Butterfly Suicide and Other Things

Butterfly Suicide and Other Things

The man and I did a road trip to celebrate our 36^th wedding anniversary this week. (July 9^th, 2018 to July 11^th, 2018).  It was a reenactment of sorts of his trip to a conference in February to Sunriver, Oregon. Because I had not been able to accompany him through the cold and snow during February, I felt it was my duty to have him retrace his journey with me alongside him during the sunshine of summer. I want to see where he had been, hear his story of travel. Though I don’t like being really cold anymore or being really hot but I was willing to brave the heat in my air conditioned car to see the path he had taken earlier in the year. 

My husband had in February looked carefully at the weather conditions to finally settle on taking Hwy 22 from Salem to Bend in order to hopefully avoid some of the ice and snow of the high altitudes of the Cascade Mountains in our winter. He avoided Hwy 20 from the coast to Bend due to worry about the snow that had already been coming down as a blanket on the highway. Hwy 22 was his best bet. It worked.  He made it there and back.

July, as we travel from our home on the coast we were greeted with beautiful sunshine here and there trying to make it through the clouds. The sunshine never quite made it, we huddled in our light jackets through the coast range, along I-5 to Salem, up Hwy 22 to nearly Detroit, Oregon before the sun finally broke through and I could turn off the heater in the car. I liked it. Being bundled up in my jacket, adjusting the heat without the sun burning down on my legs was my happy idea of a road trip.  

Sunshine, warmth and good companionship, what more could you ask for? We hadn’t traveled far when we started seeing butterflies everywhere. I wince each time we plowed through a cloud with our car on the highway.  Even slowing down did not help as the butterflies were mad with their intention to mate, loaded with pheromones, smashing into the windshield, or the grill of the front of the car with unintentional butterfly suicide along the highway we were traveling on. I kept crying out, No, no, no, but the butterflies continue their dance in the sunshine, heat radiating from the pavement of the road to warm their delicate bodies. It was a reminder of the beauty and fragility of nature.  

We were able to stop by a lake where we use the facilities, no paper available adding to the fun.  I was reminded of my trip to Japan with my sister and how we always carried tissue in our pockets, a purse or jacket or the Japanese friends would reach into their purses to hand out a tissue whenever the need presented itself.  Back to the lake, there was a lovely breeze which was kicking up waves on the shoreline, tall older Ponderosa pine trees providing shade.  I talked briefly to a young man resting in a hammock while waiting for my man.  It was very peaceful, beautiful, and relaxing at the perfect temperature. I kept looking for the butterflies but the breeze coming off of the shore of the lake probably had sent them sailing into unseen meadows where the sun could warm their frantic dancing.  If we hadn’t been on a time limit to reach our Bed and Breakfast lodging we might have stayed longer gazing at the water instead we loaded up in the car and headed back on the road.

We stopped again at a rest area, no facilities.  My husband headed to the bushes, mindful of ticks, etc. so he avoided brushing against the various plants along a footpath.  I amused myself with photographing butterflies resting on the pavement of the rest area.  Finally, I thought to myself a few sensible individuals with a good chance of perpetuating the species.  They were pretty with their wings opening and closing in the heat of the morning.  On my video, I was able to capture only glimpses of the bright orange color of the wings. Beauty resting.

I am thankful for being granted moments of great beauty.  My heart aches for the countless butterflies that we drove through but it is such a part of life, living and being.  Somehow, I felt just a bit better when we drove off, knowing that there was countless places where the butterfly suicide was not happening but an unfolding of wings, a joining of bodies creating hope for the next moment in the future.  It might be all we have.