Fireflies in a Jar, Then Free

On a warm June night at my parents' farmhouse, my kids caught fireflies in a mason jar, the same way I did when I was their age, on the same lawn.

They put the jar on the porch table and watched it glow, enchanted. My mother brought out glasses of lemonade. My father turned off the porch light so they could see better. The jar lit up their faces in soft green flickers.

After a while, my youngest said, "I think they want to go home." So they unscrewed the lid together and held it up, and the fireflies drifted out one by one, blinking off into the dark field.

My mother looked at me across the table and smiled. She'd said the exact same words to me thirty years ago. Some lessons are passed down in jars.