(Photograph)
Light Bright: A glowing lightning bug clings to a blade of grass.
Taylor S. Kennedy/National Geographic/Getty Images

Fireflies illuminate summer memories

Lightning bugs, or fireflies, bring back happy memories of childhood hunts for the luminous beetles.

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The beauty of lightning bugs, or fireflies, can't be captured by the photographer or painter. On, then off; first here, now over there – the invisibility is the art.

For me, seasons are arbitrary. This year, summer started when I looked out on a field of beans while driving through the Ohio countryside, where ever-changing constellations of lightning bugs were keeping an irregular beat.

I can't help but smile when I see lightning bugs. I remember being barefoot and shirtless, scattering across the yard with the other kids, arms outstretched, hands ready to snap shut gently, my focus shifting from one pulse of light to the next.

Caution was required to avoid tripping over the balls, bats, rackets, and lawn darts left over from a successful day of play. Saplings that we had nursed through the dry summer and parents in lawn chairs provided their own unique challenges.

There was always that moment of questioning after making a lunge at a darting dot of light: Do I have more than air? Then it would happen – yellow light filling the spaces between my fingers. A miracle!

I ran to Mom and opened my hands a crack, showing her my treasure. If the lightning bug flew away, I would run off to capture another. Mom would head into the house. I'd wait by her lawn chair. The ice-cream maker's motor droned behind the adults' conversation. Why they weren't chasing lightning bugs was beyond me.

Cousins and friends ran this way and that, jealous of me because I had one flashing in my hands. I was jealous of their running and laughing and longed to rejoin them. After all, the hunt was the best part.

Finally, Mom arrived with the Mason jar, the kind that grandmas use for canning string beans. Delicately, I made the switch and topped the jar with aluminum foil full of small holes Mom had punched.

By the time the ice cream was ready, I had three or four lightning bugs in my jar. They flashed at my feet as I shoveled ice cream into my mouth. Then it was back to the hunt.

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