Lightning Bugs

Should take pictures of bugs, but midsummer flowers are so beautiful

• Arthropods _ including insects _ are the most diverse and most populous of the “higher” animal organisms.  They are all very strange creatures.  It is hard to imagine we share the same DNA foundation, and are cousins some multi-eons back.  Some _ like mosquitoes _ I could quite well do without.  Others _ like bees _ are helper friends and I worry about their survival.  And then there are multitudes _ like butterflies and lightning bugs _ that “simply” add beauty and wonder to our world.
• Late June of each year arrives with the surprising emergence of lightning bugs.  There is no sign of them until suddenly one evening, perhaps as I take out trash, there are sparks glittering here and there.

Blooms attract insects, and I am willing to not spray and accept any losses.

• Sometimes I need to look twice to be sure it is not an illusion.  And then more and more arrive as days go on.  Their patterns zoom about, and like an evening fog their luminescence lifts higher and higher as darkness prevails, beginning level with the grass, ending the evening up near the top of trees.  Where and how these mysterious creatures spend their days and the winter I have little idea, although once in a while one of them may do the equivalent of a flying stumble during daylight.
• They are a wonderful reminder of childhood.  Catching them is easy enough, three-year-olds master the simple upward scoop in no time.  Cruel-five-year-olds have learned to dismember them and paste glowing globs on arms and face.  Into early adolescence, some kids put them in jars for “study,” all too frequently and tragically forgotten.

 These lilies are being destroyed by an invasive orange beetle

• Pesticides, children, lawn mowers, birds, whatever _ how can they ever survive?  Yet they do, reminding us once again of the amazing persistence and regenerative capacities of nature.  A few bugs become multitudes in no time _ again witness those mosquitoes.  Some of them may even adapt quickly so that sprays no longer affect.  I continue to lament what seems a dearth of old reliables _ where are the tent caterpillars and gypsy moths and monarch butterflies of yesteryear? _  but some of the old ecology somehow continues.
• Perhaps I am too old to attach much meaning to this.  Each day is a miracle, with wonderful treasures still available if I open my senses.  Lamentation of what used to be, fear of what may arrive are less my concern than when I was younger and presumably had more power.  A thrill of discovery, of unexpectedly finding nature renewed, another summer marked, are enough.  Whatever may come, lightning bugs are here now.

Unnoticed millipedes and ground crawlers love cool shade under ferns.

• False optimism, you may shout.  Guilty as charged.  Some may approach each evening grimly aware that all is an illusion.  We are doomed to die when we are born.  There is much wrong with the world.  Even more seems to be getting worse by the hour.  And nobody listens to our lament.  But _ there goes another flash _ and my mercurial mind is once again turned to happy memories renewed.

Poisons

An all too common sign around our neighborhood.

• I’ve lived immersed in poisons.  Some of them were natural _ evolution handled most of those toxic effects.  We should note that nature itself presents many toxins, from elements like arsenic and uranium to toxins from venomous animals,  to deathly fungal mushrooms and hemlock plants . But the last century has been one long miasma of newly discovered and created chemicals, usually claimed to be harmless, but nobody knew for sure, and certainly nobody knows right away. 
• Those sublimely remembered good old days of the fifties were an immense waste dump.  Everyone figured of one pound of something useful (like DDT) worked well, five pounds would work even better.  Pesticides, herbicides, and unconstrained byproducts of processes old and new poured into the environment.  Fish and birds died en masse.  Babies developed strange maladies.  Adults were exposed to coal dust, asbestos, industrial cleaning agents.  Wearing gloves or masks (or even following directions) was for wimps.  Streams ran black, smog obscured cityscapes, any unused patch of ground could be used as a dump for old oil, paint, or unknown liquids. 

Nevertheless nature seems to do ok, even in this junk drainage behind a drugstore

• In these strange new days, it seems everyone is increasingly scared of chemicals.  Never mind that everything is built of chemicals _ any of them must be bad.  Why, just look how horrible their names sound!  So we have “organic” and “cleansing” and some fairly obscure witchcraft practices to deal with.  Meanwhile, my same neighbors who would never touch a regular old apple happily spray their yards and homes, accept combustion products from yard machines, and drink bottled “pure spring water” contaminated with plastic molecules.  I sometimes think masses of people have simply been “reeducated” from one set of ignorances to another.

Mea Culpa

• Enumerating poisons in our environment is useless, especially when we remember that just about everything is a poison in strength _ even water.  And it is hard to make a case that we must avoid their use entirely _ mosquitoes are annoying and a health risk, herbicides do feed the planet.  What bothers me is the unthinking contradictions I see around me.  People trying to cut out poisons in foods, for example, while dumping them around and in their homes.  To be honest, I think we do use somewhat less per capita than my parents’ generation, but on the other hand there are so many more capitas these days, which is a heavy load on the natural environment.

From here, the environment seems just dandy.

• Is there some reasonable solution?  Sure _ less people.  Well … yeah … but …  That’s the trouble, every solution has too many residual problems.  Conservation would be nice, environmental awareness is great _ but everyone seems to want that boat or to have the ability to fly to some vanishing bit of jungle elsewhere in the world.  I saw a crowd the other day staring and photographing a once-common big yellow butterfly as if it were a rare creature _ and today it is, perhaps to be gone in a year or so.
• A concentration of people into cities might be helpful.  Keeping the poisons we use constrained into small geographic areas would be the best outcome.  Farms as we know them may already be giving way to robotic workers and different ways of raising things like meat.  Meanwhile I’m enjoying my last few years admiring what remains, and trying to keep my own poison requirements as low as possible.

Fresh Eyes

Red maple leaf floating on branch, like me one of uncounted and unnoticed uniquely similar to all the others.

A simple leaf lies next to the keyboard.  Unlike most springtime foliage, it is a dark red, from a maple tree in our front yard.  There are five perfect toothed lobes, main vein down the center of each, lesser lines branching off.  It is small, still perfect, undamaged by insects.  It displays a miracle complete in itself.  It represents infinite miracles of my cosmos.  I usually ignore it, and almost everything else.

To combat complacency, I force myself to adjust my vision.  Seeing with “fresh eyes” requires a different kind of concentration _ immersion in sensation rather than logic.  Academic descriptions are not sufficient.  Ecstasy of the moment requires removal of blinders which I must normally use to ignore all except which is “important” or “necessary.”  When I open to detailed appreciation, I may be too blinded, stunned, and helpless to get out of the way of an oncoming truck.

Just another tree, just another day, just another practical miracle.

When counting one by one, anything over a hundred is practical infinity.  This leaf is one of an infinite number on a tree that has been in our yard at least fifty years, maybe more.  It was mature when we moved in, thirty years ago.  I confess I often notice it only when avoiding branches while mowing, or cutting back ivy underneath, or raking leaves in the fall.  Most mornings I try to pay respect _ the images of foliage change dramatically in early sun, late sun, moon, clouds, fog, rain, wind, snow and every other possible meteorological condition and combination of effects.  But usually, it is just another tree in another suburban yard.

At this level, it is well to avoid deeper meditations.  Yes, this single leaf implies our entire universe.  Yes, I can imagine billions of years of evolution, thousands of years of human history, my very life and meaning _ all if I pursue logical trails of why and how this leaf exists here and now.  But fresh eyes require a different perception of surface beauty,  uncomplicated by intelligence and knowledge.

Common ragweed in front of a common view of a regular old harbor.  Wow

Visual artists try to communicate that mystery.  Successful artists begin by experiencing the overwhelming majesty of some selected viewpoint.  They manage the difficult translation to some media that is itself mysterious and beautiful.  Full achievement of that goal is doomed, but the artist has also been rewarded with the ecstasy of creative involvement.

A rose is a rose is a rose.

Looking at art is exactly what we do to refresh our eyesight.  When I walk out of a museum, I often perceive the world anew, in different colors and combinations.  For a few moments, blinders are in my pocket.  I perceive colors in shadows, or forms in outline,  or abstractions of light.  Often I simply pay attention to what I have missed.

And another fine view

As an elder, I try to experience the world as if I were a child.  Amazement reigns.  A leaf, a tree, a butterfly can be enchantment.  In this fortunate state of mind, an often grumpy outlook has been redirected such that life seems gloriously new.  Our mind is always capable of casting illusions onto “reality,” fresh eyes help shape those filters into happiness. 

Fumes

Fossil-fueled boats pollute water and air; these have no economic purpose.

Modern civilization is fashioned of fossil fuels.  Coal and oil have enabled infrastructure, technology, and living standards for masses of people that were only dreamed of by tiny elites a few hundred years ago.  Realization that heavy use destroys the biosphere has hardly made a dent on emissions.  We enjoy our current conveniences and want to continue eating in the style to which we have become accustomed.  Complacent inertia strips mountainsides and pumps holes to spew carbon ubiquitously.

Almost infinite conflicting predictions concern changes ushered in by this pandemic.  I forlornly hope it becomes the proverbial “whap alongside the head” that knocks sense into society.  In particular, I wish our excessive use of combustion would slack off.  Recent health, economic, and social crises could help us to move on.  Imagine a world without internal combustion engines, few jet airplanes, many windmills and solar panels, insulated “green” homes and offices _ cleaner air each year.  And, yes, we could still work, eat, and be entertained.

 Roses bloom as much of life continues heedless of possible catastrophe.

Progression in that direction has been going on for some time.  Texas produces huge quantities of wind energy, homes are sheathed in solar panels, electric vehicles are mandated in places like China and Europe.  Various technologies proclaim breakthroughs week by week.  Younger generations had already rediscovered the joys of living in energy-efficient apartments in cities. The cost of “renewable” energy has been dropping dramatically.  But there seemed to be a very long slog ahead, simply because society was used to multiple vehicle households, high heating and cooling bills, work that demanded frequent travel, and all the other assumed requirements of life.   

We are as guilty as the next guy, appreciating our heat and air conditioning

Biology has a term called “punctuated equilibrium” which describes what may be happening.  Little changes keep creeping into an organism, until some dramatic environmental event makes a few of these changes so useful that its owner becomes dominant.  For example, if people begin to work a few days from home, there will be no need to own more than one car.  If trips are shorter and less frequent, small electric vehicles work just fine.  If solar panels lower energy bills at home and office they will multiply. 

All of such changes have cascading effects on industry.  Electric utility companies already notice a drop in power demand, but if homes really start to go off-line, the cost of maintaining an electric network of wires and transmission stations becomes exorbitant.  If fewer cars are used less often, the underfunded road network will wither and encourage rail bulk transport.  Work from home is likely for service industries, electronic connections finally leap to prominence over face to face business travel.  Many factories (filled with robotic labor) will relocate to places like deserts where solar power is cheap and frequently available.  The list is long and strange.  And once started, the progression is self-sustaining.  It becomes too expensive and annoying to fight trends _ just like the replacement of horse-drawn transportation in a decade or so. 

It would be foolish indeed to ever ignore beauty.

Although I hate yard crews because of noise, they are indicative of hopeful home trends  _  renting or sharing power equipment.   The same is true of using cleaning services.  Home delivery of goods is more power efficient than multiple individual vehicles making short trips.  Solar panels, efficient lighting, decent insulation and windows all cut down on energy use and save money.  These and other similar issues are all of a nature that becomes more asymptotically common _ fads which are good for the environment.  All of these have been given a giant boost by the pandemic lockdown.

Anyway, I am breathing clearer this year.  The air has rarely seemed so delicious.  Admittedly, in the last few weeks, traffic has returned and mowers and blowers resumed their roars.  Peace and quiet gone with the return of economic activity.  As everything gets back to “normal” I fear that all my hopes and dreams are only hopes and dreams after all.  We have learned nothing.

More boats stretch to the horizon, forces greater than I are involved.

What nature remains seems to have adapted anyway.  I realize that my little locality does not represent the world, and my personal observation is hardly universal.  Yet local extinctions seem to have occurred, not only in reptiles like snakes and turtles, but in all species not cohabiting with man (e.g. gulls, raccoons, chipmunks, pigeons, rats, crows, dogs, cockroaches, etc.)  Insects are too sparse.  Thousands of plant species are gone with the snows of yesteryear.  Perhaps nothing can stop our march to sterility.

For a few moments, however, let me pretend there is a silver lining somewhere.  That a tipping point has been reached towards something better.  That trends aligned against fumes will begin a virtuous cycle that eventually ends smog forever.  I realize it is probably no more likely than any other fantasy of being saved by the supernatural, but I am grateful for any improbable fleeting vision of good to which I can momentarily cling.

Crisp

Enchanted backlit greens float everywhere

• Springtime in New York encapsulates revived youth.   Rejuvenation from seemingly lifeless barren landscapes begins in February, like a helpless newborn, with thrusting bulbs, swelling buds, and other tantalizing promises.  March represents the tiny baby stage, where amazing changes happen rapidly, but there is as yet no recognizable speech nor much motor coordination.  April breaks out as a cute toddler full of promise, but quickly morphs into a petulant May adolescent who alternately excites or disappoints with cold, or rain, or lovely days, or bright blossoms.  Ah, but then comes June.  A brilliant young adult out to change the world.

Iris is an old-fashioned favorite, and this one an heirloom from Joan’s mom

• “Crisp” describes Huntington outdoors as June begins.  Foliage has not yet developed a patina of dirt, nor has it been ravaged by the stress of drought and depredations of insects.  Flowers bloom abundantly, tended by bees of various types.  Grass has a special emerald glow.  Everywhere there is a peculiarly clean odor of restlessness, often punctuated by clouds of scent from surprising vegetation. Waves of flowers have come and gone, always replaced by new ones.
• Air remains crystalline, untroubled by the later humid haze and smog of summer.  Especially this year, distant views stretch clearly in sharp focus even to the far Connecticut shoreline.  Morning fog clears to bright clarity.  Occasional showers wash tenderly.  I take a deep breath, trying to appreciate the fact that our atmosphere exists, and that I can still take advantage of its often ignored wonders.

Rhododendron has done extremely well this spring.

• Early June floral displays are perhaps the most inspiring of all.  Although the cherry blossoms are long gone, and memories of tulips almost ancient, flowering shrubs are everywhere.  Fading azalea blossoms provide a thick coat of brilliance.  Rhododendrons explode with purple, white, and red cannon balls.  Over it all floats delicate pink and white dogwood.  Roses parade as if summoned by bugle calls.  Although the grand drooping plumes of purple wisteria have dried away, day by day another midsummer flower such as wild white daisies bursts on the scene.    

Homage to Albrecht Durer, who painted “A great piece of turf” centuries ago.

• If spring seems a metaphor for hope, June is that hope realized.  What were merely dreams _ late evenings, swimming in salt water, lazy hazy times, vacation plans _ are available to our waking moments.  Yet it is not yet horribly hot nor humid, we do not need to seek shelter at midday, we can still take long pleasant walks without desperate rehydration.  And, mostly, all of this is still new.  Just like arriving at a carnival for the first time as a young child, nature is all flash and brilliance and thrilling mysteries.  We have had no time to become jaded, have not yet been bothered by mosquitoes, can relish each moment outdoors.
• Solstice approaches in less than a month, the brilliant rays glint off morning dewdrops coating flickering grass blades.  Strong angles sparkle on waves, a magic canvas for boats large and small swarming into Long Island Sound.  Evenings linger almost too long for those of us exhausted by taking advantage of earlier dawn and the temptations of long walks.  Oh, and of course the various ambitions and chores and exercises newly available _ planting flower beds, mowing lawns, touching up the house, trimming shrubs.  Sun comes up as it goes down _ huge, fiery red, reminding us that it is indeed our true god.

 Let this perfect clematis star symbolize my hope for the future.

• June is a great time, even in bad times.  I sometimes think June exactly defines why I love this environment all year, in spite of its problems and climate.  But I must stop typing and run outdoors to breathe deeply and experience immersion once again ….