Last evening, July 19, 2019, as dusk turned to dark, Kim and I sat outside on our stone front porch, each armed with a wonderful Cranberry Rosé Cider from the No Boats on Sunday beverage company. I had just return from inside because Kim rightfully suggested that we drink from classy beer glasses rather than straight out of the bottle. We were looking around our neighbourhood and discussing who lived where when we first moved into the townhouse directly across the street 17 years ago. That was seven years before we made the gargantuan leap across the road to our semi-detached backsplit.
It was a particularly warm evening, on the heels of a hot day. Here in Burlington, Ontario we were considerably above the 30-degree Celsius mark, not figuring in the humidex. But that’s nothing compared to what New York City and the rest of the American Eastern Seaboard was facing. We had just returned from NYC a day earlier and were reflecting on the amazing sites we had seen there, having scoured much of central Manhattan and the lower west side. We were grateful not to be there now, because walking around in 30-degree Celsius heat was arduous enough. Now it was closer to 35 and feeling like over 40.
There was little unusual about this evening, other than we only get the chance to do this sitting around and enjoying a beverage in the late evening once every few weeks. That’s because I’m away in the truck so much and Kim is often in bed by nine o’clock. So, here we were together around 9:30pm, with our Maltese Poodle Sydney resting on Kim’s lap.
We weren’t anticipating company but delightful company arrived nonetheless. It came in the form of a spark of light flickering briefly over the short row of bushes that adorn the front of our porch. This spark was about five feet from my face. “Look, a firefly,” I said. (Something like that. Somehow, I rarely recall my exact words.) Kim soon saw one. Then we saw another one or two over the small tree to the right of the bushes. It could have been just one flickering repeatedly as it flew; we couldn’t tell yet.
Kim spotted one across the street, in the bushes of the townhouse where Larry and Joan used to live. Joan passed away a few weeks back, from cancer. Kim said maybe the fireflies were paying homage to her spirit. I’m sure Joan would have liked that. I looked around and didn’t see fireflies in front of anyone’s else’s house. I wonder if it’s a mere coincidence that they appeared in our front yard and in Joan’s, and ostensibly in no one else’s. That’s a nice thought so I’ll go with it.
While writing this, I asked Kim who saw the fireflies first. I had my doubts. She thinks it was me, so that’s what I said above. She took a minute to look up fireflies and found that they like warm, humid areas. And they prefer darkness to lighted areas. (It makes sense, if they have a desire to be seen and appreciated.) So, we had the perfect setting. I wondered how they knew this was going to be the ideal night for showing up in our city, when they rarely appear here at all. She noted that they follow weather patterns and migrate to where they want to be. Once again, I marvel at nature and its perfectly tuned instincts.
It was clear to us that the fireflies were following the current heatwave. We saw a smattering of them a few nights ago on an evening walk through the west side of Central Park, just as darkness was falling. That was a couple of days before we developed any concept of the park’s massive size and impact on the city. That revelation came on a midday bike tour through the park when, of course, we didn’t see any fireflies.
The appearance of fireflies in Central Park added an extra layer of Wow to my first visit (Kim’s second) to NYC. This city really does have everything, I thought. Over our five days there I came to realize, literally by the minute and with each block we walked, how much of everything – old, new, bright, shiny, heavenly high, tightly crammed, unabashedly capitalistic, breathtakingly momentous – New York had to offer. The fireflies were an unexpected and welcome bonus. I’m pleased they chose Central Park for their evening showing because there’s simply too much light everywhere else in Manhattan. They would have been invisible despite their most avid flickering efforts.
If I trust my memory – as I usually do – admiring fireflies is a more recent part of my life. I don’t recall seeing many when I was young, though I must have watched more than a few spread their glow. The first time in years that I’d seen them – in numbers large enough that they made a lasting impression – was two summers ago, in my first summer of long-haul trucking. I had recently learned, to my delight, that my dedicated weekly run would be to North Carolina and South Carolina.
On this particular evening, I pulled into the roadside rest area in Thomasville, North Carolina. The lot features the North Carolina Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I’ve since stayed there overnight a couple of times in my truck. But this first night was extra special. I was walking away from the row of parked trucks, trying to briefly escape the obnoxious mix of noisy large engines running uninterruptedly and the wafting aroma of diesel engine fuel. I ambled somewhat aimlessly towards greenery, because that’s my natural inclination: to seek nature. The sky had darkened while I was unaware of the disappearance of daylight. I was merely hoping to relax a bit and get some more feeling back into my legs. They were cramped as usual from a long day of driving. I didn’t expect any more than that. Then came the fireflies, seemingly by the millions.
Naturally that’s incorrect: they didn’t come; they were there all along and probably have been ever since the bushes and trees on the property grew hefty enough to make them feel welcome. Now I felt welcome too, as if they paraded out an extra special new exhibit of dazzling light just for me. There were seemingly millions of them, no exaggerating. They appeared to swarm every bush and I couldn’t take more than a few steps without seeing a buzz of at least a thousand of them.
I like to think that on that night, the fireflies were signaling to me that I’m not like other truck drivers. This is an immutable truth that I’ve come to understand well. In my mind, they were saying ‘no, really, you’re totally unlike those overweight, slow moving, scowling slovenly dudes. They can’t appreciate us properly and you have the knack. We see that and we’ve come out tonight in droves, in mutual appreciation. We know you dig us and we dig you too.’
I wish I could somehow convey to them – to all fireflies, everywhere – my admiration. I’d like to tell them that I now admire them as much as I admire the silver birch tree that adorns our front lawn. That’s only a few steps below my esteem for dogs and beavers, my two favourite animals. Clearly, they are in radiant company.