Last night when I took the Wogster out for her last squirt of the day, I first noticed the lovely crescent moon sort of surrounded by several bright stars and/or planets in a rather pleasing display and then, down much lower near the ground, the flashing of a firefly, the first one I’ve seen this Spring.
I suddenly realized with some surprise that the next day -- today -- would be the anniversary of our arrival here in 1981 (unless it was May 7, but no matter, close enough). We arrived late in the afternoon, already in a daze with the beauty of this part of the state, but that was only the beginning of what was in store for us later on that evening.
Richard drove the U-haul truck, which contained our stuff, I drove our family car, and my parents had come along in their car, pulling a trailer. It was much too late in the day to begin unloading the truck, and we were all tired anyway. They began to set up the trailer, and we drove to town, before it got too dark, to reconnoiter and figure out where we might sleep ourselves. We came back as it began to get dusky. And then suddenly we heard ourselves oohing and aahing. We did not need a prompter on the sidelines encouraging us. We watched in stunned amazement at the incredible display that began very gradually and then got increasingly intense as the sky darkened. We were surrounded by twinkling fireflies. It was magic. They were everywhere, flashing, rising, and falling and moving in all directions. None of us had ever seen them – our closest experience with what fireflies were had been at the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction at Disneyland, which they had mimicked by stringing small twinkling lights.