Black with orange dots Butterfly Santa Barbara Natural History Museum 110
Anticipation was palpable; this day was going to be beautiful. A mere two hour scenic drive up the coast as we were again popping in on the butterfly exhibit at the Santa Barbara Natural History Museum, before it closed for the season, on Labor Day.
This being our second visit within a month’s time, we considered ourselves experts on butterfly etiquette. Sure enough, the gate keeper recognized us from our previous visit and immediately welcomed us into the pavilion.
My camera settings were more forgiving this time. It was going to be a perfect day. Even more perfect than our last perfect experience.
The butterfly pavilion is jam-packed with plants, butterflies, helpful docents and human visitors so it’s pretty easy to bump into people.
One good ol boy was loudly guffawing and making cracks about my “huge” camera. I am thinking “Look pal, this is hobby level stuff.” Perhaps because I was ignoring him he had to repeat his observation even louder each time while waiting for that smile or wink of acknowledgement that he was telling a fine joke indeed. I didn’t want to appear hostile ... exactly.
Gomer Pyle had finally relented and ambled away… but you know the saying about Nature and a vacuum?
In strolls one to three adults with three to five children. I semi squish my eyes shut and try not to look. The little person with a weed-wacker haircut is making loud disparaging grumbles. The adults address him saying that if he is going to be like that, they are all going to leave. GOOD he says, just as his beady eyes lock onto my gear. Then the omen announces that he wants to take pictures. NOW! He stands in front of me with the expression of expectation that I hand over my stuff. I quickly scan the area looking for Jerry to rescue me from this irritating (grating, galling) child of the corn. But no one can help me now. The little psychopath is sticking to me like a fresh wad of gum on my shoe. His every sound is a demand and complaint pitched for maximum annoying effect.
Just about the time the demon tyke mercifully faded away, a group of seniors arrive. The expert of the lot, the loudest, is explaining the obvious. "That’s a nice ORANGE butterfly…and THIS is a nice BLUE butterfly." She was holding one of the over-sized laminated butterfly guides to gesture…waving the placard, using it as a pointer, making swatting motions at the very butterfly I am trying to digitally capture.
It was a memorable day in so many ways.
The Butterflies Alive exhibit at the Museum of Natural History closed on Labor Day. We were disappointed to learn that they only stage the butterfly exhibit every two years.
Black with orange dots Butterfly Santa Barbara Natural History Museum 110
Anticipation was palpable; this day was going to be beautiful. A mere two hour scenic drive up the coast as we were again popping in on the butterfly exhibit at the Santa Barbara Natural History Museum, before it closed for the season, on Labor Day.
This being our second visit within a month’s time, we considered ourselves experts on butterfly etiquette. Sure enough, the gate keeper recognized us from our previous visit and immediately welcomed us into the pavilion.
My camera settings were more forgiving this time. It was going to be a perfect day. Even more perfect than our last perfect experience.
The butterfly pavilion is jam-packed with plants, butterflies, helpful docents and human visitors so it’s pretty easy to bump into people.
One good ol boy was loudly guffawing and making cracks about my “huge” camera. I am thinking “Look pal, this is hobby level stuff.” Perhaps because I was ignoring him he had to repeat his observation even louder each time while waiting for that smile or wink of acknowledgement that he was telling a fine joke indeed. I didn’t want to appear hostile ... exactly.
Gomer Pyle had finally relented and ambled away… but you know the saying about Nature and a vacuum?
In strolls one to three adults with three to five children. I semi squish my eyes shut and try not to look. The little person with a weed-wacker haircut is making loud disparaging grumbles. The adults address him saying that if he is going to be like that, they are all going to leave. GOOD he says, just as his beady eyes lock onto my gear. Then the omen announces that he wants to take pictures. NOW! He stands in front of me with the expression of expectation that I hand over my stuff. I quickly scan the area looking for Jerry to rescue me from this irritating (grating, galling) child of the corn. But no one can help me now. The little psychopath is sticking to me like a fresh wad of gum on my shoe. His every sound is a demand and complaint pitched for maximum annoying effect.
Just about the time the demon tyke mercifully faded away, a group of seniors arrive. The expert of the lot, the loudest, is explaining the obvious. "That’s a nice ORANGE butterfly…and THIS is a nice BLUE butterfly." She was holding one of the over-sized laminated butterfly guides to gesture…waving the placard, using it as a pointer, making swatting motions at the very butterfly I am trying to digitally capture.
It was a memorable day in so many ways.
The Butterflies Alive exhibit at the Museum of Natural History closed on Labor Day. We were disappointed to learn that they only stage the butterfly exhibit every two years.