☀️On the Flight (or Throw) of the Butterflies

An August Letter about launching and some outdoorsy recs

Hello friends,

I want to tell you about a story that just happened last week* but to tell that story I really need to tell you another story that I meant to tell you last year but never got around to fully forming it.** So we’ll start there.

I’ve had a slight obsession with the metamorphosis process for years. I love a good narrative arch and one tied in to nature all the better. But my journey to experience this first hand has been a bumpy one.

First it took some time to actually find a caterpillar. We did though, sort of, at the beginning of last summer. Remember all the hullabaloo around the first one, fondly known as Morris? What you don’t know is there was a bit of a sad ending to Morris’ story—sad for us, not him. As it turned out, shortly after watching the chrysalis form, we went on vacation. Which meant Morris the caterpillar emerged as Morris the Butterfly in the hands of another family. If I told you there was a car full of tears, the sad kind, as we descended from the off grid mountains to discover a video of Morris released into the world, I think you would believe me. 

All that to say, when we found ANOTHER caterpillar a week later, this time nestled on a leaf in our very own backyard, you can imagine the declaration that THIS one we would get to see graduate into the world of the flyers. (Duck was his name. It was Leo’s turn to pick a name and three year old’s know what they want.) Like any good drama, though, we cut it very close. Once again, we left our beloved chrysalis with our cater-sitting friends while we went away on vacation. Would the family make it back for the joyous occasion? Or would they be foiled again by the ways of the world? Tune in next time…

Just kidding, I won’t leave you on a cliffhanger. We did make it, but barely. In fact, Duck popped out of his shell the day our airplane landed in Minnesota. He really understood how to tell a good story. I liked him already.

After telling our friends to keep him contained until we arrived at their house, we eagerly biked over the next day. We found Duck on their porch inside his cage, urgently flapping his new wings, hitting the edges of the net cage in a frantic pattern. It wasn’t exactly the peaceful flutter of metamorphosis I imagined. We probably should have just released him right there at our friends’ house, as he was clearly needing space. But the storyteller in me needed a different scene. We needed to return Duck to his first home, to the garden he knows best, the place where it all began (please read that in your best movie announcer voice.)

So away we went, our family of five biking down the street (why did we all need to go is beyond me, part of a good narrative I suppose.) Mike held tightly to the butterfly cage while it flew behind him, poor Duck plastered to the bottom of the cage by inertia with a thought bubble over his head that I can only imagine read “WTF.” We arrived at our house and I instructed everyone to gather in the prettiest part of our yard surrounded by pollinator flowers and growing vegetables. 

Standing at the ready with my video on record, positioned with the sun streaming through the trees and the flowers framing the screen I cued Caroline with a firm whisper “Ok, open the cage!” which might as well have been me standing with a clapperboard shouting “The Flight of the Butterfly, take two, and ACTION.” She complied, slowly, because she understands how to tell a good story, too. 

And…nothing.

Duck did not fly. Frozen in the cage he stayed. “Come on Duck!” we coaxed, tapping gently on the net sides to encourage his flight. He would flutter around in the same frantic way from before, but every time he seemed to move away from the open door, and back to the safety of the net walls. I wondered if maybe he couldn’t find the door, so we tilted the cage on its side with the open door at the top. Fly up, Duck. You’re free. You can do this. And still, Duck stayed inside. He wasn’t ready, I suppose.

Leo, however, being a three year old who could care less about good storytelling, chose to go off script. Without a thought, other than probably wondering “what’s wrong with these people,” he reached into the cage, grabbed the butterfly in his tiny fist, and threw Duck into the air.

 So much for a beautiful moment.

In a zig zag drunken stunned state, the butterfly took off as far away from our house as he could get with the use of his new (probably damaged now) wings. Watching, I couldn’t help but feel grief, and some anxiety, over his release. Not only was it not the story I was hoping to tell, it also looked harmful, if not to his wings at least to his spirit.

Thankfully, like every good film, the story wasn’t over yet. There was more to tell, a second chance for the leading character (that’s me, BTW, not the butterfly, just so we’re clear.)

One year later, a new butterfly, another flight. (use your movie announcer voice again.) Actually, not one, but five this time. I increased my odds. Two eggs we shared with friends. But that still left us three of our own to experience the full transformation from egg to butterfly flight. It was going to happen. I was certain of it.

This proved to be wise as once again, we went away on vacation and two of the three caterpillars joined the world without us. Our friends gave great care to their release, even giving them a fairytale landing spot in the playhouse while they built up energy. Still it wasn’t the same.

But don’t fret, readers. There was one last chance.

Here’s where we arrive at the story I wanted to tell you, the one from last week. Camera zoom in for her first close up. Introducing…Mona.

Mona was like the Meryl Streep of butterflies. She knew how to play her part, how to give us our award show moment. Or maybe we knew more this time, knew how to be a better director and help her find her flight motivation.

We were home the day she first stretched her wings and became something new. Her awakening was gradual and steady. Balancing on the edge of the milkweed she let her wings shake out. As her confidence grew, she began opening and closing her wings, taking time to see who she now was. Eventually when we saw her take more brave flights around the cage we knew it was time.

We brought her cage outside where the morning sun hits the tall cup flowers. This time, instead of just opening the door we offered a little support. I had Caroline place a flower inside the cage, gently encourage the butterfly onto its petals with its tiny little feet, before she slowly pulled the flower out of the net.

Maybe she was more prepared. Maybe her release was more gentle. Whatever it was, this butterfly did not need our coaxing (or a three year old’s strong fist.) The moment this butterfly hit wide open air, away she went, up up up, into the beautiful blue sky landing on a high branch of a tree above. 

“Goodbye” we called to her. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. 

Her first flight was the one take scene of every film producer’s dreams. Roll credits.

I tell you these stories because I love a butterfly story. Watching their first flight, whether in a beautiful tender moment or with the forcefulness of a three year old, is a magical experience of which I will never tire. 

I also tell you these stories because it’s reminding me of my own release. The story of that feels like a longer one to save for another day.*** But I do want you to know it has me thinking about the ways in which I’m considering a launch as of late. It’s a story about finding my next right thing, how I avoided it for so long, hiding in corners every time the conversation came up (even going as far as to decide to have another child just so I wouldn’t have to face it. While my third child is the love of my life, I do not recommend using fear as a reason to bring a child into the world.) I haven’t left the safety net yet but I’m more curious than ever before. I’m grabbing onto flowers in hopes that they might lead me out slowly. It’s the best way for new fliers like me. 

If something new is waiting around the corner for you, I hope you find a flower to hold onto as well. We can do this. Up up up we go.

Cheers!

Rachel

*I just need to say that telling you I’ve been wanting to share a story with you kind of feels like that moment when you get together with a really good friend and you realize you have so many stories you don’t even know where to begin. That is exactly how I feel every time I come to this newsletter. I have so many ideas that its difficult to decide what to choose and sometimes I get so excited to tell you about a great story I forget about another story. And then I remember later and I think I should text it to you, which would be a very large group text nobody wants, so I just decide I’ll hold on to it until the next time we get together. Which I suppose is how some stories get told and others get shelved, or become something else entirely. But the point of all of this rambling is really I just super love having you here with me each month. It is so over said but it’s the safest, most fulfilling place for me on the internet—just you and me and our stories. I love this for us.

**This is a very important lesson for me I’m appreciating right now. Some stories are meant to be stored for the right time.

***I’m learning my lesson already.

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In this episode of “Speaking Of…” I’m turning outside to nature. It’s a thread that pops up a lot but even more so as we squeeze out the final days of summer. And when I think of the great outdoors, I always think of Parent Trap. My heart belongs to the OG version but I can also appreciate the Lindsay Lohan version before she was harmed by Hollywood. I bring you both versions as the sponsors for this month’s letter.

SPEAKING OF…

a series where I string together all the things I’ve been meaning to tell you.

Speaking of great outdoors…

I like to influence you with products I love but this month I want to influence you on a place—Michigan (and all the mitten home towners shout AMEN.) We just spent a week in Michigan as a family, specifically camping in Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, cabining near and ferrying to Mackinaw Island, and camping in Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. And let me tell you Tim the Tool Man Taylor does not lie. Michigan is as pure as he says it is. The water is really that beautiful, the landscape that untouched, the little towns that quaint.

The first 48 hours of our visit started off rough with humidity you could cut a knife through followed by thunderstorms that kept us shut out of exploring.

But when the clouds cleared, we got caught up in its beauty real quick and never looked back. The kids loved Sleeping Bear as much as we did, most of that encouraged by them becoming Junior Rangers (if you don’t know about this program offered in most National Park locations then you need to get on it. Makes the entire experience a fun one for everyone.) But don’t take my word for it. Kelle Hampton is the true Michigan travel ambassador. Put it on your list, friends. Even if you’re more a Meredith and not much of an outdoorsy type. There is something for everyone. Especially cherries. Bring sticks.

Speaking of cherries…

Actually I’m not going to talk about cherries because the only way I like to eat cherries is fresh and preferably straight from the market. But in the food and camping category, I do want to share some favorite camping recipes that don’t involve hot dogs or marshmallows (well, our camping trips actually usually do involve both of those things because my kids are boring.)

I tried queso birria tacos for the first time by making this recipe ahead of time and freezing it, and then turning the meat into quesadillas once camp side. Served with this coleslaw (thanks for the rec Katie!) it was the perfect camping meal.

For breakfast I also decided to try the viral TikTok recipe for ice cream french toast. Just throw a pint of vanilla ice cream in your cooler and a loaf of brioche in your food bin and you have french toast. Brilliant.

And for sipping, this recipe for Pimms Cup, drinking ours with ginger ale as encouraged by Jenny Rosenstrach, was the perfect cocktail to bring along.

Finally, we picked up some fresh caught perch one night, threw it on the grill with a simple fish seasoning and olive oil, and then topped it with this carrot top chimichurri because I have SOOO many from my garden. Delish.

Speaking of garden…

I’ve been spending more time in mine this August and it is not only fueling my heart, it is also fueling my writing. I’ve started a little writing project on my blog inspired by discovering Walt Whitman’s Specimen Days. I encourage you, if you at all love nature writing, to pick up his book. And maybe read and write along with me. I continue to be delighted by his words about nature.

Speaking of nature writing…

I loved this podcast with gardener and writer Margaret Roach, sister of podcast host and memoir writing expert Marion Roach Smith. Margaret speaks about the importance of nature writing and how to do it well, as well as how to simply be inspired in the natural world. So important for anyone, not just writers. I think garden growers would enjoy this listen, and especially her book.

Speaking of growing a garden…

Caroline received this succulent Lego set for her 10th birthday (no I am NOT going to acknowledge all of my feelings regarding that very big milestone. We’ve had enough of my touchy feely words today.)

The Lego set is perfect for Caroline’s room but I also think it would make a great gift for a Lego and garden loving grown up.

Speaking of great gifts for 10 year olds…

I just finished my next Kate Dicamillo book The Beatryce Prophecy and I know that I said this before but I’m saying it again—this one is my most favorite. The story kept me company on the shores and in the trees of Michigan, leaving me with magical feelings for love and stories in the best kind of way. As I described it to Caroline, it reads like the Princess Bride with as much adventure as it contains heart. You must read it and then pass along to your favorite reader of any age.

Speaking of good reads…

While on a break from social media my newsletters have been keeping me company more than ever before. Once upon a time I rounded up many of my favorites. Here are a few more to add to the list:

My friend Michelle writes my favorite poetry newsletter. She shares a narrative that reads like poetry as well as her own work, but she also shares other great poems and inspiration for writing your own poetry.

I always read Katie’s words from beginning to end, often laughing and crying in the same moment.

Molly Wizenberg’s words always delight me.

Virginia’s letter on diet culture is always an interesting read, and listen if you prefer that outlet.

A letter about salad? Yes please.

One about travel? Why not.

There are more, but I’ll leave it at that for now. Your email is getting cloudy.

Speaking of clouds…

(a poor transition, sorry.)

This performance of Joni Mitchell with Brandi Carlile and friends singing one of my most favoritest of Joni songs, and top favorite songs ever, “Both Sides, Now” from her Clouds album, was so dreamy. Never not crying and thinking of Love Actually when I hear that song. It’s such a beautiful one. And the story behind it is even more beautiful. So is this about why it was chosen for the movie CODA. I love knowing the story of a song’s becoming.

While you’re watching music performances be sure to check out this one of Lizzo doing Carpool Karaoke and this one of Taylor Swift joining Haim on stage.

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In one final farewell, I’m leaving you with a new poem I have loved. I’m venturing into a poetry challenge with my friend Molly as we read our way through new poetry and find inspiration. More on that later I’m sure. But for now, a few final words from a poem I loved and reminded me of the butterflies stories, and my own.

there have never been
two joined words
with so much space around them

pack up all my cares and woes
light the light
I’ll arrive late tonight

blackbird     bye bye

bye
     -"Less, much less" by Moniza Alvi

Let’s get together next month, friends, yeah yeah yeah!