When the Night Goes Quiet

While doom-scrolling social media, I came across a picture that said, “We are the last generation to see fireflies.” Later that evening, my wife said, “Have you heard that fireflies are dying?” Despite the mild amusement at how our Instagram algorithms are weirdly aligned, I hope that isn’t true. The sentiment in the post is an indicator of a bigger problem that many of us are blissfully unaware of. Habitat loss, pesticides, pollution, and the lack of nighttime darkness have affected these glowing insects and many others negatively.

If you’re from the Southeast, you likely never called them fireflies. They’re lightning bugs; calling them anything else feels far too fancy. North Carolina has between thirty and forty species of these bioluminescent insects. Learning that we had so many species blew my mind. I never paid attention to species-specific differences, I guess. Invertebrates, like insects and spiders, have always been a secondary fascination of mine, next to reptiles and amphibians, but I’m admittedly no expert in the creepy crawlies. I just like them.

The wonder that writhes in the leaf litter has consumed me for most of my life. Things most people fear or even loathe, I consider friends. Perhaps that’s why seeing alarmist posts espousing threats of extinction of fireflies—and other things—tends to ruin my day. I can’t imagine a world without them. To add fuel to a planet that’s already on fire, bats are in decline, box turtles are dwindling, and don’t get me started on the plight of amphibians… it’s bleak. This bums me out.

What good is a bug, a snake, a frog, or a bat? You’re probably thinking that fewer of those critters are a good thing. Let me be a contrarian and explain that our collective plight as human beings is directly tied to those less desirable creatures. They all play a critical role in their respective ecosystems, and we are just a link in an interconnected web. What happens to one happens to all, eventually.

Think about the last trip you took to the beach. If you’ve been alive as long as I have, you likely remember the full-on assault your windshield used to take on family outings through rural areas. Take that same trip today, and you’ll notice so few bugs splattering on your car that you may even avoid it altogether. There is a term for this now: the “windshield phenomenon.” It bugs me that there aren’t as many bugs; you should be concerned, too. Where’d they go? Have you ever stopped to think about that?

Now that I’ve raised the question, seriously consider the gravity of the situation. They’re no longer colliding with our vehicles because they’ve declined drastically, or some species may already be lost. On the one hand, I’m glad we aren’t plowing through them anymore, but now that their relative abundance has been so reduced, it does raise a level of concern. Some of the reduction in collisions with vehicles could be attributed to advances in vehicle aerodynamics, but it is still disturbing.

A world without bugs and the cascading effects of their absence is apocalyptic. Pollinators get a lot of press these days, as they should, but they’re just one small piece of a much larger picture of species decline. Insects act as decomposers for detritus, prey for many beloved species, predators of various pests, and many are thankless workers holding ecosystems together. We benefit directly from their existence in countless ways.

Twilight is upon us in more ways than one. Staring in awe at lightning bugs on warm evenings is something we can hopefully do for many more years. Leaving small patches of slightly overgrown grass and vegetation provides sanctuary for many critical invertebrates. There are woodpiles on my property that act as refuges for everything from isopods to their vertebrate predators. There are small things we can all do to ensure a buggy future. I pray that long after we’re gone, Southern children get to spend their summer nights as we did. There’s nothing better than filling Duke’s mayonnaise jars full of those glowing orbs of amazement. I pity anyone who didn’t have a childhood like this. Hopefully, upcoming generations can still find simple joy in lightning bugs—or fireflies, whatever you want to call them.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.