, I simply despised the end of summer. I wanted to sleep in and spend my afternoons earning a little more cash at the old Elkton Food Center. And fall always meant basketball practice—two weeks of running, running and running the court.


Now as an adult, I love fall. Sure, I look back at all of the things I could’ve got accomplished this summer—could’ve, would’ve, should’ve.

Looking back at a great summer

But I also look forward to a new year that is right around the corner that will bring yet another summer and yet another list of things to do and never enough time to do them all.


Good-bye, August. We’ll meet again.

‘That caterpillar looks like he popped!’ And he did…

Did you ever catch a Monarch butterfly caterpillar?

As a kid, I captured oodles of the striped, little caterpillars and stuck them in our old fish tank with scads of milkweed for them to feast on.

I loved watching them turn into butterflies and then setting them free.

I was considering trying to locate one or two caterpillars in a nearby weed field when my mom told me that she had already located one. She had searched and searched and finally found one, lonely caterpillar.

I was so excited and proceeded to get Madeline excited about the butterfly that she would be “raising.”

She was somewhat sad to learn that he would eventually fly away, but I told her we could find a new one every summer. (Yes, we referred to the caterpillar as a boy.)

When the caterpillar arrived, I assured Madeline that we would find lots of milkweed for the little guy and keep him happy until he decided to hang upside-down and turn into a butterfly.

“Metamorphosis” quickly became the word of the day in our house.

The very next day, I was somewhat dismayed that the little guy decided to turn down into the ‘J formation,’ signaling the end of his caterpillar stage.

So much for watching him crawl around and nibble milkweed!

Madeline kept checking in on him periodically, peering into the aquarium with wide eyes.

“Metamorphosis!”

“This is so cool,” I thought to myself. “She is seeing a real miracle of nature.”

And then he popped.

The next morning, I glanced into the aquarium, certain that the little caterpillar would be encased in a green chrysalis.

No. Not exactly.

There hung the once beautiful caterpillar, with an icky, stringy substance oozing down to the aquarium floor. On one side, he looked deflated, as though he had popped open.

“NO!” I shrieked.

“I know…” said Aaron. “That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

(Obviously, Aaron didn’t catch many caterpillars as a kid)

“NO!” I shrieked. “No way! Yuck!”

I Googled it. It turns out that the lonely caterpillar that we loved so dearly for about 24 hours, had a parasite.

I had never heard of such a thing.

Not one of the Monarch caterpillars that I located as a kid turned out like this. Then again, according to my Google search, parasites in Monarchs aren’t that uncommon nowadays.

I told Aaron that I would try to find another caterpillar later that evening and replace it before Madeline even noticed.

Too late. She noticed.

“That caterpillar looks like he popped,” she said, as I was nervously staring at the aquarium.

“You saw it?” I said, shocked.

“Yeah. He popped,” she said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Since we have yet to find another Monarch caterpillar, that’s the only “Monarch miracle” she has witnessed thus far.

UPDATE: Mom found a new one and we watched carefully as he spun himself into a beautiful green chrysalis.

This time, he didn't pop!

As a matter of fact, we released him today (August 31, 2012) as a newly formed butterfly. Madeline cried.

"I will miss him," she lamented. And then we went to McDonald's to play and all the world was right again.