Chasing Fireflies

Chasing Fireflies

          I read a report by The Farmer’s Almanac, a strangely vestigial but somehow authoritative reference point on things both naturalistic and Americana, that fireflies were at risk of being eradicated by a combination of pollution (both pesticides and light pollution) and the civilized landscaping of our properties.  I do not pretend to know what the firefly does for us ecologically, but these Lampyridae are bioluminescent reminders of things past. That bioluminescence during twilight is put forth biologically to attract mates, but I believe its real purpose is to create dreams by young humans.  That sounds a bit species-centric and trivial, but all ecology is about chains or cycles and there is nothing wrong in thinking that fireflies’ highest and best purpose is to expand the imagination of the human species.

          This morning fireflies are on my mind because I saw a Snapchat post from my daughter of my grandchildren and their cousins running around just after dark in the backyard of my home in Ithaca.  That home is in a rural setting on the Cornell golf course and there is a large back yard bordered at the far end by a pair of weeping willow trees, compliments of the natural water runoff at that low spot in the surrounding landscape.  That slightly moist setting is perfect for Lampyridae breeding, so it is not surprising that fireflies abound there still (take that Farmer’s Almanac!)  My daughter and her family and her husband’s brother’s family (total of five children) are spending the week in Ithaca. The pleasure of seeing them running in the yard, chasing fireflies on a warm summer Sunday night, was a heart-warming remembrance of warm summer nights of my youth.

          I did not grow up in Ithaca, but I did spend time there and when we were there, we invariably were knocking around with some cousins since many of them did live there full time.  Some of my fondest and most comfortable memories are of Ithaca and the slower pace of days in the country.  They were mostly summer days and summer nights.  There were barbeques and ice cream from Purity.  There was the calm of Cayuga Lake and the magical atmosphere of Stewart Park at the base of the lake or Myers Landing Park, six miles up the lake.  There was even swimming in some cool creek or swimming hole.  And there were always fireflies at dusk and into the early night.  We chased the twinkling bugs around in the grass and tried to capture them in jars.  They would blink for a few moments in the jar, but soon thereafter fade into oblivion as their life essence faded away in the enclosure.  It might seem cruel, but there was no cruelty of thought, only a child’s attempt to capture the magic and save it in a jar.

          Fireflies are ephemeral.  They only live a few days and they only glow for a short while at dusk while their luminescence lasts.  But they are around all summer long, and they are certainly in many of our memories all these years later.  Ithaca is the perfect setting for firefly memories and its name is a perfect and classic reference to the homecoming elements that anchor most great memories of youth.  I went so far, twenty-three years ago, as to name my Ithaca property Homeward Bound for many reasons that were clever and appropriate but were altogether connected to the same place in my soul that houses all the fireflies I ever chased.

          We must remember the joy of fireflies and the clumsy attempts we all employed to snatch them from the summer night.  Life is nothing more than being about firefly catching.  We may occasionally find moments of grace where we make just the right moves and catch the moonlight in a jar, but most often we spend our time running in circles and giggling as we make ourselves dizzy with the chase.  Sometimes we get some glow in our jars, and sometimes we have no more than an empty jar, but either way, it has little to do with what we catch and try to claim as our treasure and more about how much fun we had in the chasing.

          We all put away childish things sooner or later and it is a shame.  Reality demands that we stop chasing fireflies and respond to thorny emails instead.  We vacation to go find more fireflies and stop emailing, but emails follow us everywhere.  If only fireflies could learn that trick, we might all be better off.  Instead of chasing fireflies now (even when I do happen to Ithaca for a summer escape), I get more pleasure watching my children unleash their children into the backyard night to do their own firefly chasing.  There is no fear of failure or even fear of falling.  The grass is soft, and the mood is light.  It doesn’t need to last too long; a few minutes is all that is needed to instill the wonder that leads to dreams.

          Maybe I should call my granddaughters this morning and ask them about their dreams last night.  It would probably serve no purpose other than to reinforce the crazy Gramps image I already enjoy.  Besides, dream-catching makes firefly-chasing look easy.  The Navaho Indians knew of the power of dreams and created intricate and ornate round and bejeweled webs that look like a native American’s version of a spiderweb and called them dream-catchers.  These natives knew the power of dreams and the difficulty of capturing their essence.  Apparently, it didn’t stop them from trying.  I’m not sure, but I bet native American children (upstate New York would imply the Mohicans and other lost tribes) would spend their summer evenings chasing fireflies.

          My challenge today, as I return to work from two magical weeks in the wilds of the County Kerry area of Ireland, is to keep the attitude of the child within that sees value in chasing fireflies.  I am old enough now to understand that it is the chase that matters and that I can even leave the jar behind and focus instead on the sheer pleasure of the hunt.