Submitted by GM Huff
(August 28, 2026) — According to Joshua’s Trust Nature Conservation Organization, Connecticut is home to more than150 species of dragonfly. This summer, I’ve seen more of these beautiful creatures than ever before on our property. Some fly acrobatically about, while others lie quietly on a leaf or on something in the yard, surveying the environment. Most of what I’ve learned about dragonflies comes from two excellent books, Dragonflies of the North Woods by Kurt Mead, and Peterson Field Guide to Dragonflies and Damselflies of North America. Of course, there are many fine digital resources to further your knowledge about dragonfly habitats and their ecological importance, such as the iNaturalist App, Dragonfly ID and Smithsonian Gardens.
Dragonflies are predatory insects in the order Odonata, with adults built for fast, nimble flight and hunting. They have large compound eyes, a long body, and two pairs of wings that can move independently, which helps them hover and turn sharply. These mighty little insects are ravenous carnivores that eat dozens of mosquitoes and midges a day, making them important natural pest controllers. If you’ve ever had the chance to study dragonflies up close, you’ll see how colorful they are, decked out in variations of green, blue, red, purple, and several metallic shades.
Their mating behavior is unusual: the male and female often form a “mating wheel,” sometimes even in the air. Dragonflies have three main life stages: egg, nymph, and adult. Females lay eggs in or near water, the nymphs live underwater and hunt small aquatic invertebrates — some species even prey on tadpoles or tiny fish. According to the British Dragonfly Society, nymphs typically live underwater for one to five years, depending heavily on the specific species and water temperature. This aquatic phase represents the vast majority of a dragonfly’s total lifespan. The adult emerges after the final molt. Unfortunately, depending on the weather conditions, adult dragonflies usually live only a week to eight weeks.
Dragonflies need wetlands to thrive and survive. Fortunately, our area of Killingworth provides an ideal environment for them. When wetlands dry up, entire populations may relocate collectively in search of new, water-rich environments. They really are living fossils, with ancestors that go back hundreds of millions of years. While they’ve greatly reduced in size since prehistoric times, they remain among the most efficient aerial predators on the planet.
I’ve watched them shift between two moods all summer: one moment, perfectly still, studying the world from the sundial on my front lawn or atop the driveway reflectors; then darting madly around the yard, chasing something only they can see. Sometimes, if you’re very still and very lucky, a dragonfly might stop to catch its breath and sit quietly on the back of your hand, if only for a few wonderful moments.
I’m unsure exactly how many species I’ve seen this summer, but after watching them closely, I’m fairly certain I’ve identified the Blue Dasher and the Common Green Darner. These are truly amazing-looking creatures, with their “helmet-like crowns” resembling miniature high-tech helicopter pilots, and with what appears to be a slight smile. Let’s hope that these spectacular little creatures will grace us with their majestic presence once again next summer.
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Little Lords and Ladies: From Water to Sky
by GM Huff
They appear without warning, hovering over still water. Look closely, and you’ll see a life
built of wire and stained glass, with wings holding ancient colors, reinvented—
copper, teal, the blue of a late-afternoon summer sky.
Unlike butterflies, which drift with soft, hesitant grace, these creatures command with certainty.
They dash, freeze, and strike. They rule a kingdom no larger than a garden patch,
eagerly devouring mosquitoes by the dozen all afternoon.
The brevity of a single summer is their mortal enemy.
You try to chase one and laugh when it vanishes,
only to see it reappear three feet to the left, patient and amused,
as if it had all the time an insect could ask for, which is almost none:
two or more years underwater as a nymph, molting and waiting;
then weeks, sometimes days, of flight before the cold takes it back.
That is why they move and rest like royalty.
That is why they hover so still, then vanish before you blink,
a whole life compressed into that one thin moment between waiting and gone.
So let them have their reign over the shallows and the tall grass,
stitching the water’s edge with a brief iridescent thread.
Not performance—simply the spending of a life, all at once,
living only for a few afternoons, but completely—
Then, they go quiet in the grass, wings folded like a held breath.
Photos provided by GM Huff
