A single large caterpillar made its way across the mulch. It really didn't seem big enough to pupate yet, so I assumed it had strayed from the milkweed. I plucked it from the ground and placed it on a plant. Without hesitation, the caterpillar marched down the stem and resumed its course across the mulch. I should know better than to assume a caterpillar doesn't know what it's doing. Caterpillars have a single-minded determination when it's time for a change.As the morning passed, I watched the long journey from milkweed to grass, under shrubs and through the garden fence. The long walk ended in the asparagus bed. The caterpillar didn't stop to rest, but climbed immediately up a stalk. By evening, it had spun a silk "button" in its location of choice.
The next day brought more rain, but I found the caterpillar hanging in "J" form, ignoring the droplets that dripped from its antennae. For a full day and night it remained in that position. I assume the cold rain kept it from pupating, because I've never seen one hang for so long like that.
I guess the warm sunshine on Wednesday morning did the trick. I took a peek in the garden about midday, and found the newly formed chrysalis, crumpled caterpillar skin still attached.I never get tired of observing this transformation in my backyard. I know the plot, I know the ending, and yet I enjoy the movie every time. I think it's because of what I don't know. How do those little caterpillars know just what to do? How do they know when it's time for a change?
