Summer Nights and Lightening Bugs

This past winter I started saving glass jars. I would wash them out as I stared out the kitchen window at the cold. The backyard was patiently waiting under a small blanket of snow for those June nights that make living in the Midwest feel perfect and fuzzy.

I tucked the jars away on the very top shelf of a small cupboard making sure each jar had a lid. Stored away for the summer months of bug catching and flower picking.

Old mustard jars, grape jelly jars, pickle and olive jars. An assortment of shapes and sizes with peeling labels.

They make me nostalgic for summer nights at my Great Grandma DeMoss' house and family gatherings at my Great Great Aunt Alice's large, small town Iowa yard.

When Aunt Alice passed away, my parents purchased her house. As I was walking through, I found a grape juice jar and asked my dad if I could have it.

Resting on my great, great aunt's piano that found a new home with my family, this small jar reminds me of the simple moments that make us warm and happy. It reminds me of the many nights I ran with freedom collecting lightening bugs and placing them in glass jars. Now, this jar has a partner that displays flowers from my backyard picked by the hands of my child.

Last night, the backyard was open. Friends gathered on the deck laughing about a recent trip to a Cubs game. A small gang of children ran around without socks and shoes. Their laughter and conversations private between them.

The sun started to set and the adults continued to lazily laugh with each other. Bottles of wine appeared and glass beer bottles clanked on the patio table. Someone tried to turn on a light and was quickly scolded. The beauty of a summer evening surrounded us with unspoken appreciation.

The lightening bugs began to twinkle in a game of hide and seek. The kids chased them. High fives were handed out as teams were formed. Boys versus girls. Who would catch the most?

And they needed jars. Glass jars with lids. A temporary home for lightening bugs.

I went into the house and reached to the back of the cupboard to pull from my winter stash. Someone found a hammer and nail. Holes were poked into the lids, and glass jars were passed from one generation to another.

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