GulfFritwithChrysalis crop Read that headline again.

Let it sit for a minute.

Think about what it means to transform a wide-open, welcoming nature center and the gentle people who work there, sharing wonder with children, into something less than that.

Over the last ten years, here, I’ve only strived for more. More welcoming, more wonder!

Now, it seems, we’re sinking in a pit of quicksand, saddled with disbelief, deep wounds and disenchantment. Not with Nature; not with the butterflies, bugs, birds and plants, but with the people and politics that provoked this unwelcome metamorphosis.

The first step in this process was to close, altogether. To shut down and deny entry to everyone.

Now, we’ve resumed regular operations, but I don’t know that we’ll ever be open, again, in the way we were before. Instead of being wholly accessible, unassuming, enthusiastic to greet every stranger and share this special place, we must guard against vulnerabilities, gather clues, assess risks, perform drills and maintain vigilance, on top of our regular duties. It’s exhausting! As if working in the oppressive heat and humidity of deep South Texas were not enough…

Sadly, our fantastic staff and facilities have been changed by outside forces over the last several months.

For our own safety, I cannot disclose all the ways in which everything is different; however, if you’re familiar with us, you’ll notice some of the altered aspects pretty quickly, perhaps, even our personalities. Some of those changes have been well-documented. For example, Politico told of me snapping at a reporter, and the New York Times described the pistol holstered at my side. Other changes, especially among staff, have been less public, like intestinal distress, anxiety disorders and worse. As a result, employees are taking leave and one has quit; he said, “I’m just done,” and he’s not the only one.

Until recently, the National Butterfly Center was a sanctuary; not just for wildlife, but for each of us individually. It’s been a retreat from the worries of the world; a refuge for like-minded friends; a supportive place to pursue a hobby and heal from loss; not to mention, a labor of love. But that was prior to replacing “mission-focused” with “situationally-aware,” and prior to adding Stop the Bleed training to snake orientation.

On Saturday, April 23, we re-opened to the public in our new form. The New York Post declared we came out of our “cocoon.” It was nothing short of nerve-wracking. Several employees reported sleepless nights, while others confessed to crying on the way to work and one vomited in the bushes, after clocking in. But they showed up and they stayed. ‘Spiderman’, the Bee Lady and a member who typically plays Mother Nature for us also came to celebrate our reopening and Earth Day, in spite of our fears.

The last three months have given us great clarity and it’s unsettling to perceive, having shed our illusions, just how the landscape has changed both at the center, and across the country.

Looking through the lens of closure, security consultants, conflict journalists and lawyers, we realize it was a luxury to exist as we did before; to imagine people came to the center primarily to explore and enjoy, rather than to destroy.

For the sake of the National Butterfly Center and our nation, I pray the hardening is temporary—a protective pause—and that there will be a reprieve. We can’t wait to escape this uncomfortable binding in favor of carefree flights of fancy, once again!