Essayist Cat Pleska ponders the wooly worm's message

When I was a little girl, I first noticed “wooly worms,” as most call the caterpillars, on the sidewalk by our house. I ran to the kitchen to fetch a jar to capture those soft-looking creatures. I figured I’d discover some use for them. I came inside and sat down on the floor to ponder what that use might be. Then it came to me: I fetched my Barbie doll and dressed her in her finest dress. Taking one of the caterpillars, I draped it around Barbie’s shoulders for a fur collar effect. Apparently, the wooly worm didn’t care to be a fashion accessory as it promptly climbed off my doll.

What next? I pondered again. A couple days earlier, I’d found my mother’s razor. Thinking about its possibilities, I’d shaved off half an eyebrow. My mother was none too pleased when she discovered my experimentation, especially as the following day was picture day at school. My folly is forever immortalized in my first grade photo: hair perfectly combed, a pretty printed dress and me grinning big at the camera with two missing teeth and one and a half eyebrows.

I had another idea! I ran to find my mother’s hand mirror. I reached in my jar and pulled out a few caterpillars. Tilting my head back, I placed a wooly worm on each of my eyebrows and one under my nose for a mustache. I glanced in my mirror and for a split-second, I looked like Groucho Marx. Soon the caterpillars crawled off their intended marks and tickled my skin. I collapsed into a pile of giggles and decided maybe the wooly worms work better outside.

I took them out into the yard and dumped them out of my jar. They crawled slowly in different directions, disappearing under the leaves. Years later I learned in school that the wooly worm is the larval stage of the Isabella tiger moth. Just before the cold winter months the caterpillar spins a cocoon where it undergoes an amazing transformation and come spring, it emerges as a moth, with delicate white wings.

Think about the act of hunkering down in winter out of the cold, snow, and slush. We humans do seem to venture out less, stay in where it’s warm and snug. Maybe it could be a time of transformation for us, too. I know I could stand to think about being more patient and less angry. I could benefit from collapsing into a fit of giggles more often. I’m sure that’s good change for the body, mind, and spirit.

I’d underestimated the true worth of wooly worms. Rather than fashion accessories or weather predictors, we might think about their message of transformation: Then maybe when the sun warms the earth in the spring, we’ll all be ready to fly.