The Butterfly Effect

“It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view…. The things that change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.”

— from Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Thanks to Edward Lorenz (1917–2008), a meteorologist and mathematician who combined the two disciplines to create Chaos theory, the butterfly metaphor has spawned bogus interpretations. True nutshell version: “…our world runs on a combination of chaos, incompetence, and confusion….” (Jonathan Cainer). Not very comforting. Small things matter, but we’re never sure of their predictive value. The outcome can never be assured or assumed. Even knowing the exact initial conditions doesn’t translate into predictable results. You can only estimate. And that leads me to my butterfly theory: gardens, hope, and possible redemption. I’ll never be sure…

Three weeks ago, while contemplating a vegetable bed, I noticed a monarch with faded colors and tattered wings flitting around the garden edge. Newly emerged milkweed and butterfly weed seedlings were hidden among the numerous young plants breaking through the soil. She zeroed in on the milkweed plants. Picking one, she landed on the semi-furled leaf.  With wings slowly flapping, she laid tiny translucent eggs along its edge. Just as suddenly, she took off and flitted around until she found another milkweed and repeated this procreative dance. I tracked her movements as she fluttered about, unerringly landing on the milkweed. This process went on for several hours. She’d disappear into the sky and return to continue the process. For two days she repeated this dance. Then she was gone. Her legacy was a multitude of eggs bequeathed to sprouting weeds. My record of garden events shows this was the earliest presence of eggs.

Later, I’m maneuvering on all fours, scanning the beds for weeds. My eyes alight upon a tiny moving form on the underside of a young milkweed leaf. The ragged leaf edges betray the creature: a tiny Monarch caterpillar eagerly eating its way around the leaf. I observe holey leaves in a neighboring milkweed and see a larger version of the caterpillar methodically munching away. Chances are they won’t make it to adulthood, but who am I to predict? I promote conditions for them to thrive (varieties of plants, no chemicals, etc.), but life hinges on the vulnerability and fragility of such things. Of our attention to the small things.

What are the effects of sharing this story?

It’s resulted in this article.

Maybe someone plants different flowers based on Monarch love.

Maybe they try container gardening if they don’t have land.

Maybe they STOP SPRAYING FRIGGIN’ TOXIC CHEMICALS.

You, dear reader, what is the possible effect?

Monarchs are struggling. It’s a small thing. The butterfly effect.