On a Saturday last fall, while riding my bicycle along the Ottawa River Parkway, I passed a wooly bear caterpillar attempting to cross the road. I stopped, got off my bike and walked back up the road to the caterpillar. Then I bent down, picked it up and carried it to the vegetation at the side of the road. I wished it well and continued my ride. One might question this peculiar act of kindness. It was, after all, just a caterpillar, but there is a story behind it.
One day when I was four years old, my father and I went up Trans Island Avenue to the local cul-de-sac we called Blind Street. It was a common route for us, me on my CCM tricycle and he keeping an eye on me in a companionable sort of way. At Blind Street we ran into Mr. Brandon, a colleague of my father’s. Mr. Brandon lived nearby and was out for a walk with his two daughters. I didn’t know the girls very well; one was a year older and one a year younger than me. Let’s call them Marie and Jean. We interacted, as little girls do, while our fathers chatted.
As we were skipping along the sidewalk, I happened to glance down and there, on the pavement, was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. It was a little over an inch long and it was covered with honey-coloured fur that shone in the sunlight. It had many legs and it undulated with a wave-like motion as it moved purposefully along the curb. I stopped, awestruck, and watched its progress. This was a wonder that I had never before seen or imagined in all my four years.
Naturally, I wanted to share this discovery with the girls. I called them over, “Marie, Jean, come and see what I’ve found!” They rushed over and looked down at my golden wooly bear, which was still rippling along towards a destination known only to itself.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” I said. “Look at his fur”.
“Eww”, said Marie.
And then, before I could stop her, she raised her foot and stomped on the unsuspecting little creature. I was horror-struck. My wooly bear had been squashed flat. His yellow insides were smeared on the road, his beauty destroyed, his life snuffed out for no reason. I had observed the senseless death of something harmless and beautiful. I wept inconsolably and had to be taken home.
It was a loss of innocence moment. I learned that not everybody thought as I did. I am sure Marie, who was only 5, had been taught that insects and creepy crawlies were bad and should be exterminated. It is a common position.
However, my interest in the creatures we share the planet with was cemented by the experience. I am a biologist now and I retain a special fondness for wooly bears.
At least the one on the Parkway got a second chance.