Last month, we took a long drive across the American Great Plains for my Holmsten family reunion. It was a few days of Midwestern family food and storytelling that refreshed my well of happy memories of growing up in a large, extended Swedish-American family based in Minnesota. We met at cousin Carolyn’s in Iowa, coming in from Minnesota Illinois, Florida, Montana, Texas, and New Mexico.

Sitting out in Carolyn and Dave’s backyard as the sun went down on that Friday evening, we were treated to a light show. Fireflies!  They were an important part of my childhood summer evenings. I hadn’t seen them for decades. And there they were, lighting up as they flew in and around the thick bushes and trees out beyond the patio.

We would chase fireflies down on summer evenings, and capture them in our cupped hands. They tickled me as they crawled around in the circle of my palms. Then—into the jar we had prepared ahead of time in anticipation of the Firefly Hunt.

We used a nail to puncture air holes in the lid of glass jar so we wouldn’t smother our captured magical lightning bugs. We brought the jar inside to watch the light show continue as our captives flew around inside the glass and continued their project of making light.

In the morning, I was always surprised to find the jar empty. Where had they gone? Were they hiding in dark corners of the house and would they reappear during the darkness of the next night when I least expected them? They never did.

The light from these small creatures never ceased to fascinate me. And there they were again, bringing the magic back into my life for one lovely summer evening.