Small Miracles Against All Odds

by Donna Poole

“There’s another one! See?”

No, I didn’t see, but Kimmee, lover of all God’s creatures great and small reached out for an almost invisible, tiny larva for her collection. In it came with its milkweed to join the others already in the house.

The tiny caterpillar ate voraciously for ten to fourteen days, and then one morning, Kimmee showed me it was hanging upside down in its beautiful green chrysalis. I marveled to see that during the next ten to fourteen days the chrysalis became transparent until we could clearly see the colors of the monarch butterfly inside.

Next, the chrysalis split open and the adult butterfly emerged little by little. It hung there for a while, drying its crumpled, wet wings, extending them, and resting, until it could fly. I went outside with her, and Kimmee opened her hand and released the butterfly into the big wide world.

Kimmee was probably seven or eight when she began bringing in larva, charting the progress, and releasing butterflies. She learned to identify male and female and recorded how many she had of each. Every time she held a Monarch in her hand and watched it fly away, we saw a miracle.

We knew the fragile looking Monarch might be part of the annual southward migration, flying all the way from Michigan to Mexico. One fall John, Kimmee and I camped on Edisto Island, a marvelous place, where ancient Live Oaks line the narrow road to the campground.  On their way south, hundreds of monarchs covered a single bush right behind our tent camper. Had any of them come from Michigan, perhaps even from our yard?

Monarchs are fragile. Touch their wings the wrong way, and they will never fly again; yet they can migrate from Michigan to Mexico, even from Canada to Mexico, against all odds. How?

Who couldn’t use a small miracle against all odds right now? We’ve all lost so much, and our county fair is a small but big example.

The Hillsdale County Fair is a central part of life, not just for the week of the fair, but for many weeks before. The 4-H kids begin their projects in the spring. They spend hours, days, weeks, learning to groom and show their animals for the all-important show and sell days at the fair.

Those kids without livestock still participate. How many evenings did we spend at dog 4-H while Kimmee learned to show her dog? Then there are craft, cooking, academic, and photography projects. From scrapbooks to sewing to scarecrows, kids county-wide work unbelievably hard to prepare for the fair. Kimmee’s love of monarch’s became an academic project and many photography entries at the fair.

“John!” I said one year, a week before fair when Kimmee was getting about fifty last minute projects together, “look at this mess! There isn’t a room in this house that isn’t filled with a 4-H project!” I miss those messes.

Adults enter projects too, canning, baking, quilting, sewing, and so much more.

We love the fair. We linger at exhibits, stop and talk with neighbors and friends, and never leave without Fiske Fries and Red Barn elephant ears. When Kimmee was in 4-H we served our required hours in the kitchen; now we volunteer in the quilt booth where John laughs with everyone who stops and jokingly offers to sell the beautiful quilts to the person who will give him the most money.

The fair is an important part of county social life, and it’s an economic necessity for the fair itself.

This year, for the first time since 1851, we will have no county fair. This would have been year 170; it has never cancelled before.

Lori Hull, the fair manager, says, “I have often told people who aren’t from the area that they need to understand that the world in Hillsdale County stops for the last week in September. Everyone goes (to the fair).

“The paid attendance each year is around 40,000 people. Last year, there were over 400 kids exhibiting in 4H and over 600 open class participants. There are typically over 200 vendors that exhibit their products, food, and services during the week.

“The fairgrounds has also become a popular spot for weddings and receptions. The buildings and grounds are rented many times during the year for events as well. All that changed this year with COVID-19. We have suffered the economic impact of almost every event being cancelled, and their deposits having to be refunded. If you would have told me in March, when this whole thing started, that the board would vote unanimously in June to cancel the fair…I never would have believed it. And yet that is what happened.”

This year, there will be no tractor pulls or concerts. The Ferris wheel won’t light up the sky; no loud music will play on the midway. No children will tearfully beg for just one more ride. Long lines won’t stretch in front of Fiske fries. Friends and neighbors won’t meet and greet, hug and laugh, and promise to get together more often. Vendors who make a year’s living at the fairs will struggle to survive. We mourn our fair, and we know it’s a miniature parable of what is happening to our world.

We were at the fair office the other day, talking to Lori. We noticed a small miracle. Against all odds, a petunia was growing up through the cement steps. It had self-seeded from a pot of petunias Lori had the year before.

Later, I asked Lori, “Do you water that petunia that’s growing up through the steps?”

Understand, we’ve had a hot, dry summer. We can barely keep our garden and flowers alive with daily watering.

Lori answered, “Nope, I haven’t done anything to it! I guess it’s stubborn! Kinda like the manager, lol!”

The petunia is a small miracle of hope. The fair, the county, our country, the world needs hope.

I don’t know what you’ve lost as you’ve traveled your backroad or city street, but please, don’t lose hope. Find it the next time you see a monarch. Remember the petunia growing up through the steps at our county fair office, thriving against all odds. Remember Who created the butterfly, the flower, you, and me.

I write to you today, fellow traveler, with sorrow for what we’ve all lost, but with hope for the future. And I smile when I remember that stubborn petunia—and our equally stubborn fair manager!