On Metamorphosis, Dormancy and Emergence

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Every year, I grow fennel in my tiny backyard garden. Fennel is a host plant for anise swallowtail butteries, which means that the female butterflies lay their eggs on these particular plants.

Because I'm a bit of a lunatic, I keep a very close eye on my fennel plants, and if I find any butterfly eggs or caterpillars, I move them into a protective tank, to allow them to grow unmolested by predators.  The caterpillars grow, and change form dramatically several times, before eventually enclosing themselves in chrysalises.

Typically, it takes a couple of weeks for butterflies to emerge from their chrysalises.  When they do, their wings are crumpled and feeble, completely incapable of flight.  It's easy to think that something has gone terribly wrong, and that the butterfly will never survive.  

Patience is required at this point.  The butterfly has to summon its strength and use its own innate ability to inflate its own wings.  This can take hours, and at this stage, the butterfly is particularly vulnerable.

I never know when butterflies are going to emerge.

Remarkably, the butterflies I raise have a habit of hatching on the days when I'm most in need of magic and joy. Robb has learned to send me photos of newly emerged butterflies when I'm at work, because they tend to hatch on particularly challenging days.

It's almost as if the universe is sending me a reminder that even the most fragile things can be strong and tenacious, and can emerge -- with beauty and joy -- into the world.

While most butterflies emerge in a few weeks, some stay enclosed in their protective chrysalises through the winter.  

I'll admit to learning this quite by accident.  I had a batch of chrysalises that I thought had died one year that I couldn't bear to throw out.  I stuck them in a vase in the back yard, and kind of forgot about them.  They languished in the garden all winter, and into the spring, and then in the course of one week, ten butterflies hatched.  

Seeing them fly after I had thought they were dead was like a miracle.

Today I was on a video call with my coworkers at Berkeley Rep.  It was a really hard conversation about when the theater might be able to reopen.  Given the uncertainties of the progression of the coronavirus, it could be a very long time before we are able to produce shows. Much of the staff, myself included, would be laid off.  The theaters would be dark, audiences would not gather.

And of course, we'd still have bills to pay.

The theater is keeping a small number of staff employed at reduced wages.  Those of us who have been furloughed will have our medical coverage paid for, even as we're not working.  Berkeley Rep has mortgages to pay on our various buildings.  We were in the early stages of construction on a whole new building, and have a massive loan out for work that has come to a standstill.

I got off the call feeling very dispirited.

And then Robb called be to the back porch.  One of our over-wintered chrysalises had just hatched.  A new butterfly had entered the world.

This was exactly what I needed to re-set my bleak mood on this particularly gloomy day.  

Somehow, with patience and care, we'd change and adapt.  And when the time is right, we'll emerge and do what we're meant to do.  

I know that this is a very difficult time for everyone, but if you can possibly help Berkeley Rep out with a small donation, it would mean a huge amount to both the artists I work with and to our audiences.  Any amount would be greatly appreciated.  

Thank you.

Here's the link to make a gift.