Fireflies

It’s a hot, muggy evening in July. The chorus of crickets is accented by an occasional great horned owl. You absently slap at a mosquito on your arm as you sit in the darkness on the back porch step. The stars above you are bright despite the heavy clouds gathering on the horizon. A flash of heat lightning quietly illuminates the building masses. And then, all at once, the stars move closer. They descend to your level, hovering a few feet above the grass. They flash, elegantly, in musical rhythms that they must have learned from the universe. You are starstruck. A star moves towards you, gliding to land on your knee. You lean closer. A little bug rests there, with a star trapped in its belly. Magnificently, it glows.

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/EyPHUz6UNyUkKsHa7

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May 24th, 2025- Congaree Day 2

Most people call them fireflies. In Ohio, where we call autumn fall “because leaves fall down,” we have renamed our star-carrying insects. Instead of the poetic firefly moniker, we call them lightning bugs. 

We also call our soda pop. Because the bubbles pop.

Ohio doesn’t win points for creativity when it comes to naming things! But we earn back some kudos when it comes to our biodiversity. Ohio has about 24 species of fireflies across the state! I have many fond childhood memories of chasing lightning bugs around in the backyard. Occasionally, I’d catch them and keep them in a jar for a few days. My poor lightning bugs usually died in my care. As an adult scientist, I cringe a bit at this memory. 

As impressive as Ohio’s lightning bugs are, North Carolina boasts nearly twice the amount of firefly species! In Congaree National Park, fireflies are a specialty. For two weeks between May and June, the park issues lottery passes to enter the park after hours. The main attraction? Thousands of fireflies floating through the forest, blinking in synchronous harmony. The phenomenon is a rare sight, its availability limited to just three species of fireflies who choose to work in harmony instead of dissonance. How beautiful a metaphor is that? Thousands of star-carrying insects illuminate the woodlands when they work together. How would our world be different if humans did the same? 

That morning, Tyler and I moved in synchrony, performing the national park dance we have perfected together. Our hotel breakfast was a well-rehearsed affair of tea, coffee, oatmeal, and a few apples secreted away for a trail snack later. Our arrival at the visitor center was much of the same rhythm: restrooms, trail maps, intense deliberation, then hitting the trail. Our feet pounded down the Congaree boardwalks in rhythm, heads swiveling side to side as we soaked in the lush greens, the swampy pools, and the wildlife. A baby bird tucked in some brush gave us a chuckle. Its tiny grey head tilted to peer at us with intelligent eyes as we squatted down to examine it. It opened an oversized yellow beak and squawked, the same noise that had drawn us to its hiding place in the first place. It paused to listen. When the bird didn’t receive the response it wanted, it squawked again. It was a shrill, demanding sound. The baby bird looked sharply past us to examine the forest. What was it waiting for? I suddenly had a vision of a human toddler sitting impatiently in a high chair, banging the tray with a fork as he yelled for his food. Do baby birds do that, too? His hungry squawks were becoming more incessant. The impatient little guy had no survival instincts, no awareness that he was flightless on the ground where predators hunted. He didn’t care at all that two giants squatted around him and shoved a camera in his face. The fluffy little bird only wanted his lunch. What a glutton!

Tyler and I continued down the trail. Swamp trails are always easy, so we enjoyed the flat boardwalks and low elevation with animated conversation. Tyler and I have the best conversations when we are outside! When we were engaged, we planned most of our wedding during hikes. I distinctly remember the bike ride when we decided our wedding theme would be “rustic farm,” a combination of my affinity for antiques and Tyler’s agricultural background! On subsequent outdoor adventures, we visualized our wedding and made it a reality. Our cake topper was a little green tractor. Old farm tools decorated the tables. A wall of vintage doors, borrowed from a friend’s barn, created the backdrop behind our head table. Old glass bottles filled with flowers decorated each guest table. Had we not spent so much time outside as a couple, I think our wedding would have been a much more boring affair!

Our years of outdoor recreation have led to some mishaps, naturally. Most of these mishaps were started by me. On this particular Congaree hike, for example, I veered off trail to wander down to the river’s edge. The still water reflected the trees beautifully, and I, of course, had to take a photo. We lingered for a few moments in the peaceful area, leaving only when the mosquitoes descended on our delicious arms and legs. Not far beyond this point, we found a “trail closed” sign. This was news to us! According to our careful trail map examination at the visitor center, we were under the impression that this portion of the trail was open. Had we taken a wrong turn? The trail behind us stretched for miles back to the visitor center. They were easy, flat miles, but backtracking nonetheless. I hesitated. When I turned back around, Tyler was strolling down the closed trail. 

“What are you doing, babe?”

He shrugged. “This trail is a loop. It’s gotta connect back to the open trail at some point.” 

I shrugged too. His logic seemed sound. I trotted to catch up with my husband. We strolled for a mile or so down the closed path, noticing evidence of construction in the woods. Stacks of treated wood planks lined our trail like fences. Soon, our trail intersected with the construction site. A tall, elevated boardwalk was slicing through the woods. When finished, it would lift visitors high above the flood plain and provide greater accessibility to the far reaches of the Congaree swamp. We stood beneath the structure, admiring the handiwork of the half-finished walkway. As usual, we became immensely grateful for the unseen park employees who keep our parks beautiful. It takes hard work to break new trails, cut stairs into mountainsides, move boulders, and build boardwalks. The fun adventures we have experienced are all thanks to the dedication of many!

Now, we were confronted with the challenge of this beautiful new boardwalk. The dirt path we had been traveling down abruptly ended in a thicket. It was obvious that our loop trail intended for visitors to utilize the new boardwalk once it was finished. But it wasn’t finished yet. 

“Do you think they’re going to build stairs up to the boardwalk?” I mused. “How else are people going to get from this trail up to that one?”

Tyler’s gaze followed the unbroken path of the boardwalk’s handrail. “Maybe… but I don’t see where they would put one in.”

“We need to get up there, right?” I looked down at my sundress and the camera dangling at my hip. How on earth was that going to happen?

“Well, do you want to go back the way we came instead? Up to you.”

I grimaced. I didn’t want to backtrack. We had already come two-thirds of the way, and the adventure-seeking side of me wanted to explore the portion of the trail we hadn’t seen yet. I looked up at the boardwalk. The floor of the elevated walkway was just above our heads. That couldn’t be much more than six feet, right? If we grabbed onto the railing and kicked our way up a support post…

Tyler was sizing up the boardwalk too. 

“Think we can do it?” I asked him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll go first and figure out the best way to do it. You hold the cameras.”

What followed was an ungainly, ridiculous affair. I have no upper body strength, and I was wearing a dress. Tyler is much more athletic than I am, but there’s only so much you can do to help your grunting, clumsy wife climb up a half-constructed boardwalk. In a dress. I briefly reconsidered my life choices when I was halfway up the awkward climb and attempting to straddle the boardwalk’s handrail. The dirt path beneath me caught my eye. It would have been so much easier to just go back the way we came. I gritted my teeth with stubborn determination. We had already committed to our stupid decision now. We might as well see it through!

Tyler and I might make dumb choices, but we aren’t quitters!

We successfully made our way onto the new boardwalk without becoming a liability to the National Park Service. We were also extremely appreciative of their excellent construction skills, especially after we examined them in such intimate detail during our awkward climbs!

Don’t do this at home, kids. If the trail says it is closed, they mean it!

That night, we ventured back out into the park to search for fireflies. We hadn’t been lucky with a lottery slot, so the day of our visit fell just outside of the peak firefly window. The park ranger had reminded us that North Carolina boasts twice the number of firefly species as Ohio. We were sure to see fireflies that night. They just might not be the synchronous, pretty ones that everyone wants to see!

We tried to keep our expectations low. Even if we didn’t get to witness the magic of synchronized firefly dances, we would still enjoy a warm, comfortable evening with the owls and the nighttime forest. And that’s what we did! We took up a spot on the curve of the boardwalk to wait for the bugs with stars in their bellies. Around us, flashlight flashes and snatches of laughter filled the forest. It was a unique experience to be in the woods surrounded by people. And then the fireflies came out. They were a subtle group, flitting here and there with quick flashes of neon light. They never settled into a synchronous rhythm, but they made their presence known nonetheless. It turns out firefly photography is more difficult than one would expect, so after a while, I shut off the camera. I stood shoulder to shoulder with Tyler, leaning on the boardwalk railing together. In the dark, I think I felt him smile. This was us. Always together in the rhythm of our conjoined lives, we find joy in exploring something new side by side. I wouldn’t want it any other way.