Our tomatoes we recently acquired were looking a bit dire, so to combat the possible impending death I decided to repot them. Unfortunately I kept waiting for us to have that early evening thunderstorm so that I could do it afterwards, and it didn't materialize as planned.
This left me on my hands and knees on the back deck with no tools to properly garden with (we have them but they are secreted somewhere spectacularly well hidden, as we can't find them at ALL currently.) and somewhat poor lighting.
I didn't really mind it, to be honest. I love gardening and have no issue with getting my hands in the soil. It lets me feel things like moisture and aeration. I can tell if it's rocky or has too much clay, or has been used over so many seasons that it's worn out, compacted, and dried beyond use. These are things that you can't find out wearing gloves and digging through it with a spade, although eventually one would come to know how to "eyeball" it. I feel more connected to what's going on with the plant if I stick my hands in dirt, though, and darnit I like it. So folks can deal.
Anyway, this was my first try at Late Night Gardening, and besides it being cool and more private to operate in the dusk that way, I had not yet discovered all of its benefits and enjoyable bits.
I moved the sunflower starts around and got the tomatoes in to place and was just starting on potting up the pumpkin starts (yes, we're trying to grow our own jack-o-lanterns this year. Wish us luck!) when I stopped to go fill up the watering can. When I came back out the flash of one of my beloved fireflies caught my eye and I stood up for a moment to see where it came from.
What I beheld was astounding. All across the field and up in the maple trees were at least a thousand tiny lights blinking, like someone had strung the entire field with blinking Xmas lights. They formed a constantly shifting blanket of light and I think my jaw not only dropped but bounced a few times off the deck as I looked down at them.
I watched them for a long moment, leaning over the railing and just letting them take up time in my evening with their quick flashes of brilliance. I couldn't hope to capture the moment on any kind of camera and I can't really accurately explain how dazzling and sublime the entire display was.
I went back inside and asked Bob if he could come outside with me. He was in the middle of a raid, so I knew there was little chance, but I hoped maybe he could go AFK for a few seconds.
They were in luck, having just downed a boss that carried no loot he desired, so he came out to see the light show with me. We stood there, arms around each other, and just marveled at the fireflies doing their little show. It was singularly romantic.
He returned inside a few minutes later, I finished potting up the pumpkins, and got inside just as the sprinkles of rain started happening. We were then treated to the sound of rain on the roof and wood planks of the deck, and the purple flash of lightning. We laid together and watched it as we were falling asleep, having successfully chased and caught a firefly that snuck inside while we were traipsing in and out. (The firefly, for the record, blinked a "WTF, man?!" signal at Bob when it was hit with the sock lobbed at it to get it to fly somewhere other than the ceiling. I believe we both laughed for a few minutes at that.)
I'm hoping this is one of those memories I can recall freely when the snow is on the ground 2 feet thick. :)