All Rileyed Up

I went on a field trip to Gilroy Gardens amusement park, who sponsored a science education day for elementary students. We roamed the park, visiting learning stations about tree life cycles, flowers, and the ins and outs of composting (two words guaranteed to draw laughter: “worm poop”). One station introduced students to the greenhouse, a controlled humid environment capable of sustaining tropical plants like guava, papaya, and my personal favorite, coffee beans. Here, Gilroy Gardens treated me to Monarch Butterflies. And a revelation.

The orange and black Monarch Butterflies are the only ones of its species to migrate south in the winter. In an effort to understand these travel patterns, enthusiasts track their migration via tagging. Call me crazy, but I had no idea it was possible to put a sticker on a butterfly’s wing without hurting it, and that said miniscule sticker could contain an organization’s name and phone number. When the butterflies reach their final destination, there are people who find the insects, check for tags, and call the number to let state where the butterfly landed, allowing trackers to log how far the butterfly migrated.

To this process, I ask: aren’t you depending just a wee bit much on good faith that the butterflies you manage to find and tag make it to their final destination and get found by someone who knows how to read the tag?

While the tracking process is not without its variables, the tagging process is both subtle and amazing. An elderly lady with a netted safari hat and withered hands took one butterfly after the other out of a cage, put a sticker on its wings, and released it. I’m confident that had I attempted such a feat, I would have killed the butterfly, or at least broken its wing, which leads to the same ill-timed end. After being tagged, the butterflies soared above our heads, landing here or there on a shoulder or hand, and the landed-upon students would stand so still you could check off an IEP goal in focus and attention. Just as suddenly, to a chorus of squeals and camera clicks, the butterfly would take flight again, seeking solitude amongst the out-of-reach banana leaves and not-yet-ripened mangoes.

Afterwards, I spent the rest of the day on rides, but even as the spinning garlic ride made me want to revisit my lunch, I kept thinking about the trackers’ efforts. These people go to the trouble and expense to find, tag, and release as many butterflies as they can, and maybe, they’ll hear back on their efforts. Are teachers so different? We take our students, inspire them as best we can, and release them… to home, to high school, to life. And maybe, we’ll hear about them down the road, hear that they’re doing all right. We act on good faith too, tracking our beautiful and mysterious students as they flit about through life. May we all be so lucky as to get that call.