On Friday night, our second last night camping, a group of young German Mennonite women took the campsite next to us. We were sitting around the fire when the two carloads pulled in. You could hear their laughter and shrieks of joy as they entered the campsite. Their laughter continued as they tried to set up their tent in near darkness. Two of the young women came over and asked if we had a hammer or something that they could use to pound their tent pegs in with. Yes, Alan had brought a hammer, plus other tools, just in case. They were very appreciative and finished getting their site put together. They brought back the hammer and then they all climbed into their tent and proceeded to fill the night air with laughter and more shrieks.

They left early the next morning and did not return until late Saturday night. Alan and I were getting ready to go to bed when these young women started singing in 5 part harmony. It was absolutely glorious!! To be serenaded to sleep with songs that sounded like hymns or folk songs was absolutely wonderful. It was a perfect way to fall asleep.

This morning we were once again treated to the sounds of their voices. We were taking down our campsite and it sounded like they were having a worship service in their tent. We were brought into their worship through the gift of their song; young women’s voices joining in with the rest of creation to praise God’s name. Perfect.

Wait!…There it is. Where??
No. Wait! There it is again! Did you see it?
What is it?
Is it a star? I don’t think so….
Is it a fire ember floating through the trees???
I’m not sure…….There it is again! Did you see it?
What is it?

At dusk we chase them; my cousins and I. We run through the grass clutching our glass mason jar in one hand and the lid in the other. We grasp at the air or crouch near the ground in the hope to catch our prize. The prize? Fireflies!! Little nondescript fliers who by day are mousy coloured and drab but at night dazzle and trick the eyes of those who watch them when their abdomens ends light up as if by magic.

I caught one!! My cousins gather around me and we pass the glass jar around; each of us marveling at the firefly as though it were one of the Seven Wonders of the World. To us who had never seen them they were a marvel. A miracle even! They filled us with wonderment. How do they do that, that lighting up bit? Does it hurt them? Why do they do that?

I caught one too!! my cousin exclaimed. There were so many of these fireflies. It made your eyes dizzy to watch them! Each cousin caught a twinkling bug, some were lucky enough to catch two or three in their jar. One by one we lined up our captive fireflies in their glass mason jars on the porch railing of my grandparent’s house. We sat transfixed on the porch swing and chairs watching with our grandpa the efforts of our quest. We sat in still and quiet amazement. We feared moving or saying too much lest these beautiful fireflies would quit lighting up. All that was ever said was an odd “Oooo” or a quiet “Wow”. Watching their abdomens light up was like watching miniature fireworks. It was a magnificent display.

This night too they were putting on a magnificent display. In the tops of the trees I could see them twinkling; at other times they looked like falling stars. Alan and I went and stood out on the road and as we gazed up we were treated to a magnificent display of firefly fireworks.

Before we went to bed, my cousins and I would unscrew the lids off the mason jars to let the fireflies go. We would say goodnight to each one as it flew off. I remember thanking them in my head for the beautiful show and asked them to forgive me if I had hurt them.

Alan and I crawled into bed tired after a lovely day. I unzipped the canvas so I could look through the screen up to the treetops and stars. I could see them twinkling in the tree tops; their little abdomens blinking in the night. As I had done as a child I once again thanked the fireflies for the beautiful show and now I thanked them for the memories of times gone by. They twinkled their answer to me.

I had seen them on our walks but was not sure what exactly they were. I knew enough not to eat fruit from bushes if I didn’t know what it was. I must admit I felt kind of like Eve in the Garden. The fruit looked so good. The branches of the bushes hung heavy with ripening fruit, they swayed in the breeze and played coy with me. Looking at those bushes made my mouth water. I thought, “One taste wouldn’t hurt anything. Would it?” Then I saw her.

She was standing before one of the bushes popping the fruit into her mouth as though they were candy. She looked like a child eating blue licorice ice cream; her face and hands were covered in blue. I stood watching her for a moment before I realized that my mouth was open and I was staring in disbelief. I was agog at this grown woman yanking the precious fruit off the branches and stuffing them into her mouth, like a greedy child grabbing all the candy.

I slowly approached her. I was not sure if she noticed me watching her. Perhaps she didn’t’ care. They way she was attacking the bush she seemed uncontrollably intoxicated by the fruit. She seemed wild; mad with such fervor for the fruit!

I stood watching her from a short distance and then I got up enough courage to ask her what it was she eating. Approaching her from the side, because you never want to use the element of surprise with an unknown intoxicated person, I said, “Gee, those look really good! What are those?” She stopped, turned, and looked at me with her eyes wide. Those eyes of her were wild!! Apparently, from the look I received I did not understand the severity of the situation. I thought, “Oh dear Lord, I’m a gonner. She is going to kill me here and now.” This woman with the wild eyes and covered in blue fruit explained the situation in one word, “Saskatoons!!!!”

Thanking her and backing away slowly I walked quickly back to campsite and exclaimed to Alan that the fruit on the bushes were Saskatoons. Gathering up a container and beckoning him to help me harvest some of the berries I ventured out to gather some of those coy little berries.

Alan and I must have spent at least half an hour gathering Saskatoons. Our hands were blue and sticky from the delicate fruit. The berries were so beautiful and ripe that they literally fell off and burst at the slightest touch. So delicious!!! We gathered enough for a pie within that half hour. Would you like your slice a la mode???