"When you're young, you always feel that life hasn't yet begun—that "life" is always scheduled to begin next week, next month, next year, after the holidays—whenever. But then suddenly you're old and the scheduled life didn't arrive. You find yourself asking, 'Well then, exactly what was it I was having—that interlude—the scrambly madness—all that time I had before?"
― Douglas Coupland
There's a distinct shift that happens after the Fourth of July; it feels as though summer hits a downhill cruise, the days slipping away just a bit faster. This August, I'll be marking my 60th birthday — a milestone that has a way of turning one's gaze forward, stirring up a whole landscape of thoughts about the future.
Have you ever wondered why years seem to accelerate as we get older? For one, a year is a much smaller slice of our total life at fifty than it was at ten. But more than that, our brains naturally stop recording deep, detailed memory files when we fall into familiar routines. The antidote to a life passing by in a blur? Active, intense observation. By seeking out new spaces and micro-details in the world around us, we force our brains to slow down and record the moment.
There's a park just a few blocks from my apartment. To the best of my knowledge, it doesn’t have a formal name — the sign at the main entrance literally just says 'Park'.
The main trail leads to an open clearing with several picnic tables and grills, but it's the narrow access paths cutting through the woods that intrigue me. In the summer, I come here for quick insecting fixes when weather is unpredictable. With rain in the forecast, I wasn't sure how much time I'd have, making this nearby spot the logical choice for a quick exploration.
From previous visits, I knew chances were good for treehoppers and leaf beetles, but I wasn't expecting to find Long-legged Dance Flies (Rhamphomyia longicauda).
What a fantastic surprise!
They're such odd-looking things, with behaviors to match. Their mating ritual features an incredible twist on typical insect courtship: a complete reversal of traditional roles. While males of most dance fly species swarm to compete for mates, the dynamic here is flipped. At dusk, it is the females that aggregate in aerial swarms, dancing up and down in woodland clearings to catch a male's attention. Because the males provide a crucial, protein-rich insect as a "nuptial gift" required for egg development, competition among the females is fierce.
To gain an edge in the dim twilight, females deploy a fascinating evolutionary optical illusion to appear larger and more fertile than they actually are. Just before entering the swarm, a female inflates specialized air sacs along her abdomen to mimic a body heavy with eggs. She then wraps her middle and hind legs around her torso. This physical deception exaggerates her silhouette against the sky, tricking passing males into choosing her over her rivals.
A prospective male will fly below the swarm, searching for the largest silhouette to ensure his energetic investment in a prey item yields a fertile mate. Once he selects a female, he approaches and presents his catch. The female accepts the food and immediately begins feeding, which keeps her occupied while copulation takes place. It's a classic evolutionary arms race where a male's drive for an ideal mate is met by a female's highly successful strategy of visual deception.
Though they might seem like easy photography subjects, they are extremely skittish and disappear quickly into dark vegetation, often times taking refuge beneath a leaf. If you're not watching them carefully, it's almost as if they vanish into thin air.
Nifty little things ...
The comparatively docile Dogbane Leaf Beetle (Chrysochus auratus). Though nowhere near as challenging to photograph, they're still a favorite insect subject.
Oh dear ...
American Germander (Teucrium canadense) ...
A common native wildflower, but interesting in macro close-ups.
This next insect is a Citrus Flatid Planthopper (Metcalfa pruinosa). There weren't as many last year, but they appear to be in higher numbers this summer. Despite its common name, it isn't picky about citrus — they feed on a massive variety of woody plants, weeds, and vines, using their piercing-sucking mouthparts to drain sap from stems and leaves.
And here we have one of my target species for the parcel: the Locust Treehopper (Thelia bimaculata). Translated from Greek and Latin, the name literally means "nipple-shaped with two markings." They are incredible thorn mimics, blending in flawlessly against the bark of their host plant, Black Locust (Robinia pseudoacacia).
Very easy to miss!
What would an insect outing be without at least one tiger beetle? On the southwest side of the park there's a dirt path where Punctured Tiger Beetles can be found during the month of July.
The Wisconsin River is running high again, swallowing up the exposed sandbars and leaving precious little beach habitat. This puts a temporary wrench in my plans, as the Sandy Stream Tiger Beetle is the next major target on my summer macro checklist.
All images © 2026 Mike McDowell