June 4

It really is worth observing the dragonflies, either in flight or at rest. My childhood summers in Michigan were filled with both dragonflies and damselflies on account of the lake and surrounding wetland. We had no shortage of insect hatches, and the big dragonflies seemed always on the move or resting on the dock in the summer sunshine.

I don’t recall being afraid of the big ones, since we were surrounded by them since childhood, but I suppose the first few encounters were a little terrifying; they are intimidating looking and will remain relatively still until you just approach. We learned a technique for bringing our hand in slowly, with finger extended, putting it gingerly underneath the monster’s eyes until it reacted by climbing onto our finger. These were our own pet dragonflies that would stay so long as we didn’t move suddenly.

They would be up to 5” long from menacing head to reticulated tail, green and black stripped, with small yellowish spots on their thorax. Their eyes were iridescent facets of green, bulbous and sinister, and they would cock their heads quickly as if regarding how best to eat our finger.

On occasion, we’d discover a newly created adult, just emerged from the nymph after undergoing a metamorphosis to develop its mature form. We’d see them hanging, tail downward, wings yet extended and deflated looking, waiting for the blood to flow in its capillary structure to both firm and harden its final form. Dry for half an hour, then off it would go. Another summer miracle.

The damsel flies seemed more personable somehow, yet untamable to us boys, and we’d have to content ourselves in just watching them, often in looped pairs, flying about. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned about the meaning of the looped pair business.