Today in the woods, I saw spittlebugs on the branches of plants—small pieces of spit. Even after the gang left, I stayed in the yard that day, and it reminded me of our downstairs neighbor, Mr. Fentley.
“See these? They’re called spittlebugs.”
We all laughed because, yes, the white pieces looked like spit.
Then he wiped off some of the spit with his finger, and we saw the tiniest green bug inside it. Mr. Fentley said the spittlebug was a nymph who would grow into a froghopper.
“Wow!” We were all so excited.
“You comin?” Michael asked as they wandered towards the alley.
“I’ll meet you.”
It was late summer, the Summer of Love, as everyone called it.
I sat on the grass next to the flower bed where we’d all planted seeds that would soon grow.
“I can hardly wait until our plants grow!” I said as Mr. Fentley inspected a couple of leaves close to the fascias, his thick eyebrows furrowed as if he had found something of great importance.
“Yes, I’m excited too,” he answered. “How is Timmy the guinea pig doing?”
I smiled. “Oh, he’s terrific. Thank you so much for him. I hugged myself, thinking how much I loved my guinea pig, who squeaked whenever I entered the room or opened the fridge. I often took him with me places – whenever I could.
Mr. Fentley smiled. “I’m glad.”
I sighed, feeling lost and confused about the Summer of Love.
“Why do they call this the summer of love when my dad is leaving?” I blurted out. I hadn’t said anything about it. I had attempted to talk to my mom several times, but she was always busy reading her books or lost in her thoughts.
Mr. Fentley stood up straight and looked right at me. “I don’t know exactly why they call it the summer of love – but I know your father loves you even if he’s moving out.”
“But – but what if he doesn’t have come back?” I rocked back and forth, feeling as if I wanted to cry – I was ten years old now. I had to be strong.
The afternoon fog had just begun to drift in, and the foghorns sounded off in the distance as they always did this time of day.
“Why does everything have to change? I don’t want it to change.”
Mr. Fentley touched my shoulder. “You can count on one thing in life – everything changes all the time, just like the trees grow and some change colors and lose their leaves. Others don’t. Sometimes, trees fall, and all other plants, trees, and even moss head over to that fallen tree so it is never dead. Nothing in nature truly dies. They return in other ways.
Flowers bloom at certain times of the year and then die off until the following year. The beach at the ocean changes, and so do the waves and the tides. It’s all based on the moon… which, of course, also changes every night. Even the insects have life cycles…”
“I know…” I still wanted things to stay the same. I had a bad feeling about Dad leaving.
“Here, I have something for you,” said Mr. Fentley. Now, he fiddled with something in his hand. He had pulled a glass vial out of his pocket to collect specimens. This one contained a bit of grass and leaves. It was one of the more oversized vials.
“This is for you,” he said as I gazed into the jar.
“Thank you. But what is this?”
“If you look closely, you will see a beetle and a ladybug. They live together now in here, and they do quite well.”
“Really?” I looked again and saw the beetle—just a little larger than the ladybug.
“You can keep them in here or give them a bigger home. Dampen a piece of cotton with cold water and dip it in sugar. They’ll live off the sugar water solution.”
“Wow!” I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, I felt as if Mr. Fentley had given me some treasure and explained how to nourish the cute little bugs and keep them alive. “I’ll call them Pete and Ann – Ann is the ladybug, of course.”
Mr. Fentley handed me the vial. Even though I still did not understand why my dad was moving out, I knew one thing for sure.
Life is everywhere, even in places you don’t expect. And so is love.