BY VICKI LOVERN
A few years before my mom passed away, she stumbled upon an alien bug sunning itself on her front porch. After a sun-filled Fourth of July, she stared down at the eerily cute creature and wondered if the heat of the day was causing her to hallucinate.
It was both cute and creepy. It had massive black, liquid eyes that looked like they had been painted on its inordinately huge head that was out of proportion with its short, stubby body. It was bright yellow with perfectly spaced multicolored spots along its body and a vein that ran from its head to its tail. It also had little lines above its eyes that sort of resembled eyebrows and another curved line around its mouth that made it look like it was smiling all of the time. It was a curiously creepy smile – like it knew something that we didn’t know – and probably didn’t want to know – an ominous secret that could be dangerous if discovered. The eyes, which never moved, were so enormous that they seemed to be looking at you no matter the angle.
Now my mom, who was 78 at the time, was a very practical woman, not prone to wild imaginings or nonsensical notions. But she had never, in all of her 78 years, seen anything like this little fella – or gal. Since we didn’t know what it was, we sure didn’t know its gender. And if we hadn’t seen it move, we would have doubted it was even real. Certainly, people who only saw the photos thought it was fake. Even her granddaughter was sure that some neighborhood kids were just playing a prank on her.
But we had witnesses. At least seven people had seen Mom’s alien bug. After about an hour, once we finally got through staring at it and came out of the trance that those huge black eyes had hypnotized us with, Mom scooped it up with a twig and “encouraged” it into a jar. She showed her neighbors, who hadn’t seen anything like it either and were just as bedazzled and befuddled by the weird little thing as we were. Though their grandson did think that it would make excellent fish bait.
After taking a zillion pictures of our alien bug – on the porch, in the jar, on the twig – in various stages of alternately trying to escape us and feigning death, Mom decided to set it free. Partly because it was the charitable and Christian thing to do, partly because she didn’t want it to become dinner for a bluegill, and partly because it was really creeping us out.
But of course that wouldn’t be the end of it. Once we got the photos developed, more and more people saw our alien bug. Yet no one could identify it. My mom (and I say this with the utmost love and respect), sort of became obsessed with finding out what in the heck the thing was.
We contacted local newsmen in all three media – newspaper, radio and television lawn and garden expert John Marra. No one had ever seen anything like our bug. We know this because we showed pictures of it to EVERYONE. We went from door to door like traveling salesmen. “Can you please identify this thing?” No one could. Not even John Marra, who apparently thought it was a prank also, because he didn’t reply to us. We even ran a big picture of Mom’s alien bug in our newspaper, asking anyone who might have a clue of what the heck it was to contact us. Again, no one did.
Meanwhile, back at Mom’s house, she is making a daily trek across the road to the spot where she set the bug free. With each passing day, she became more and more convinced that it really was an alien bug from outer space or, at the very least, an unusual life form from another country. She worried about it. What in the world could it be? Was it indeed a baby snake? Had it migrated from another country? Could it really be an alien bug from Venus or Mars?
Nope. It was a spicebush swallowtail caterpillar from Chattaroy, West Virginia. Thank you, Sherrie Hutchinson, assistant director of the West Virginia Department of Agriculture, who was the only one who responded to our pleas.
“You have a spicebush caterpillar,” Hutchinson said. “It turns into a pretty black and blue velvety swallowtail butterfly. Enjoy!”
Turns out our creepy/cute bug was creepy for a reason. Because the Spicebush caterpillar is utterly harmless and defenseless, it has to look convincingly scary to keep predators at bay, including my family. For regardless of how well-meaning our intentions, we could have really hurt the vulnerable little miracle – or worse. One thing is for sure: it certainly convinced us not to mess with it. And those big, creepy black eyes aren’t really eyes at all, which is why they looked like they had been painted on, sort of like a Halloween mask. They also frequently disguise themselves as small snakes. Indeed they do. Or for folks with active imaginations such as my family’s – an alien bug from outer space.
The caterpillar itself lies within the hood or “head.” When it gets ready for its amazing metamorphosis, that body-length vein splits in two and develops into those beautiful black and blue velvet wings. Although there are a few caterpillars that are poisonous, these are not and are actually fairly common to our region, albeit not usually found on one’s front porch. They normally stay in the woods because they like to eat sassafras and spice bushes – hence the name.
Our adventure with the spicebush swallowtail caterpillar was one of the most fascinating experiences that any of us had ever had. The transformation of one life form into another is truly miraculous. And though caterpillars have been turning into moths and butterflies since the beginning of time, it is nevertheless quite extraordinary when you actually get to witness it up close and personal. Our new little friend taught us once again that you can’t judge a book by its cover and that nothing compares to the splendor of God and nature. My mom, who, by the way, became just as obsessed with watching for the beautiful butterfly version of her alien bug, summed it up quite nicely.
“To think,” she said. “I’ve lived 78 years and could have died never knowing how miraculous a caterpillar’s transformation really is.”
We decided she was too pretty to be a he and thus aptly named her – her. I bought Mom a tee shirt and tote bag with the spicebush caterpillar and swallowtail butterfly printed on them and she giggled like a child with a new toy when I gave them to her.
Mom passed away a few years later and several weeks after her death, on a sunny spring day, I was sitting outside on our back deck, eyes closed and basking in the warmth of the sun. I felt it before I saw it—just a slight whisper of a touch on my skin. Now, usually, when I feel something touch me while sitting outdoors, I tend to jump wildly, thinking it is the ever-dreadful and always menacing monster spider.
Yes, I have an unreasonable fear of spiders, regardless of size or type. On this day, however, I felt a serenity envelop me and instinctively knew that this was not the touch of a spider. So, I sat very still, opened my eyes, and looked down. Then I saw her – a beautiful blue and black velvety spicebush swallowtail butterfly resting peaceably on my hand. And I recognized her immediately. I smiled and whispered, “I love you forever, my sweet, precious mom.”