About Flagpole. (Athens, Ga.) 1987-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 25, 2024)
slaekp®Se continued from p. 17 They’d float down to a milkweed leaf and squirm a little, depositing eggs. I inspected the milkweed daily. The eggs became tiny green caterpillars who then turned yellow and black, plumped from gorging on milkweed. And then they would disappear. I never saw a chrysalis. As I stood adoring the one cat erpillar that remained, a wasp flew right into it, ramming it off the leaf. I thought maybe this was an accident. I saw where the caterpillar landed and planned to set it back onto the leaf as soon as the wasp left. But the wasp hunted it, going first back to the leaf, then dropping in a nearby pot search ing, then flew into the pot where the caterpillar lay. The wasp landed on it and stung it over and over as the cat erpillar contorted. I turned away, hor rified. A punch to the gut delivered by the business of nature. The circle of life had taken a dark turn, and I wasn’t up for it. I couldn’t help but feel responsible not just for the caterpillar killed in front of me, but all the others who had possibly died the same way. I enticed the butterflies here by supplying the food they had to have, and then I had wasps on the ready to eat them. I wallowed in remorse for a day and then something inside me shifted. It clearly said, “Screw this.” The wasps I could accept, but not my helplessness. So, I acted. When the next caterpillar appeared in October, I was ready with mesh netting and a portable tent. We had a beautiful fall; adult Monarchs came by often. I checked the leaves of the milkweed every day. Finally, after a month, I saw a caterpillar and I sprang into action, wrap ping the plant securely with the netting. But a cold front was moving in. I transferred milkweed and caterpillar into a pot, covered it with the tent and brought it inside. It was a month of transformation. It became still and hung upside down. It turned into a green pod. A gold thread appeared around the pod, then the pod became thin, and I could see wings inside! Then one Saturday when I came home from the farmer’s market, it had emerged. It was a warm November day, and I gently removed the tent and sat beside it for two hours, guarding against birds and wasps. It soaked up the sun’s rays, and slowly unfurled, uncurling its antennae, then opening its wings with difficulty, wider and wider. Suddenly it lifted, flying across the street headed south. I did not see a single monarch this year. But I still plant milkweed. There is something stronger than the hard world, something better within us all. Kathryn Kyker is a retired social worker whose memoir, Surprised by Nothing, is being pub lished this summer. The Disquieting Aftermath By Mark Clegg I turned 66 two days after the election. In Athens, warm and humid September weather had stretched through the entire month of October and even extended its reach into the second week of November. Any hint of autumnal relief in the form of cool breezes or sooth ing rains has been fleeting to nonexistent in most of North Georgia during the most anxious fall season that I ever remember. On the Friday after the election, the North Oconee River was quiet and undisturbed. Temperatures, once again, broke 80 degrees. I was a bit comforted to learn that I was walking through an area that, according to the signage, was the “Piedmont Prairie.” I had never heard of such a land classification but was grateful that, at the age of 66,1 had once again learned something new. There was no “bustle in the hedgerow,” in this stretch of the Piedmont Prairie, no sense of small creatures, migratory birds or even insects making final preparations for a winter that seems to have been postponed or even cancelled. Even the river itself, murky and languid, seemed empty of life. Maybe the wild life had picked up on the exhausted and solemn vibes of the humans always on the periphery of or pushing through their ecosystem. Or perhaps, when sensing a change in their environment that they don’t yet understand, simply remaining quiet and paying close attention to what hap pens next is hard-wired into their DNA. Life is always dangerous for all sentient beings; it is the new, unforeseen threats though, that frighten and bewilder us the most. Every trip to Athens is a personal revelation, as I strug gle to absorb changes that have occurred since my last visit—many of these changes, I always learn, took place months or even years before I finally notice them. Driving down Prince Avenue, the church of my child hood, Young Harris Methodist, was gone—apparently another victim of a Culture War schism that has ripped the mother church, and this nation, apart. The traffic, even during a non-home football game weekend, was worri some, another reminder, in case anyone needed remind ing, that the secrets of Athens’s charms are no longer closely guarded, and the uniquely quirky qualities of the Classic City are in risk of being buried in an avalanche of development. I missed the destruction of the sui generis Varsity—an Athens icon if there ever was one—by just a few days. Apparently the closed restaurant’s date with the wrecking ball caught even Athenians unawares, and the rubble—a large section of smashed red awning was the only thing ► continued on p. 20 January 6,1-3PM Oconee Civic Center Find out more about OLLI, a dynamic learning and social organization for adults 50+ • 300+ Classes • Lunch & Learns • Travel Adventures • Shared Interest Groups • Social Events Drawing for 2 FREE MEMBERSHIPS! Oconee Civic Center, 2661 Hog Mountain Rd, Watkinsville, GA 30677 UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA' OLLI@UGA is one of 125 Osher Lifelong Learning Institutes of The Bernard Osher Foundation, each affilated with a college or university across the country. OLLI@UGA maintains a strong 1,000+ membership. olli.uga.edu River’s Crossing, 850 College Station Rd, AthensGA30602 I (706)542-7715 START YOUR NEW YEAR RICHT: FREE help available to QUIT TOBACCO! CEORCIA TOBACCO English: 877.270.STOP Espahol: 877.2NO.FUME QUIT LINE (7867) (266.3863) NortheastHealthDistrict.org o © 18 FLAGPOLE.COM ■ DECEMBER 25, 2024 & JANUARY 1, 2025
