The Butterfly Gardenby
“I’m not going and that’s final,” Ness shouted, storming upstairs and slamming her bedroom door. Sarah slumped down on the chair in the kitchen. This conversation had been going on for days now. The Year 8 French trip was a highlight of the school year. It would be brilliant for Ness, who showed such an aptitude for the language. But, Sarah conceded, her daughter was never one to try new things.
Had she been similar at 13? Nervous, sensitive, fragile even? It had never worried her before, Ness’s behaviour, but now, as teenage hormones began to collide inside her wallflower daughter, Sarah was beginning to feel the stirrings of panic.
What if Ness took this attitude with her into adult life, never saying yes to anything simply out of fear? How could she get her to see that embracing life instead of running from it could lead to so much more?
Sarah looked out of the window. It was the start of the summer holidays. The beautiful buddleia bush was in full bloom, its scent drifting into the kitchen. She shook her head. Their first day together and she’d managed to begin it with an argument.
She watched as a butterfly landed on one of the flowers, settling briefly while it fed.
James came into the kitchen, bright eyed and ready for work as always. He turned on the coffee machine and gave Sarah a peck on the cheek.
“What was all that about?” he said, glancing up the stairs to Ness’s closed door.
“Oh, you know, teenagers. She doesn’t want to go on the French trip next summer. She’s nervous about doing it alone.”
“But she won’t be alone, will she? Surely her friends are going?”
“Of course they are, but you know Ness. She’s not keen on doing anything without us.”
Perhaps it was her fault, Sarah thought. Always volunteering to go on primary school trips with her daughter. Stepping in when Ness showed signs of a wobble.
“This trip would be so good for her, I know it.” She sighed. “Let’s hope today was just a blip. I shouldn’t have pushed her so hard to decide. She’s got the whole summer to make up her mind, after all.”
“I’ve been thinking about the holidays,” James said, pouring coffee for them both. “I bought something yesterday. Thought it might give her a bit of a project over the summer.”
Sarah waited, intrigued, as he went to the study, coming back with a large box. “It’s a butterfly garden,” he said. “You feed the caterpillars and watch them turn into butterflies.”
She looked at the box, her heart sinking. Something else she’d end up having to look after. Something else to fail at. “Rearing butterflies? Really, James?”
“I thought you’d be pleased. I thought it might be good for her. Give her some responsibility.” He sounded disappointed.
Sarah looked out of the window. “I’m sorry. It’s a really sweet thought. It’s just, when I was her age, I used to go out in the garden with a net, catch a few butterflies and then let them go. This all seems a little more… high tech.” She smiled. “I suppose it’s just the next generation’s version of it. You know, like Youtube and Instagram instead of the broom cupboard on Children’s BBC.”
James laughed, passing her a mug of coffee and she took a sip. He drew her to him and she pressed her nose to his neck, inhaling the comforting smell of him. They stayed like that, standing in a warm patch of sunlight, until James drew away.
“I must get to work,” he said, kissing her.
as teenage hormones began to collide inside her wallflower daughter, sarah was beginning to panic
Later, when Sarah judged that Ness would have cooled down, she called up to her. “Dad’s bought you something.”
The door opened almost immediately and her daughter appeared, a curious smile on her face as she ran downstairs. Sarah breathed a sigh relief. At least she’d been forgiven.
“Welcome to the Woods family unboxing video,” Ness said in a fake American accent as she began to open it and Sarah laughed.
James had been right – this was just the right sort of thing for their nature-loving daughter and it might be exactly what she needed, entrusting her with some responsibility, allowing her to see that she could achieve things for herself.
They set the butterfly garden up in the kitchen. The caterpillars were easy to care for. Over the weeks, they shed their skin again and again, growing larger each time. Ness was fascinated by them, Sarah buoyed along by
her daughter’s enthusiasm.
“What sort of butterflies are they?” Sarah asked one evening as she was chopping carrots for dinner. “Do you know or will it be a surprise?”
“Of course I know, Mum. They’re Painted Ladies.”
Sarah stopped chopping. “Really?”
“Yes. Why? What’s so special about that?”
“Oh, it’s just… they’re my favourites, that’s all,” she said. “Really?”
“Yes. The year you were born, there was a huge influx of them to the UK. Something like 11 million, all flying over here from Africa.”
“Eleven million?” Ness said, her eyes round in disbelief.
“I kid you not. It’s partly why I chose your name.” “What?” Ness looked up. Sarah paused. She’d never told her daughter this before. “The Latin name for the Painted Lady is Vanessa cardui.”
“So… you named me after a butterfly?”
Sarah thought about this. “Not so much after the butterfly. More for the incredible journey they make each year.” She looked at the little caterpillars. “They seem so fragile and yet they manage to fly all this way, across oceans and deserts.” She could see her daughter’s eager face flitting from her to the caterpillars. “I’ve told you before that you were born a bit early, haven’t I?” “Yeah.”
“Well, it’s hard to describe just how small and fragile you were. It seemed incredible to me that you were in this tiny little body and yet you could fight so fiercely to stay alive. I suppose it made me think that if you were so strong even then, what could you go on and do when you grew up.” She shook her head. “I know, it’s a bit silly.”
“No, it’s not,” Ness said. She was looking at her mother and Sarah felt a rush of love for her daughter.
After a few weeks, the caterpillars wove their final cocoons, suspending themselves like little stalactites from the top of the net cage.
“Did you know,” Ness said, “Painted Ladies weave their cocoons out of silk? They’re one of the only butterflies to do that. And when they hatch, they can fly as fast as 30 miles an hour, up to 100 miles a day?” She paused. “Do you think you get Painted Ladies in France?” she asked lightly.
“I’m sure. If they migrate from Africa, some would certainly come up through France.”
“So, there’d be some there next summer,” Ness said. Sarah chose not to comment. The butterflies hatched a few weeks later. It was September now, the end of the summer holidays. The days were still warm, but the evenings held a breath of coolness that licked at the skin.
Sarah and Ness watched in excitement one morning as the insects slowly emerged and unfurled their wings. Ness fed them a sugary liquid, laughing as their tongues uncoiled to drink.
“Where do you think they’ll fly to when we let them go?” she asked.
“Well, France first, I imagine, then further south. They’ll need to find warmer climes. Shall we release them now?”
Ness nodded and they took the butterfly garden outside. “It’s weird, I know we have to, but I don’t really want to let them go,” Ness said and Sarah gave her hand a squeeze, understanding more than her daughter could know. “Ready?” she said. “Ready.” Ness opened the cage. The butterflies took a moment to understand they were free, then, one by one, they took off, flying high up into the sky.
“Did you know, they can go as high as 500 metres?” Ness said.
“Wow.”
“I was thinking, if a little butterfly can go that far, why can’t I?”
“What, to Africa?” “No! Well, maybe not yet. But perhaps I could go to France. It doesn’t seem quite so far now, knowing what they can do.”
She smiled at her mum, then looked up to the sky and together they watched as the butterflies spiralled above them, their painted wings flashing in the last of the summer sun.