North verus South, bugwise.

Was it a meteor shower?

I opened my eyes at some point past midnight and, through the bedroom window of my northern Minnesota lake house, I saw small bursts of brilliance.

It was too soon for the Perseid Meteor Shower which illuminates the sky in August.

The first time I remember seeing that annual heavenly display was the dark night of August 11, 1980, as we drove to Hibbing after getting word my mother had died. Every year at that same time of August, when the sky is traced with shooting stars, I am fondly reminded of her by the thought that something long gone, such as stardust from eons past or my mom's memory, can still be with us.

So what was I seeing this July night?

I rose from my bed, went to the window, and realized I wasn't seeing shooting stars, rather lightning bugs in vivid flying display. Rather late for the mating season, I thought, but they seemed to be having a good time, nevertheless, as they blinked against the blue velvet sky.

I thought about calling the state entomologist the next morning to find out if this was an exceptional year for lightning bugs, but quickly realized that would be hopeless. He'd likely "bugged out" of his office when Minnesota went under lock-down.

But as I drifted back to sleep, I got to thinking about the differences between the environment of my northern and metro lake homes.

I can't ever recall seeing a lightning bug in Roseville. They're probably out there, but not in my yard.

And despite numerous news stories about fears of a mosquito outbreak in the metro this year, I have yet to see one little biter here. Not only this year but for years past, they're not bothering me.

Up north, however, May and June were banner years for Minnesota's unofficial bird. We'd had a couple of previous seasons when they weren't bad, but being outside this spring at Hart Lake meant batting a hand in front of my face as fast as a windshield wiper on a car.

Reminds me of the story about the two mosquitos who were cruising the northwoods when they spotted a moose. They divebombed, bit the critter, and killed it instantly. One mosquito said to the other: "Shall we eat him here or take it back to our camp?' The other mosquito said, "We'd better eat him here. If we take him back to camp, the bigger mosquitos will take him away from us."

Minnesota humor.

Nor do I see ticks here in the city -- fortunately. My cousin, who has a cabin adjoining my northern place, felt an itchy spot on her back, and when she asked me to look at it, I saw the tell-tale "bullseye" red circle indicating a tick bite. A trip to the Hibbing emergency room, some antibiotics to prevent Lyme Disease -- plus time -- and I am pleased, on her behalf, to report the bullseye is fading. I know several people up north who've had such bites, but no one here in the city. We must live a charmed life.

I don't mean to convey that the city is devoid of wildlife. Yes, we have eagles at Hart Lake, but we have them soaring over Lake Josephine, too, as proved once again on a hot, humid Sunday a week ago.

Our city lake was rife with pontoon boats (which was our mode of water transportation), water skiiers, jet boats, kayaks and other floating conveyances to get closer to cool water. In all that traffic, an eagle flew time and again from the heights of the sky to lake level, hoping to snag his supper.

We saw a snow-white egret poised on a dead branch rising out of the lake, watching for a passing fish. Josephine's loon dared to swim among all the boats, seemingly fearless. And we saw a couple of muskrats, swiming on their backs, noses out of the drink, tails serving as rudders. They, like all the humans around them, were just trying to cool off.

We in the city have our wildlife -- just not mosquitos or ticks, for which I am grateful. Though I would like to see a lightning bug or two some sleepless night.