It’s no wonder our ancestors believed in fairies. Every night for the past two weeks, I’ve seen tinkerbells flickering in the dark. I sit in the window seat with Lizzie, my feline companion, watching them send love notes with blinking light. Even in these long days of summer, the wild needs the dark to live, love, and thrive.
I live in Western Massachusetts, where fireflies peak just as July 4th fireworks begin. Celebratory explosions that send dogs fleeing from their homes, cause wild animals to abandon their young, kill birds, disorient bees, trigger PTSD in survivors of war and gun violence, and release toxins into our air and water. NO KINGS is something that I will happily celebrate, but I don’t need bombs in the sky to do it.
Of course, many people I love love fireworks. And as a child I loved them too, just as I loved chasing fireflies. I thought the celebrations and chase were exciting, unaware of the harm they caused.
My partner and I have been renting a house in Heath, Massachusetts for the last two years. We searched for a long-term place near the land we steward, about thirty minutes away, and couldn’t find anything closer. Nearby towns are filled with short-term Airbnb rentals, fracturing community in exchange for quick profit.
When we first climbed the steep rural road in Heath and pulled into the long gravel driveway, a fox trotted across the field ahead of us. The land around the house was lush and wild. I felt an immediate connection. I loved it.
But not long after we arrived, the owner hired a mower to cut the grass weekly. And as he rode his loud diesel mower throughout the yard, he cut wildflowers before they could rise to meet their pollinator companions. It broke my heart.
I asked that the mower please come less and less and the owner agreed. Violets, self-heal, red clover, and daisies began to bloom so I placed barriers around them. When the mower arrived, he circled the barriers with extreme irritation. As time went on, more flowers bloomed and the barriers increased. Eventually, the mower couldn’t do things his way and he stopped coming.
We celebrated.
Now native flowers and grasses grow freely. I see more butterflies, more bees, more birds and more fireflies. What was once lawn is a living meadow.
I have become intimate with this beaitiful place but my partner and I plan to leave Heath at the end of summer. The move has been on the horizon for a while and I worry for this land. I want the fireflies, pollinators and wildflowers to remain here and to thrive. I want the next humans who live here to love them as I do. In one attempt to ensure this, I’m giving the owner signs like the one above. Markers on behalf of the fireflies to say this wildness is in on purpose.
Whenever see someone quietly raking, I want to hug them. Raking is gentle and far more supportive of life than machines like leafblowers. But better yet we can leave the leaves. Fireflies need wildness. Tiny patches of wild or entire fields, with moist soil, leafy understory, and decaying organic matter where their larvae hunt snails and slugs. Horrendous, loud leaf blowers blast away shelter, compact soil, and destroy insect habitat.
Fireflies also need darkness. Too much artificial light scrambles their signals and interrupts mating. Creating bright, sterile environments kills wonder. In many cases, we can do less and experience more awe. And when we do, we might even see fairies.
So tonight, on the eve of the 4th, I will celebrate this place. I will sit in the window seat in wonder, watching the fireflies.
LIGHT (East Village NYC, 2000) by Vanessa Chakour
We collected jars filled with fireflies
Bright and beautiful,
they became fairiesdancing together,
they captured our stares and smilesUntil we walked away and
forgot they were thereNot dancing,
but trying to live
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