sunset trails

on regal moths and growing

Jun 16, 2025

Dear Reader,

As you know I am trying to be more free-spirited. You know . . . break rules. . . do things spontaneously . . . you know, reject the foundations of my very own Substack by publishing this chapter three days late. This is my coy-round-about way of saying that I may or may not have forgotten to schedule this letter last week. Instead of being sensible and publishing it this Friday, I have delivered this letter on growth and regal moths on a blue-sky-post-rain-shower Monday morning. That’s called growth . . . right?

One of the ways I am trying to *evolve* as a woman pushing 30 is to not fall into the schedule of home work home work home work oh yay the weekend I get one fun thing on Saturday before Sunday chores start. There are days when I feel like that gif from Spongebob, you know, the one of the fish in his car, in front of the bedroom window, in his cubicle at work? He’s motionless, characterless, miserable beyond repair; he’s a corporate robot.

One of my favorite ways to reject corporate roboticism is in the form of my Jefferson County Greenways membership. When the summer season begins, Red Mountain Park hosts their Tuesday Night Trails series. This weekly excursion encourages visitors to hike along a variety of paths in the park, led by guides of varying speeds. There are the classic runners, ready to sprint up and down the varying mounds, the in-betweeners who might run—who might walk, and then there’s my group—the walkers.

This is one of the ways that I’m grateful I live in a place that offers outdoor excursions after the 9 to 5 that don’t involve drinking in a dark room or lying in bed after a long week. Here, it’s just me and the trees (and about 50 other people who are pro-exercise and pro-greenways).

Hiking might be one of my favorite activities. I love reaching the peaks and rewarding myself with cool downs. I love brushing red dirt off my shoes, knowing its rusty color will stain the soles. I love stopping and marveling at mushrooms and moths and mossy groves that twist around the trunk of a tree. I love the joy of running into old friends and feeling the connection we have to the earth around us.

The possibilities are endless when we actually believe in the goals we set out to accomplish.

Our walking group was the last to leave. We gathered at the fork of the trail, as first time Tuesday Night Trail participants, my friends and I were bouncing in our shoes—ready to explore and make it back before the gates closed.

“We’re the walking group,” our leader said, “but we’re fast. So keep up!”

My friends and I quickly realized any marveling would have to be done in motion, with urgency, and with a trail of people behind us.

There are victories in the quick snap, the gallop to catch up to the group, the collective wows at seeing a regal moth on the trail (below, right).

The regal moth (or royal walnut moth) is the largest moth by mass north of Mexico. They can be found throughout the Deep South and become rarer as you move further north. They thrive in deciduous forests due to their appetites and their dedication to host plants like hickories, black walnut, and other trees.

I love it when insects are given killer names, the regal moth’s caterpillars have been honored with the name: hickory horned devils. Their avocado green skin will turn turquoise in their fifth and final molt—revealing that their body is rippled with spikes, warning off potential predators. These spiny, prickly daggers, though, while intimidating, are merely a play by the creature as they don’t actually sting or cause harm.

Instead of spinning a cocoon, they burrow themselves into the ground until maturity. I quite like the idea of maturing this way. Instead of wrapping oneself in a very public blanket for all to see—sometimes we need the privacy of one’s earthen chamber to strengthen the ways we need to grow.

The thing about growing is that it’s impossible to stop; we can avoid it, we can fight it, but still, we are going to evolve. I can be the Queen of Impatience, wondering when the things I want to happen are going to happen. I am a Type A person who wants to be free-spirited. I want to mold myself to spontaneity and trust that I will be a better person on the other side.

I say all of this remembering that metamorphosis doesn’t happen overnight. That while we wait for timing to work out—we can still help it along. We can sharpen our skills, we can trust in the process and take a deep breath, we can speed walk a hike even though we’d like to stop and bask at the ballroom of fireflies dancing in the greenway.

Dancing with fireflies at Red Mountain Park

I’m taking this last summer of my 20s as a time for me to break out of that earthen burrow. One of the things I always admired about my grandparents’ relationship is that one could look at the other and say, “Do you want to go to the mountains today?” and they would get up and they would go to the mountains.

Before the pandemic, I was a person who could take risks like that by myself. I had gone to London alone, I had been to Savannah, GA alone, wandering and relying on myself, had never been an issue. I feel like that chapter of our lives took that spontaneity from me. I feel hesitation at those journeys now, but this summer, I want to grow back into that version of myself. I want to pack my car and drive just to find a place that is just for me. I want to camp in the trunk of my new (to me) car and journal, and maybe I’ll even dabble in poetry that I will never let anyone read. The possibilities are endless when we actually believe in the goals we set out to accomplish.

What are your goals for the summer? Have you had the chance to experience a greenway as the sun goes down? Have you felt the natural air conditioner of a long-closed mine (above, left) as you sweat from the sticky pre-rain air? How are you finding ways to be motivated to be outside despite the threat of rumbles and raindrops?

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