On any trip to a natural habitat you may experience something memorable, uplifting or mysterious. If you are fortunate, you may experience all three, as I did recently.

Strolling through our longleaf pine stand in Salleyland, South Carolina, I marveled that some we planted a decade ago were more than 25 feet tall. I looked for ones that might produce cones this year. When I reached the wooden bench we had placed in the pine stand, I sat down, seeking solace from my surroundings.

When you sit still in a secluded natural area, you invite nature to come to you. Pay attention and you might be rewarded with an intriguing wildlife encounter. I heard the blue jay­­­–like cry of a red-shouldered hawk in the direction of the swamp. Nearby a large stand of flowers known as purple false foxglove was bordered by an equally large cluster of flowering goldenrods. In the pine stand smaller flowering plants peeked up here and there. I enjoyed watching a stand of longleaf pines do nothing. A serene setting, good for achieving peace of mind. Then something moved. Animal life.

My visitor was a butterfly, an Eastern tiger swallowtail, the state butterfly not only of South Carolina but also of Alabama, Georgia, North Carolina and Delaware. The only thing in view that wasn’t staying put, the butterfly flitted through the open space beneath the pines like a child on a playground. And then a remarkable thing happened. When the swallowtail was no more than a bouncing yellow dot 150 feet through the pines, it headed straight toward me. I did not move, so as not to startle it. It circled my head and shoulders half a dozen times then flew within 6 inches of my face and hovered. It may have been there only 8 to 10 seconds but that’s a long time for a butterfly to say hello.

It took off again into the pine stand, flying hither and yon. And then—it did it again, repeating the same performance. Once more we stared at each other, me sitting, it hovering. Again, away it went. What was the attraction? Surely a blue denim shirt and blue jeans would not be mistaken for a flower worthy of producing nectar. I was the drabbest object in sight. The butterfly had almost disappeared into the far reaches of the pines. I assumed we had had our final meeting.

Then it came back. From far away I saw it heading toward me, and it did the same dance again. If it had not been bright yellow and such a benign creature, it would have reminded me of Dracula when he becomes a bat and flutters before his prey. After this visitation, I watched it disappear into the forest and waited for several minutes but did not see it again.

So—memorable, undeniably uplifting and certainly mysterious—an enjoyable wildlife experience. Back at the cabin, I got a phone call from Jeff Lovich in Arizona. He asked what I was doing. I told him about the butterfly saga. He listened politely. I asked what he was doing. “Oh, I’m at an overlook above a huge wet meadow watching a gathering of about 700 elk. Two coyotes keep trying to make inroads into the scattered herds to pick off a small one.” All I could think of to say was, “Wow! That’s fascinating.”

Then the following happened. Truly. I had just finished my conversation with Jeff when my grandson Parker called. “Grandpa, I’m on a boat leading an ecotour along the Charleston coast. I am watching a big alligator swim over to this island from another one with dolphins in the background. A green sea turtle surfaced between me and the gator and stirred up a bonnethead shark that swam past the boat.”

I resolutely maintain that any wildlife experience can be memorable. Nonetheless, I didn’t mention the butterfly to Parker.

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