Have you ever gone to bed in one place and woken up in another? I don't mean mind-glazing benders, but rather sleep or travel induced changes of location. I have wonderful childhood memories of surprise return. You are driven home, say, from a county fair with your head wedged awkwardly on the back seat armrest and your feet piled on your brother's. Suddenly bright morning is here and your head rests gently on your own soft bed pillow. You might have a vague memory of being slung over the magic carpet of your father's shoulder in the dark, but really the whole thing is so surprising that you wonder if yesterday was dreamed. 

Overnight arrival in a new place is more dislocating. You fall asleep on a plane, train or ship and you wake up to strangely invasive foreign sounds and smells. I once traveled to Chicago on an overnight railroad car and was stunned by the changes outside my window come morning. Or maybe you arrive at night somewhere, and when the next day comes, you awake to a jaw-dropping view you hadn't seen in the dark.

This lovely striped cucumber beetle traveled to my city kitchen on a berth of vibrant green and yellow squash blossoms from Wells Homestead farm in Aquebogue, Long Island. All I could think of was his immense surprise. He tucked into a soft blossom in a farm field under the stars at night, and ended up in Manhattan in the morning. It seemed cruel to kill him, so I captured him in a deli container and carried him outside to a new home in verdant Riverside Park. Long may he munch.