The magical rise of the firefly is one of the great glories of a humid July evening on St. Peters Church Road. As night lowers its shroud, the cut grass, then the tall weeds, and finally the sleep-heavy boughs of the trees come to life with flashes of LED green. They pulse chaotically, plaintive, maddening in their lack of unison, ruining any hope of sighting a shooting star. What meteor could compete with their gaudy brilliance, which leaves a constant blur in the stargazer’s peripheral vision?
Poets from Tennyson to Frost have meditated on the firefly, whose display — a ready-made illustration of the rising soul — stirs metaphysical thoughts. The way the firefly vanquishes the fearful powers of night and gravity gives hope to the earthbound. Like cinders blown from a fire-log, they rise into the night, phoenix-like, glowing ever brighter and higher, metaphors for the transformation of death into rapture.
Of course, human beings are hopeless romantics.
Perhaps a few facts are in order. The crepuscular, or night-time, display of the common firefly — actually a beetle of the Lampyridae family, most likely a Photuris pennsylvanica, in our neck of the woods — has very little to do with rising souls, and, like most behavior in the animal kingdom, everything to do with sex.
The fireflies we see hovering in the darkness en masse are nearly all males, winking their lovesick tails at the females clinging to the grass below. “Look at me!” they cry — or rather, telegraph, with their luminescing abdomens. The on/off pattern isn’t random at all. In fact, it’s quite precise, and instantly recognizable to potential Photuris mates. After all, nobody wants to go through the agonizing suspense of courtship, only to discover, in flagrante, that there’s been a terrible misunderstanding: “Hey, you’re not a Photuris! I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I don’t swing that way!”
Photuris pennsylvanica was made the State Insect of Pennsylvania in 1974, thanks to a campaign by elementary school students in Upper Darby who were incensed that Maryland had a State Insect, but Pennsylvania didn’t. Those same students noticed that there seemed to be firefly tailor-made for the job: Photuris pennsylvanica De Geer, so named in 1774 by the Swedish entomologist Charles De Geer. The Governor and Legislature agreed, and Photuris pennsylvanica was elevated to its status of ambassador insect.
Having Pennsylvania in the name was a happy coincidence, but Photuris might not have been the best choice for the position. As it turns out, the females of this particular species of firefly are a cunning and vicious lot who use their sexual wiles to lure unsuspecting males of other species to a horrible doom.
(I’m not making this up.)
Here’s how the mating dance typically works. Lots of Photuris males circle aloft of an evening, trolling for females by winking in their distinctive pattern. Let’s say that one of them has a particularly brilliant and jazzy presentation. The interested female down below winks back: “I like your moves!”
Of course, the aerial dance floor is crowded with males who see the female’s blinking message and cry out, “Who, me? You mean, me?” before plunging at her like dive bombers.
The early bird gets the worm, so to speak. The losers fly off, dejected. And, eventually, the winner flies off, too, no doubt to brag about his exploits.
Unless, of course, the female Photuris has set a trap! You see, unlike the male, who only knows how to tap out one message with his love light, the female speaks not only Photuris, but also the wink language of the very similar sounding, but slightly different genus Photinus. Meaning, a Photuris female knows how to signal — falsely — that she’s a ready and willing Photinus female.
But when the eager Photinus male lands with a smile on his face and a confident, “I’m here, baby!” he’s in for a surprise. The female isn’t interested in mating at all. She’s merely hungry, and a delicious Photinus male will do just fine, thank you very much.
In one of the crueler bait-and-switch tactics in nature, the amorous male discovers that the only satisfaction to be had that night is hers. He’s merely the appetizer. So you could say that the female Photuris is the femme fatale of the firefly world, a lethal flirt and a cannibal, to boot.
I can’t say I blame her. She’s basically a single mom, making her way in the world, using her, uh, assets, to keep body and soul together.
On the other hand, as a winged ambassador of the Keystone State, her personal conduct leaves a lot to be desired.
Whoever vetted her really dropped the ball.
This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 26 July 2012
For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com
