On either side of my driveway in Chino Hills was this egg-shaped green bush. For some reason, every year the one on the right (when facing the garage) would blossom forth with hundreds of little green caterpillars. And every year I would HARVEST them into little jars and try to keep them alive long enough for them to cocoon up. I only have one tiny memory of a jarred coccoon actually hatching (which makes me think that there are a lot of repressed dead caterpillar memories I don’t have access to). It was a magical crazy moment of crazy proportions. I remember believing that caterpillars turn to liquid in their cocoons like soup and legs and brains swim around in the soup until the soup re-solidifies into a brand new butterfly. Now that I think of it, I do remember peeling cocoons apart, frustrated that they were taking so long. Imagine being 5 or 6 and having to wait WEEKS for a cocoon to hatch. It was pure bloody torture.

The left bush was BORING and never had anything worthy of note. Or, maybe it had invisible caterpillars that had had more time to adapt to the natural selection pressures of curious kids.