Woody Allen dies, hunting butterflies

I'm preparing to hike the Appalachian Trail with someone who is a friend in my dream. The friend has to first give a presentation in a town near the trail. As the friend's dad is driving us there we discover she hasn't saved any money for the trip. Her dad asks me if I know if she has a credit card - I don't. I think about asking her dad for traveler's checks so I don't end up paying for my friend.

We arrive in the town where she is to give the presentation. In the building I learn that Woody Allen has died and that my friend will be reciting haiku in a group. The leader of the group says they thought about having me perform too but didn't think I'd be very good. I'm asked what stage experience I've had - I say I've done everything. The leader asks if I've shown worms being born and I reply, "Yeah, that was on the Johnny Carson Show - they were black worms," knowing that I had only dreamed of this.

While my friend is performing, I go into a yard next door - we had been planning on collecting six plant or animal specimens each day on the trip - I'm trying to catch one of several butterflies on a wooden fence. The owner of the house comes home, I explain what I'm doing and ask if it's OK. She tells me to leave, but in a very inviting way. As I start to leave she tells me she meant I could stay. The butterflies are gone. Her son tells me he'll check to see if they've gone into the basement. I return to the other side of the yard.

I see something slithering through the grass. I step on it - it's a Canadian goose with a brick and board on its back. I don't try to catch it as I don't like Canadian geese. I catch a butterfly on a woodpile, but it disintegrates when I place it in the bag.