A giant ant hill

appeared in our backyard a few weeks ago

Not a hill, a castle.

With multiple stacked mounds; vast underground networks connecting; secret entrances popping up throughout the yard, one a foot this way, another that.

And so every day we saw the ants scurrying under the cool morning air. The kind of air you breathe in slow and grateful gulps, before the heat creeps in and makes heavy labor unbearable, even for those enclosed in tiny, shiny, exoskeletons.

Yesterday, something magic happened.
The kids noticed it first.

An Ant Party.

A giant ant party!

Hundred of insects swarming on the surface:
Tiny black ants
Tiny black ants with wings

but also… Giant Winged Ones!

Their abdomens striped like bees, wings their length again, folded neatly on their backs. None of them flying - all of them marching - to the tops of the tallest blades of grass.

I’d never seen anything like it.
Was an attacker overtaking the colony?
It didn’t look like carnage.

We watched in curious awe as different shaped and abled insects hurried randomly and aimlessly (to us humans, at least).

After puzzling long enough over the insect ritual, we began ours - I took my littlest up to bed.

After a diaper was changed and pjs were snug, big brother and sister burst into the bedroom “daddy - come back they’re FLYING!!”

Bedtime be damned!

Stepping outside as tiny carapaces took flight, wings glistening like rising confetti in the golden hour. Every second another half dozen departures into the cool (and uncharacteristically humid) northeast evening air.

My wife had done her research in the meantime:

These were queen ants!

Hundreds of queens, each leaving her colony in search of a new home, a nuptial flight into an enormous unknown.

This morning - I stand out here alone, again in the cool morning air. I take a deep breath as I crouch.

The hill is empty and void of movement and life. A lone Yellowjacket buzzes by, unaware to the generational migration that took place hours before. 

Farewell & Godspeed little ants.