Lightning Bugs

For those who aren't too familiar with my almost daily blatherings/braggings, I write a daily blog post for Upstater.com that indulges my love of houses. Each week used to need a common theme tying together all five houses: It could be Victorians, lakeside retreats, cool kitchens, etc. Lately, though, the SEO gurus that advise those who run the show have said it could be "dealer's choice," and I just pick what I think are the coolest houses on offer in the Hudson Valley at the moment.

This week (and let's be real: I haven't written Wednesday's post yet, so we're only talking Monday and Tuesday), I've leaned into older homes. Like, really old - a c.1781 house in Goshen and a c.1694 house in Kingston. Today I'm hankering for an 1800s-esque property.

This latest one, though, I can't write about, because I've written about it before. It's a former family camp in Saugerties, with a two-story guest house that has terraces to catch the best summer breezes. You can bet I included THAT in my writeup. I also gushed about a backyard lush enough to attract fireflies that would compete with the campfire for the kiddos' attention.

Now that stirs up memories.

Who in my family can forget backyard parties at my mom and dad's house in Pearl River? The "campfire" was a charcoal-briquette-fueled steel bbq, over which we dangled Jet-Puffed marshmallows on sticks we gathered and my dad shaved down with the pocketknife he always carried. No s'mores here: We gobbled the crusty, charcoal-crispy-outside and gooey-inside marshmallows right off the stick, then ran inside for Mason jars left over from whatever Me-Ma gave us at our last visit ("We're gonna throw it out anyway, might as well take it" LOL).

Into the side yard we ran, creeping quietly at first until we saw that greenish glow. Then we leaped, one hand clapping over the mouth of the jar and marveling at the closeup view of the bug with a natural "glowstick" on its behind. We tried to keep them, fixing up the jar with sticks and fresh leaves, but Mom always made us let the lightning bugs (at what point did we start calling them fireflies?) go.

I'm beyond grateful that my kids have similar memories, growing up in our verdant pocket of Sullivan County. And last summer, tears sprang to my eyes as I sat in my newly rented backyard in Greenwood Lake and caught sight of the wee neon flickers.

My dad is ill as I write this. I'm unsure he'll see lightning bugs glow again in his backyard. In between visits to check on him, take him to the doctor, do things for him, fetch things for him, or just be with him, I'm trying to soak up the springtime when I can, and take pictures to cheer him up. I'm hoping to catch a shot of the first firefly to show him.

Actually, it's not a firefly: It'll always be a lightning bug.