By Crystal Trojek – Tillsonburg Horticultural Society

Fireflies 

Fireflies, a drop of the summer sun, blinking in the thick darkness of a summer evening. I first imagined them described in the pages a book, their tiny lights swimming without boundaries, leaving without remorse from unknown homes to unknown destinations. A firefly was the magic of imagination, one of the things other kids encountered in other places and times. For me their description was a tiny spark living in the secret depths of summer story book pages, never seen in person.

Years ago my Dad decided to go fishing at the conservation area on a sultry summer evening. We packed up as a youthful moon began to stir a few sleepy stars while reaching for the darkening clouds that dappled a reddish sunset sky. Stepping quickly towards the car in the creeping darkness I saw them in person. Fireflies, hovering above the long and dusty grass and weeds that lined the edges of a gravel road. I almost missed them, so quickly was I escaping from the black tide of a summer evening that threatened to encircle me. I jumped onto the cool seat of the car, pulling my feet inside while quickly reaching to safely close the car door when I noticed them. Fireflies. For a few brief moments we watched them dancing and blinking along the now almost abandoned road, until the car headlights divided a small portion of that gravel path from the now sunless sky and showed us the way home.

I did not see fireflies again for many years, I didn’t expect to see them. I thought fireflies were quite selective of where they chose to dance in the summer air beneath a cloud filled sky, or under a bright full moon. Their tiny lights flashed in the solitude and peacefulness of a natural world, far from many humans but close to the green earth that welcomed their bright hearts whenever they chose to visit. A few summers ago I was “drawing the blinds” as my Mum used to say, just at dusk my weary eyes paused for a last look at the back garden disappearing into the darkness, and there they were, in my little town garden. Fireflies had found me once more. I walked outside to view them from the safety of the upper deck, wondering if their small troop was wandering through on their way to another pleasant and suitable destination of quiet woods and pleasant waters.

I asked if they lived in the cedar hedge, snug during the day from the heat of the sun, or rested in the cool trees. I imagined them living under hosta leaves, or dangling from ferns, exploring coral bells and bleeding hearts, introducing themselves to rabbits and other creatures who frequent my garden, or resting in the coolness of the mulch that covered the ground. I wondered what they ate. How did they know when to creep from the summer vegetation, and happily dot the garden with brief drops of sunlight? Did they pass the days of autumn and winter with ladybugs and such insect friends beneath the fallen leaves, beyond the frozen reach of arriving snowflakes. They must wait for their moment to rise in the thick night air that was liberally flavoured with the scent of multitudes of roses in my sunnier garden places.

A bit of scientific research revealed nothing so carefree as I imagined those tiny lights rural road. Fireflies are a mere dot of blinking light, seeking a chance encounter with another dot of blinking light, males and females flash looking for mates. The eggs are deposited amongst the gardens debris, preferably leaves and the damp recesses of a shade garden. The hatched larva might also light up while hunting such fine meals as earthworms, just another tiny creature residing in my botanical spaces. I wondered if a passing bat might eat a firefly, since it advertised its whereabouts so readily. I wondered if a toad might scoop one from the ground. I chose to happily linger and witness its present occupation, just a moment in the garden to be glad one is alive.

I can see them beyond the window in my summer garden, examining the plants. Perhaps they are oblivious to everything, concentrating on their tiny lights, as tiny fairies travelling through a tiny moment in time. Fireflies are absent from my morning walks in the garden, or perhaps they are not. As with many things in my garden perhaps fireflies are never absent, perhaps they are just waiting for me to get to their unnumbered page and write of them before recording another chapter in the open book that is my garden. The book that owns no last page, and it is mine.

Crystal Trojek – July 2021

The Tillsonburg Horticultural Society is on summer break from meetings. Members are invited to the Summer Social on August 4th. Regular meetings resume on September 1st at the Senior Centre.