CONCORD –
It’s like yesterday
I didn’t even know your name
Now today
You’re always on my mind
I never could have predicted that I’d feel this way
You are a beautiful surprise
– India Arie; Beautiful Surprise
It is a wonderful feeling to wake up excited about the day. I experienced that emotion each morning spending time with my Uncle Dan at the Catawba Worm Tree.
Our daily ritual began on the first day of my summer vacation. I joined Uncle Dan at the tree as he was searching for worm eggs. I met him each morning to check the backsides of Catawba leaves.
When we found worm eggs, each morning was another step closer to the anticipated hatching. When they finally hatched, there were hundreds of them, all pale, voraciously feeding together, growing fatter.
After that, the baby worms grew rapidly until their skin had reached capacity. It was then that the process of the initial molting commenced.
When the limitation of their skin was reached, we watched excitedly as the worms literally crawled headfirst out of their “old” coverings, wearing a totally new skin that would, in turn, later be stretched to its capacity before the molting process would once again repeat itself.
When a Catawba worm molts, or sheds its skin, this stage is called an “instar.” The first instar occurs at the point of hatching. They eat continuously and when their skin can stretch no further, they shed their skin, revealing a new one. This molt is called the second instar.
Duration of the “caterpillar stage” varies but generally is about three weeks. The caterpillars will go through this molting process five times.
On a particular morning following the first instar, the caterpillars looked very different. It was apparent they were much larger. Their new skin was still light colored but was now adorned with black dots and dashes along the back and sides, a foreshadowing of changes to come.
They looked as if they had dozens of legs, but only had 16. There were two different types. The three pairs of true insect legs were jointed with hooks to hold onto food. The other five pairs of legs were stumpy and had grasping hooks. These legs are called “prolegs” and allow the caterpillar to climb vertically.
A black, pointed spike was now noticeable as well. It resembled a unicorn’s horn, except it was not on the caterpillar’s head. The horn made the caterpillar look fierce and threatening.
“Why do they have a horn?”
“The worms grow them to look scary; I guess their enemies think the horn is a thorn or a stinger.”
“So, their horns are keeping our worms safe?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ve lost a few, but we have a good brood so far.“
That night I was lying in bed wide awake. There were so many caterpillars on the tree that I could not have noticed some being gone, but now that I knew the possibility of such, I was unable to control my worry.
An overwhelming urge to go check on the caterpillars prompted me to leave my bed, slip out the front door and tiptoe into the darkness and on out to the tree. It was the first time I had ever been in the yard by myself after bedtime, or to the Catawba Worm Tree without Uncle Dan.
My way to the tree was lit by the moon. I did not need its light; I knew the way to the tree by heart.
The night seemed quiet at first but gradually I became aware of the nighttime noises. I could hear a cricket symphony, the croak of a nearby frog, and the mournful call of a whippoorwill.
I stood under the tree looking up at the leaves, silvery dark in the moonlight. I could not see the caterpillars, but I could hear them munching!
There was also another sound; like the pitter patter of tiny raindrops falling through the leaves. It was not rain because the sky was clear and there was no “petrichor,” that distinctively pleasant fragrance of rain falling on dry ground.
I lingered under the tree for a few moments longer, enthralled with the night. My trip to the tree somewhat reassured me the worms were safe.
The cool air caused me to shiver so I made my way back home and crawled into my warm bed.
As I drifted off to sleep, I pondered, “What could have made that sound?” “What was falling from the tree?”
The next morning, I woke up with those questions still on my mind.
While Uncle Dan checked on the worms, I searched under the tree. I saw what looked like pepper sprinkled all over the ground.
Was that what fell from the tree last night?
“What is this, Uncle Dan?”
Uncle Dan seemed to weigh his words and then chuckled. “That, my dear, is worm fertilizer.”
My thoughts were racing! “Worm fertilizer? Wasn’t fertilizer ‘manure’? My eyes widened, and I gasped.
The words I was thinking involuntarily escaped from my lips: “Worm poop!”
I was stunned that I had accidentally let those semi-inappropriate words slip out in front of my Uncle Dan. I searched his face, fearful that he was upset with me.
Instead of a disapproving look, his face broadened into a wide grin and then he actually laughed. His unexpected reaction was somewhat contagious – I began to giggle uncontrollably. Uncle Dan then laughed so hard that he had to remove his glasses and wipe his eyes.
The years between uncle and niece melted away. I believe at that moment Uncle Dan felt the joy of being a child again.
Laughing with Uncle Dan was one of my happiest times at the Catawba Worm Tree; I was soon to experience one of the saddest.
