Descriptive Essay On A Butterfly Garden

Butterfly Garden

As a child, I had an infatuation with butterflies. One day, my dad, stepmom, and grandparents took me to see thousands of butterflies up close and at the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park. A ginormous greenhouse housed this butterfly exhibit.

Thousands of colorful butterflies greeted us as we walked into the greenhouse. It was like walking into Narnia: one minute we shuffled outside in deary, cloudy Michigan and the next we skipped through a dense, humid jungle, wandering down carved out pathways under canopies of trees with butterflies flying above. Sitting on top of my grandpa’s shoulders, I gained an extra five feet in height, making it easier for me to see the butterflies. When a great monarch, orange and black

Everyone entered with grief stricken eyes and damp tissues in hand. Tear streamed down most faces. Memory boards with pictures of my grandpa lined the walls. The front of the room clouded over with a somber vibe: his coffin laid here. Drifting from board to board, I saw pictures of him as a young man, shots from the Grand Canyon trip and others from his dentist days. I came across the picture of me on his shoulders from the butterfly exhibit. It seemed like just yesterday we were there, exploring those flying creatures. Refused to face his body, I avoiding the coffin. I didn’t want to remember him as a lifeless, pale, sunken-in

My family surrounded the grave as the priest read a prayer. As they started lowering his body into the grave, I finally broke down in tears.

I’ll never get to see him again. Bye Papa, love you.

Caterpillar 's Galore

“There’s a bunch of caterpillars in the garage right now.

It’s the middle of freaking November--what’s up with that?”

“What! No way.

That’s really strange.

It must be a freak of nature.”

“No, it’s him.”

“It’s who, dad?”

“Your grandpa.” “What? What does that even mean?”

“These caterpillars are your grandpa, somehow, someway.

I think he’s trying to tell us that he’s still here.”

One caterpillar crawled onto his shoe. He picked it up and wiggled the little, hairy creature. We stood in total silence, other than the humming breeze, and stared at the caterpillars. One, two, three, four, five, six. One for each of my grandpa’s kids.

I believed my dad: somehow, someway, he’s here with us. Forever and