Killing Butterflies For Sport and Show

IN THE MID NINETEEN SIXTIES, when I was but a transcesant, which in education courses in the teacher training curriculum means kids between the ages of ten and fourteen, pre adolescents, we had a few juvenile delinquents in the hood. Kids who were obviously on their way to trouble. They vandalized golf courses, smoked cigarettes, cursed, you name it, if it was bad, they did it. They were friends of mine. Growing up, my tactic was to always befriend the thugs and bullies, to gain their protection. It worked. One of them became interested in catching butterflies. He roamed the neighborhood with his big butterfly net, snagging them, killing them, and mounting them under glass. He had a very impressive collection, worthy of a science museum exhibit. In those days butterflies were everywhere during the growing season; now, not so much. I was impressed by his devotion to his project, and skill and quickness, and his attractive, mounted, dead insects. Although, in the back of my mind, there was a tinge of horror and sadness, I was pretty much down with the program. He spent hours each day at it, and sometimes I walked around with him, which was a great privilege. The project did not have a good impact on him, I guess; he ended up in prison anyway, though he is out now, on Facebook, and on my friend list. Thirty years later, I crossed paths with another butterfly killer, with a similarly impressive collection, which he proudly showed off. By this time I was in my early forties, and a confirmed left wing bleeding heart life loving environmentalist wacko. I politely looked at his glass death row, and said nothing. He got the hint, and remarked that I didn't seem to like his butterflies. I shrugged my shoulders, and when pressed for comment, I commented that I liked the butterflies just fine, but liked them better watching them fly around, pollinating flowers. This guy was weird too, and later died from heart failure, after catching a common cold in Hawaii. His heart gave out due to it being weakened by years of illicit drug use. He was only forty seven. So, the message is; do not catch and kill butterflies for sport and show; the karma will kill you. Use binoculars and cameras on wildlife, not guns - you know the drill. I shall remain forever a left wing bleeding heart. Does anyone do that anymore, catch, kill, and mount butterflies? Probably, somewhere. It must be far more challenging now; in most areas, the butterfly population, like the frog and insect populations, has declined precipitously, due to ambient pollution. The good news is that monarch butterflies are making a comeback, because the Mexican government is starting to protect their habitat; during the winter, they all flock to ten mountain tops over ten thousand feet high just north of Mexico city. The bad news is, Trump's wall will damage a butterfly habitat on the Rio Grande, that is, unless the hundreds of ranchers living along the border are able to stop the wall from being built; they abhor the idea, and know full well that there is no need for it, and have no desire to imminent domain their land away to futility. Butterfly, insect, and frog lovers must unite, stop Trump, stop conservative capitalism from turning all of nature into investment capital, and restore nature to good health before its too late For the moment, prospects for human and environmental survival don't look good; Trump and his evil anti-environment minions seem to have surprising staying power, despite their obvious repugnance. At least its comforting to think of all those conservative, rugged ranchers on the border, loaded guns in hand, ready to die fighting Trump in defense of their land rights, and as an unintended consequence, butterflies.