My Trip to the

Butterfly Conservatory

Part I

Most everybody in North America, if not the world, has heard of the city of Niagara Falls in Ontario, Canada. Each year thousands of people travel there to view the magnificent falling waters and ride the Maid of the Mist. However, Niagara Falls also boasts a less famous but equally fascinating tourist attraction: the butterfly conservatory.

My father visited the butterfly conservatory last year. He enjoyed himself so much that he offered to go there again with me. I was sceptical, though, thinking the place consisted of dead bugs pinned to display boards. No, my dad laughed, these were live butterflies.

So on June 17, 2005, my dad and I took the hour and a half-long bus trip from Toronto to Niagara Falls. To get to the conservatory, we had to catch another bus from downtown Niagara Falls. In fifteen minutes, we were there.

The butterfly conservatory is part of an attraction that includes Niagara Falls’ botanical gardens. After buying our tickets in the lobby, we stepped into a huge room. There to greet us were what seemed like thousands of butterflies.

Visitors walked on a path that wound its way around the room. On either side were trees, fountains, and fruit (obviously the butterflies’ food) set out on little plates. The ceiling was sky-high, and while there was only one “floor,” the path went along an upward curve.

Before my visit I, like many other Canadians, was only really familiar with the monarch butterfly, a small insect with a beautiful orange and black pattern. But the conservatory housed butterflies I had never seen before. Some of them were as big as small birds. A particularly interesting one was a butterfly that when flying exhibited a brilliant blue flash of wings. At rest, though, the blue was no longer visible, and the other side of its wings consisted of a dull brown pattern that formed what at first glance looked like a giant eye. The “eye,” we later learned, is actually a camouflage device designed to fool potential predators into thinking that it belongs to a larger animal.

Though visitors were warned not to touch the butterflies, it was impossible to avoid contact with them. They were everywhere: flying through the air, resting on people’s heads, arms and shoulders, and crawling on the ground. We had to be careful not to accidentally step on them.

Part II

On leaving the conservatory, my dad and I decided to look at the botanical gardens. Herbs, spices and even vegetables grew there. After a while, my father sat down at a bench to read the newspaper while I continued to tour the gardens.

At the other side of the gardens, I saw something out of the corner of my eye: a small grey tabby cat. I moved towards her slowly, then knelt down to hold out my hand to her. She walked up to me and, to my surprise, jumped right on my lap.

An attendant passing by remarked that the cat was usually not so friendly with visitors. Her name, he said, was Prissy. She lived on the grounds and “earned her keep” by hunting mice and birds.

The name Prissy caught my interest. I thought of the most famous fictional Prissy: Scarlett O’Hara’s maid in the movie Gone with the Wind. In the film, Prissy at first claims to be skilled in the art of midwifery. She later admits, however, that she “don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ babies.” So I teased Prissy the cat by telling her she didn’t “know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ kittens.”

I generally hesitate to pick up strange cats, as they might get scared and bite or scratch. But I plucked up my courage, swept Prissy in my arms, and carried her over where my dad was.

“A monster!” my father exclaimed in mock horror on seeing her (in reality, he loves cats).

I put Prissy down and started playing with her. She rolled around and pawed at the blade of grass I flicked at her. When I stopped for a moment, she let out an angry, “Meow!”

“She's spoiled,” I said.

“Well, who’s spoiling her?” my dad asked, insinuating that I was the guilty party.

I could have played with Prissy all day, but we had to go back downtown. When my dad and I got up to leave, Prissy began following us. We didn’t look back at her, lest we encourage her. By the time we reached the bus, she was no longer there.

So maybe some day we’ll return to Niagara Falls to see the butterflies and Prissy!

- Emily, 17, Canada