Back to School: Third Edition

We are into the swing of our third school year. For Maya at age 3.5, it's both familiar and all new again. Same two mornings per week at the same school just a few blocks from our house. Same morning bike ride. But now she's moved from the toddler class up to the primary level. Her class includes ages 3-5, both preschoolers and kindergartners.

She was apprehensive before school started and wondered why she couldn't just go back to her old, familiar classroom and the teachers who know her well. The first week brought tearful transitions into the building, although she was cheerful by the time I picked her up. By the second week, the tears were gone. Now I sign her in outside and she trucks confidently through the door on her own, steering herself down the hall, past her old room, and into her new one. In fact, a few weeks ago, she told me that is one of her favorite parts of school: walking in all by herself. Thriving on independence.

She always has lots to tell me on our walk home. First she reports on what they had for snack (some variation on crackers, cheese, and apples, so far). After that, I'm not always sure which bits are truth, which ones her own interpretation, and which straight from her imagination.

Early on she told me she had made a new friend on the playground. "Her name is Ella," she said. "Oh, Ella. That's nice," I said. "Actually, it was Rella," said Maya. "It's short for Cinderella." A new assistant joined their class, and I asked Maya to tell me her name. "Mrs. S'more," she said. (Turns out it was Mrs. Moore...)

I'm sure she's right about the fact that they have Spanish once a week. With Senorita, umm, somebody. She usually tells me at least one new word she's learned, and I love hearing snippets of their activities. Hot potato with colored balls, stretching exercises, songs, dancing...whatever they're doing, it works! She now refers to most of the colors in Espanol exclusively, and calls out "Rojo!" for every red car we pass. Sometimes also the blanco, verde, gris, azul, and even amarillo ones.

They go to the school library again (one of her favorite activities from last year) but now they each get to check out a book and bring it back to the classroom. Not home yet - that's a privilege reserved for the kindergartners - but still, this is very thrilling.

And she went on her first field trip, to an apple orchard/pumpkin patch on the other side of town. There was a hay ride through the pumpkin field, apple picking, and a snack of cider and "a sugary donut." She was excited about all of it, but the highlight was riding the school bus all the way there and back. 

I get other little nuggets in passing or as she's playing on her own, rehashing things. They sit "criss-cross" during their morning circle, they hold up one finger as a "silent signal" that they are listening, they clap out the names of days and months in rhythm. She was giving her stuffed animals a few guidelines the other day when they were having "school" here at home, and I didn't catch all of them but I did overhear her tell them to "Listen to what you are supposed to do, and be gentle with your teeth." Presumably adapted slightly for bears, cats, and tusky elephants instead of small children.

The other day she told me that she can't always remember her name at school. This sounded curious, so I asked her to elaborate. It's because she's always busy thinking about the other kids, she says. I get it. Melding into a group, with lots of activities constantly underway and lots of classmates with new names to learn."I lick my tongue and then I remember I'm Maya," she explained. I had no idea what she meant, but I tried it and I think I got a flash of understanding.

They sing a welcome song each morning, and I keep asking her if she knows it well enough to sing it for me. "No," she always says. "But you sing it with everyone at school, right?" I asked the other day. "Yes, but very quietly so that no one can hear me." I was surprised by this, given how much she loves to belt out songs at home, and inquired. "I don't know. My body just doesn't want to do it," she said matter-of-factly. All right, I get that, too.

Speaking of singing, and Maya's education: This fall we also started back to our second session of Music Together, after our first last spring. Maya thrives in this musical setting - she definitely does more spontaneous humming, singing, and jamming now than she used to. Last spring, she adopted "Frere Jacques" as her personal anthem and sang it with gusto both in class and out. She continues to spontaneously sing it from time to time. She went through a phase in midsummer where she sang "Supercalifragilistic" on repeat (except it came out "cooper-cali-fragi-lickty"), as well as regular renditions of "Let's Go Fly a Kite."

We spent Labor Day weekend with some friends at their family cabin in the Upper Peninsula. Our friend Claire took her small son and Maya blueberry picking near the cabin. Claire reported that her son started singing a la-la-la tune and she joined him. Maya listened for a while and then suggested, very sweetly and constructively, "Maybe you should take a music class so you can learn some new songs."

Attempting to sum up this big character in a few neat paragraphs is becoming more and more challenging, but this sketch hits at least a few of her facets. Sweet, yes. Constantly conversing. Extremely independent...sometimes. Sometimes engaging with life boldly and enthusiastically, sometimes with a little more reserve. Still eagerly soaking up information, and now transforming it into something all her own with an imagination that's growing more inventive by the day. More on that soon...

Miraculous Monarchs

All last summer, we searched every milkweed plant we saw for monarch caterpillars. We did the same this summer, for weeks. Maya became an expert at identifying milkweed from afar. I told her about raising monarchs when I was a kid: bringing them daily milkweed leaves, waiting for them to transform into butterflies, then setting them free. I wished for the same wondrous experience for her. But we found no signs of the distinctive striped caterpillars.

Until finally, on July 3, we hit the jackpot!

We found eight at once! We happened upon them near a small lake where we were fishing and catching frogs. The caterpillars ranged in size from itty-bitty to about as large as they get. Based on my experience and the reading I've done, I do believe they have a better chance of survival with help from some conscientious humans. So we brought them all home.

We installed them in two big jars and harvested fresh milkweed for them each day from the patch in our garden. 

Maya was, luckily, almost as excited about them as I was.

It's important to me that this small kid in my care gets plenty of close contact with the natural world. At the same time, I'm responsible for the well-being of these delicate wild critters in our care. The caterpillars didn't particularly need any handling, but they seemed no worse for the (limited and supervised) visiting hours. And Maya benefited hugely from feeling their tickly little legs moving across her skin. She noticed the longer antennas on their heads and the shorter, faux-antennas on their back ends. She got to see firsthand how quickly they grew bigger. She collected fresh milkweed and helped me dump out the old leaves and plentiful caterpillar poop. She asked and wondered and observed.

Meanwhile, the caterpillars munched and grew, rested, shed their too-small skins, and munched and grew some more.

Medium, large, and itty bitty.

After just a few days, the biggest ones were hanging at the top of the jars in J-shapes. They soon transformed into jade-green chrysalises flecked with gold. After another week or so, the two tiny ones had grown to full size and become chrysalises as well.

They spin a silky web that attaches them firmly to the smooth wall of the jar.

I'd never seen the caterpillar-to-chrysalis transformation in action. With eight opportunities, I hoped this would be my chance. The caterpillar hangs upside down, barely moving, for about 24 hours. But the change itself goes remarkably fast. It's actually a final molt. The caterpillar sheds one last skin to reveal the chrysalis beneath. Despite watching carefully, I missed the first few, sometimes just by minutes. Finally I saw one very shortly after it changed - it was still soft and wrinkly and wriggling around, but it was all green. Wild! We never actually caught the whole process, start to finish, but Maya and I did see a few more in the soft, wriggling, green stage before they hardened into smooth chrysalises.

I'd also never watched a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. It's easy to tell when it's imminent. The chrysalis becomes transparent and you can see the orange-and-black wings inside. My sources claimed that the butterflies usually emerge in mid-morning.

The butterfly within is clearly visible.

The first one actually came out in the evening, but the next morning two more looked ready. Sure enough, our vigilance paid off. Maya and I watched the chrysalis split open vertically and the butterfly break out. 

The butterfly emerges in the same head-down position as the hanging caterpillar.

Immediately after emergence, the abdomen is swollen with fluid and the wings are very small.

The butterfly pumps fluid from its abdomen into its wings and they quickly grow to full size. But it takes several hours for the wings to dry and be ready for flight, so it doesn't go anywhere right away.

It's a perfect opportunity to spend a little more time admiring them before they fly off into their new butterfly lives.They seem very comfortable hanging out on our fingers.

Or even faces! This one crawled from my finger up my arm, around to my back, and right up onto my cheek.

Maya was captivated. Even the canine was curious.

They are truly beautiful. And insect metamorphosis is just plain mind-boggling.

Even after seeing the entire process, up close, first-hand, from childhood on, it's hard to believe that this nectar-sipping winged wonder is the very same creature as the stripy caterpillar that industriously munched milkweed leaves.

One last tidbit: Did you know that it's easy to tell the sex of a monarch butterfly? The two black dots on the lower wings of the one below mark it as a male. They are scent glands that only the males have. Males also typically have narrower black lines separating the orange patches on their wings than the females do.

All eight of our caterpillars made a successful metamorphosis. Four males and four females, as best I could tell. (I forgot to check the first one and had to make a guess from a few photos we took before it flew.) One by one, we wished them luck as they fluttered off to find nectar and mates and perpetuate the next generation.

Then, a few weeks later, we found another batch in the field at Burt Lake, We brought home four more to share with the extended family. They all soon transformed into chrysalises. I didn't want to confuse them with a long-distance move before releasing them as butterflies, so we left them at the cottage to emerge. My mom reports that they all emerged and flew.

We even spotted one more caterpillar near Burt Lake on Labor Day weekend, but we were on our way to the Upper Peninsula and left it in situ (to Maya's dismay). Given how many caterpillars we found, a number of other friends who also reported caterpillar success, and the many butterflies we spotted, it seemed to be a good year for monarchs - much better than other recent ones. I don't know what this means for their long-term survival, but I'll take this as a rare piece of good news!