June Bugs...Start Your Engines!

On humid summer nights in the late 1950’s, my Grandparents house was surrounded by the ominously dark woods of their Virginia land.  Mating screams of a million cicadas pulsed the air like a wild heartbeat, essential to the ebb and flow of those sweaty August evenings, the air heavy with petrichor. Bright porch lights attracted a mob of insects, and many huge, colorful moths to the screen like flies to a picnic lunch. As a budding entomologist, it was a little slice of heaven for me to be able to skirt the outside walls while the adults on the porch socialized with friends and settled many of the great problems in the world, over drinks, ice cubes clattering a kind of reassurance to me that all was well in mine.

 Although there were many larger insects to choose from, I looked for the June bugs, often hearing them before seeing them. Loud, bumbling fliers, insect dirigibles, crash landing and bouncing off the screen harmlessly onto the surrounding bushes, all just SOP for those guys. Selecting the pick of the litter and dropping them into a jar partially filled with leaves and grass, I screwed on the lid after punching plenty of holes in it. I wanted to assure myself that my new champions would get a good night’s sleep, ready for their flying competitions in the morning.  

Ten AM or so was perfect flying time, the sun fully committed to the day. With some of Grandma’s finest thread, I carefully folded the end into a slip knot, a leg noose, and slid it up just under the joint of the largest rear leg of each flier. When I had one ready to go, I launched him into the wind, watching intently as he lifted slowly, gaining both speed and elevation. Ten, twenty feet overhead, circling, diving, looping with the sound of a miniature buzz-saw. June bugs are the work horses of the flying insect world. Whenever I had a friend staying with me in the guest house, we would have races. The fliers could only lift a certain amount of thread, maybe thirty feet or so. Then they would level out, unable to climb any higher. We would clip the thread and let them go on their own, trailing aft down-lines, their elevations maxed out. Running underneath, we could catch them with a minimal jump, sometimes tying two lines together to watch them vie for direction and dominance. All great fun with no casualties. We tired of the game before they did. With delicate precision, the June flyers were cut loose of their bonds, given their emancipation documents, and tossed gently into the wind.  

I’m glad to have grown up before the days of personal electronics. Now, too many kids sit inside on Summer nights staring into the lights of a smart phone or similar device, all somewhat reminiscent of those bugs on a porch screen, staring into the lights. These days the main thing flying with the kids, is their thumbs.

hmh