Where Have All The June Bugs Gone?

 

Where Have All the June Bugs Gone?

Originally Inspired by a Blog Post from March 4, 2006
Reflected on Again—August 7, 2025

When I was a kid growing up in Alabama, catching June bugs was just about the most thrilling part of a summer day. They came buzzing through the humid mid-day heat like tiny, aimless helicopters, their wings humming, their flight paths unpredictable. We’d chase them through the backyard barefooted, laughing, dirt on our knees and twine in our pockets. And if we caught one—and we often did—we’d gently tie a piece of sewing thread around one of its legs and let it fly on a leash.

It was never cruel in our minds. It was joyful. The June bug danced in the air, tethered like a tiny kite, and we boys laughed and ran behind it as if we were somehow flying too. You could only keep one for a day, maybe less—before you had to let it go or watch it die. And yes, when one passed, we found a way to turn that into a prank, stiffened bug and all. We’d toss the dried body into some unsuspecting girl’s hair and laugh like fools as she shrieked and bolted for the porch, swatting wildly and calling for her mama. Mischievous? Sure. Harmless? Mostly. Memorable? Absolutely.

But this past weekend, Susan and I were working in the garden, pulling weeds and mowing the yard, and it struck me: I haven’t seen a June bug in years. Not a single one. No lazy buzz in the twilight, no telltale thump as one hits the porch light. Nothing. It’s as if they vanished when I wasn’t looking.

And so, I find myself asking: Where have all the June bugs gone?

Once they were everywhere, as much a part of summer as sweet tea and mosquito bites. I can’t say if they’ve moved on, if pesticides drove them out, or if time and climate have quietly erased them from the seasons. Maybe they’re still out there, just fewer in number. Maybe I’ve just stopped noticing.

What I do notice now, though, is how much I miss them—and the time they represented. Swimming in the creek, building forts in the woods, walking barefoot down a dirt road, catching lightning bugs in a mason jar. Life was slower then, simpler maybe, or at least it seemed that way through the eyes of a boy who had more curiosity than caution.

Today, I sometimes watch kids glued to their phones, indoors even on the finest summer day, and I wonder what their June bug will be. What memories will they chase in their later years? What harmless mischief will make them smile fifty years from now?

I suppose every generation mourns the fading sights and sounds of its own childhood. But I can’t help thinking we’ve lost something special when we lose the bugs, the creeks, the woods—and the freedom to roam.

So yes, I say it now with all the sincerity of a man who’s aged into nostalgia:
Save the June bugs.
Or at least remember them.