People across Texas share the same core memory of summer.
The air outside cools as the sun sinks into the horizon. Blades of grass tickle your bare feet. You wait in the twilight, eyes alert for the flashes of light that signal the fireflies have begun their nightly ritual.
You stretch out your arms, and then you have it — a creature that seems equal parts nature and magic, sitting in the palm of your hand.
Gordon Gunn, 76, remembers chasing swarms of fireflies as a kid in Louisiana. He found them fascinating.
"My cousins and I would run all over the yard, and we'd catch hundreds of them, put them in jars and use them for light sources," he said. "It was a big part of growing up."
Gunn moved to Austin in 1981, and several years later, he and his wife built the house they live in today. His daughter followed in his footsteps, chasing fireflies around the property with friends.
But slowly, the glowing lights became less and less common, until Gunn hardly saw any at all. In the past few years, he's found two around his home in Southeast Austin — and they were dead. Friends in other parts of the city have also reported declines.
"[Fireflies were] kind of an indication of the easy days of summer," Gunn said. "Now they're gone."
So he asked KUT's ATXplained project: What happened to the fireflies?
Humans are hurting them — but it's not all doom and gloom
It's a question people are asking in Austin and beyond. Fireflies are threatened in many areas by human activity, which may be even more impactful in a growing city like Austin.
"We have a lot of habitat loss and degradation because we have a lot of development going on," said Wizzie Brown, an entomologist with Texas A&M AgriLife Extension Service who lives in Round Rock. "It seems like every time you're driving down, there's either a road being constructed or fixed or new buildings that are going up."
Many firefly species need moist soil as larvae, and they favor areas near water, including creeks, with long grass and decaying matter. Construction and drought upset their ecosystem. Recent rains in the Austin area may help, but it takes consistency to keep firefly populations healthy over the long term.
"We get tons and tons of rain, and then we're bone dry," Brown said. "If you're having these extremes, whether that's flooding, drought, heat, freeze, that's gonna be hard on insect populations."
Light pollution confuses the critters, many of which rely on flash patterns to communicate and mate, and pesticides that target other insects hurt fireflies, too.
Ben Pfeiffer, executive director of the nonprofit Firefly Conservation & Research, said there aren't comprehensive studies tracking firefly populations in the Austin area. Lack of data is something that researchers struggle with, and popular databases often rely on citizen reports.
"I hate to say this, but we really just don't know how much we've lost," Pfeiffer said.
The good news, he said, is that fireflies are doing well in places where people make an effort to protect them.
Austinites can help by cultivating firefly habitats at home. Turning off outside lights, avoiding pesticides, growing native plants and keeping leaves on the ground in the fall can help attract fireflies and give them a safe space to thrive.
Brown has been working on her own firefly habitat. Another strategy she uses: "When my neighbors put their bags of leaves on the curb, I take them and put them into my backyard."
"I'm that crazy person," she laughed.
The KUT crew goes on a firefly mission
Pfeiffer pointed out that firefly sightings can really depend on what's happening in a specific area.
Several years ago, Gunn said, a developer cleared some woods next to his property to build townhouses. That may play a part — which means he could have better luck in other parts of Austin.
So we invited him on a firefly adventure.
On a recent humid evening in June, Gunn joined me, KUT multimedia producer Michael Minasi and intern Lola Rodriguez at the entrance of the Violet Crown Trail by Zilker Park.
Brown told me to look somewhere away from lights and close to water during dusk — and watch out for mosquitoes. Pfeiffer recommended the trail, which includes Barton Creek.
Wildflowers greeted us by the trailhead as we set off right before sunset. As we ventured deeper into the woods, we traded memories of running after fireflies in summers past.
"The last time I saw a lot of them must have been, I don't know, 20 years ago," Gunn said.
As it got darker, I started to get worried. The path was rocky and muddy from recent flooding. Our clothes began to stick from sweat. And after nearly half an hour, we hadn't seen a single firefly. We debated if we should leave for another spot.
"Oh, I think I just saw one," Minasi suddenly said.
Rodriguez quickly followed: "I see it! I see it! By the tree."
That single flicker was followed by another several minutes later. Then a group of three or four. Until, gradually, the space between the trees was filled with dozens of twinkling lights.
"Wow, there's a bunch of them here," Gunn said. "This is kind of how I remember them now."
Gunn said it was gratifying to see that the fireflies weren't gone from Austin. His question was answered. "Where did all the fireflies go? They all went to the Barton Creek!" he joked.
We lingered on the trail, at times falling into silence as we gazed into the darkness. The sound of crickets and frogs swelled in our ears as the fireflies danced. It was like nature was putting on a show.
It reminded me of something Pfeiffer said when I asked him what made fireflies so special to people. Almost every person I talked to for this story had an anecdote to share.
"Fireflies actually bring your eye level out to the entire landscape, and so when you're watching fireflies, you're experiencing the fullness of nature around you," he said. "No other insects really quite do that, especially in the dusk. … Our memory of that is being formed in such a way that stays with us."
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