I love when it gets cool enough at night for us to put the whole house fan on instead of the air conditioner. The past few nights have allowed for that, and my sleep has been deep. This evening we don’t have any electrical cooling device running, and I’m sitting here in our living room with the front door open thoroughly enjoying my summer loves, the crickets and katydids.
And as if right on cue, yes, Screech Owl, I hear you. Yes, you too are my love – but my appreciation for you is capable of being expressed year-round. Crickets are more three-season roommates (sometimes literally) and katydids really truly only seem to span mid to late-summer through early fall.
I don’t think I will ever tire of immersing myself in countryside night sounds.
A Lucky Step
The other night, Karl and I were walking home in the dark. The sky was particularly opaque from a blanket of clouds that almost looked like a billowy down comforter. Even though the sun had set, we usually would have been able to see in the residual light. Not that night, though.
As we were walking down the final hill toward our home, I was striding down the hill and felt a rather large ‘thing’ bump into my foot. I suspected it was a frog or a toad from the feel of its skin against mine, even though the encounter was brief.
I yelped involuntarily, of course; glad I hadn’t landed squarely on it. I squinted and tried to will my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
I saw a dark blob on the road and knew it could be either what I was seeking or a bunch of leaves. Using my flash to see where it was and identify it, this lovely specimen forgave me for scaring it and getting in its way as it made its way across the road.
And then it actually sat still enough for me to take its photo. It blended in remarkably well with the leaves at the side of the road. A beautiful creature. A lucky step – for both of us.
Lightning bug keeping me company – Photo: L. Weikel
Conflicted
Those of us living on the East Coast, from the mid-Atlantic up through New England, have been enjoying some glorious weather the past few days. Because of the ever-shifting transformation it affords, I adore living in a climate where we have four seasons. The past couple of days, there’s been a shift in the air. The temperatures have been just a little bit cooler. Ensconced on my porch, I’ve felt a smidgen more comfortable and less oppressed by the late afternoon heat. But I’m conflicted.
Almost like clockwork, it is obvious that we’ve entered the second half of August. The crickets are entering the phase where they no longer woo their mates with a distinct chirrup. No, they’ve entered the phase where their chirp machines are stuck in the ‘on’ position. The only interjections to their almost maddeningly intense ever-present hum are the periodic eruptions of my beloved katydids.
So what’s causing me to feel conflicted?
Ending One Love Beginning Another
I guess it’s that inevitable sense from when I was a little kid that summer was ending and school would soon resume. Nowadays it’s the reminder that I’ll soon be forced to move my wild porch office back inside where I won’t be surrounded by my birds and squirrels, raccoons and opossums, fawns and chippies and tyrannical red squirrels.
Heading for the Compost – Photo: L. Weikel
But it’s funny. I loved school growing up, so it wasn’t that I resisted re-immersing myself in the atmosphere of learning new things. In fact, from grade school through college – heck, even in law school, I was always thrilled by the prospect of starting a new school year. The smell of new books, the freshly waxed floor of the elementary school hallways, the prospect of shopping for a new pair of shoes and maybe even a slick new pencil case. (Yes; I will admit it: college bookstores were nirvana, and the advent of purveyors such as Staples allows me to continue indulging those giddy memories each and every year, even now that my own kids have outgrown the need for school supplies.)
Unstructured Time
I felt conflicted, I guess, over the loss of unstructured time. The freedom to build myself a pseudo-fort under the pine trees or back in the woods, pack myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and spend an entire day reading a book sitting on a beach towel, my back leaning against a big gray rock. Or to call my friend Chris so we could go bike riding down Cressman Road to pick berries, trying not to get our tires caught in the ruts made by tractors in that dirt road.
Or biking over to and hiking up Hexenkopf Rock, scaring ourselves as we climbed as we wondered out loud whether the stories were true of witches lighting fires at the top of that rocky edifice. Supposedly the fires were lit there to call for a gathering of their coven, since the fire could easily be seen up and down the valley.
I have to laugh now. I remember wondering who those witches were. Were they farmers’ wives? Did they live alone? Or in secret? Were the fires only lit for emergency meetings? Who were they?
What Are We Afraid Of?
Just writing the phrase ‘unstructured time’ makes me wonder at the world we’ve become. My kids had more structure than I did (because there were more organized sports at a younger age), but they still had plenty of time in the summers to read books, explore creeks, and go bike riding to nowhere in particular.
I wonder if this pandemic has pushed families to the point where kids have more opportunities to experience unstructured time. Are they spending that time by themselves and with their own imaginations, since getting together with other kids for organized activities poses unknown risks? Or does the risk of contracting Covid-19 seem less scary than the prospect of our kids having nothing specific to do?
Why do we almost always seem to think that time without structure is something to be feared?
Yeah…I remember loving unstructured time; the luxurious days of late summer. I think our society has forgotten in a lot of ways what it was like – if we ever knew – how to just hang out and be easy with ourselves. I know I’ve forgotten how to give myself permission to revel in it.
We’ve been trained to think of it as lazy. Or dangerous. But is it? I’m conflicted.
I’m sitting here with our front door open. It’s the 27thof October, and it’s mild enough outside that I have the front door open so the swan songs of the crickets and katydids can filter in unimpeded. They were so comforting tonight that they lulled me into a premature slumber.
I’ve written many times of the joy crickets, katydids, and peepers give me, especially when they make their debut appearance of the season. But the truth is, I never tire of their voices. I love having them be the background soundtrack of my life.
Tonight’s Walk
Karl and I took advantage of the complete transformation of the weather today to take a walk this evening. A vast amount of leaves had been knocked down in the torrential rains that pelted our area this morning. So this evening’s walk in nearly 70 degree temperatures (even though the sun had already set) was all the more remarkable.
We were afforded a magnificent view of the stars, unimpeded by moonlight (since it’s a new moon today!), yet serenaded by the heartiest of crickets and katydids. The survivors of the season, the holdouts, the elders, shared their words of wisdom while we gazed upwards, marveling at the brilliance of the stars, which in a way was more akin to a winter sky in clarity than the summery temperatures would imply.
Which Reminds Me
A couple of evenings this week, we slept with our bedroom windows open. Again, these ‘tween times are my favorite. I love it when there are no mechanical noises disturbing the silence. No air conditioners, no whole house fan (although that is comforting), and no humidifier, the noise we unfortunately endure throughout the winter.
There may be three weeks or so, give or take, in the spring and then again in the fall, when the temperatures drop outside enough to cool the whole house down all by themselves, with just the windows being open. Those are the times when I usually hear the screech owls and Great Horneds. Of course, the neighbors’ two wonderful donkeys, who decide to bellow brays that emanate from the bowels of their beings and (again) sound like the Sand People from the first Star Wars movie (Episode IV).
This past Wednesday and Thursday evenings, though, Karl and I both shot up in bed at the sounds coming in our window. Well, we weren’t quite as spooked the second night, so Thursday’s experience really was just another opportunity to discern the nature of the creatures vocalizing.
Coyotes
Yep, we are almost certain the calls, yips, and just plain weird noises that woke us both nights were coyotes. I’m sure, if anyone from out west is reading this blog, you’re probably rolling your eyes and wondering why I’m making such a big deal over hearing these creatures.
That pack yipping and yowling just is not something people expect to hear in this neck of the woods. And adding a bit more of an interesting twist to the experience (which really was extraordinarily cool to begin with – albeit a bit worrisome with respect to our cat, Cletus, whom we only allow out at night, for the sake of the birds) was the fact that Karl and I each picked Coyote in one form or another (either as main card or as the undercard) within a week or so of having them show up basically in our back yard.
Hmm. Are we being told to lighten up? Embrace our playful, irreverent sides? Or is the message to beware of falling for the old stories and sabotaging ourselves in the process?
As I write this final sentence, I realize that although my front door is open and the only thing separating me from the outside is the screen door, I do not hear one single sound outside. Not a leaf rustling, not a cricket chirping. Utter and total silence. It is deafening.
At least I walked my talk this evening. I just came inside from standing on the back end of our porch, overlooking our barn, and doing the EoP Biodiversity Process. Even though I didn’t get home until quite late this evening, I made a point to remember to engage in the simple process before the clock struck midnight. I managed to get the process completed by the hair on my chinny chin chin.
It’s weird out tonight. The atmosphere got muggy and distinctly warmer. The crickets and katydids are maintaining their ‘stuck on’ calls, creating a monotonous backdrop to everything. They are so relentlessly ‘on’ that when they suddenly stop, for whatever reason, it takes a moment to realize the silence.
Delete, Delete, Delete
I just had a bunch of stuff written and I decided to delete it. I didn’t want to even chat good-naturedly about all the appliances and other things abruptly ceasing to work around our house. It’s frustrating, and it’s one of those things that seems to happen in waves.
What brought it to the forefront of my mind was my comment about the crickets and katydids and how relentlessly they sing.
This prompted me to focus my attention upon our refrigerator. It’s been relentlessly going on and off, on and off (with an empty <<ping>> at the end of each shutoff of something) for a couple days now. It had been doing this a few months ago, but then stopped. Of course, our ice maker stopped at the same time, but Karl’s been keeping me in ice, so I barely noticed.
Well it restarted again just last week. Wednesday night, to be exact. On/off. On/off. On/off <<ping>>. I can’t tell exactly what it is, but I can’t imagine something turning off and on, over and over again, can be good for anything mechanistic. And whenever it turns on, there’s some sort of fan or something that’s turning on, so that starts whirring. Over and over again.
I managed to get an appointment with a repairman for Friday afternoon (after my appointment at the Toyota dealership). But of course…just like the crickets and katydids…
It took us a bit, but we suddenly realized that the annoying noise had ceased.
Long story short, I cancelled the appointment for Friday afternoon and we crossed our fingers that perhaps it had resolved itself on its own. (Yeah, I know. A ridiculous fantasy. But oh well.)
So Predictable
You and I both know what happened. The stupid refrigerator resumed its nonsense by Saturday night. And now – right now – I am listening to it go on/off. On/off. But now it pings three or four times in a row sometimes. Randomly.
Ah yes.
Tomorrow morning we find out if it’s a motherboard or something, or the compressor. One is fixable, the other means it’s earned a trip to the appliance graveyard.
All through writing this post, that refrigerator has been doing its thing, annoying the absolute stuff out of me. And now? As I go to hit <<publish>>?
The 15 year celebration at Medicine in Balance today was an unqualified success. Balmy weather, scrumptious food, and remarkable entertainment by Ryan Sabalaske all added up to create a fitting tribute to the longevity of this unique medical practice.
The best part about the afternoon, though, was the opportunity to catch up with friends and clients I’ve not seen in years.
Numerology Course
I did manage to get home in time to take a walk with Karl before my final numerology class with Alison Baughman. What a great course. Probably the one major downer about taking the course, though, is the fact that , without a doubt, I’m now going to be even worse than I ever was before about internally ‘doing the math’ to figure out the numerological status of practically everything I encounter.
What’s fascinating about that is the power of simple observation. That’s the most reliable method anyone can use to bring to light correlations and discover whether there’s any correspondence between the numbers and the traits or characteristics of the subject of study.
Karl, Sheila, Spartacus, and I did managed to snag a quick walk around before the start of my class. It was during this walk that I noticed the marked shift in cricket song that marks the turning of the season. One of the biggest ‘tells’ to the shifting of seasons is, indeed, the song of the crickets.
Crickets
If you pay attention, you’ll notice that crickets rarely sing their usual staccato ‘cree-deets’ once the seasons start to change. Instead, it’s as if the crickets press their internal cricket button and they get stuck. Suddenly, we’re all living amidst one long chirp.
Even as I sit here now, with our front door open to let in some cool night air, the droning intonation created by the elder crickets is mesmerizing. While I love the sounds of the crickets and the occasional katydid punctuating the night, it’s unmistakably the beginning of the season of letting go.
Before I go to sleep, I must share with you the photo I took this evening of the wild flowers I took tonight. Sometimes I just have to marvel at the sheer perfection of Mother Earth’s palette.
Yet again, I’m closing a post feeling awash in gratitude for so very many seemingly tiny but tremendously moving miracles in my life. The fact that you’re reading this post being one of them. Thank you.
The Ubiquitous Yellow Flowers (beautiful but probably invasive) – Photo: L. Weikel
Late Summer Buzz
No, I’m not referencing the name of an exotic cocktail to be enjoyed while sitting ‘round a crackling campfire. Nor am I alluding to the effects I might feel should I be imbibing said exotic cocktail.
Instead, I’m describing the constant drone of crickets or perhaps other similarly situated bugs that begins during late summer nights. It’s a curious sound, really, for it sometimes can meld so seamlessly into the background that we almost don’t hear it. It’s sort of almost the natural equivalent of static – something that comes to our attention when it suddenly stops and we realize how profound the silence is when that background drone is absent.
My sense is that the drone is crickets; crickets that are nearing the end of their lives and are, in their way, stuck on their ‘on’ switch. For whatever reason, they can’t stop. They’re not trying to get individual attention – you, know, attract a mate – the way they were at the beginning of their life cycle.
Death Drone
Now they’re just holding a single note. One very long, very monotonous note. A droning tone. This droning, which I suppose is not actually, technically, droning since it’s much higher pitched than a conventional (or even dictionary definition of drone – which almost always specifies ‘low’) strikes me as a death call.
They’re stuck on ‘on.’ Until they’re shut down. Or shut off. Permanently.
Mother Nature’s Night Sounds
I’m writing about this phenomenon because I’m sitting on my couch with the front door open and the sounds of nature are keeping me company. The death drone of the crickets is the most noticeable – at least at the moment.
Lucky for me, it’s the rare car that whisks past at this time of night. Instead, I’m treated to Mother Nature’s night sounds.
Last night I had a screech owl trilling right outside my front door. It had to have been hanging out in the towering pine trees leaning wearily against each other just across the road. Strangely, I was awakened at 5:18 a.m. to a couple of screech owls chatting just outside our bedroom window. It was their pointed conversation that penetrated my dream and called my attention back to this Middle World.
What’s That?
I have to laugh: just as I was writing that last sentence, the slow-building bray of one of my adored donkeys that graze on the hillside behind our home began its deep yet vague, hard to pinpoint, call-of-the-sand-people sounding moan** that ends with its inevitable onkey-honk. For the life of me, I’m always caught off guard when I hear the first couple seconds of that very odd exhortation. I don’t know why – it’s one of my favorite sounds (day or night). Yet my mind always pings off that sound initially, insists that my ears zero in on the source, demanding I make sense of it. You’d think I’d recognize it immediately by now.
Which makes me wonder: why am I always fooled?
I ask that question and suddenly a cricket or three suddenly stop holding their note. It’s almost a relief from the pressure I didn’t realize was building in my head. My brain can relax, and the reprieve allows me to notice other crickets holding a slightly different note.
All of this reminds me of an especially peculiar ‘vision’ I awoke to the other morning. I swear, I opened my eyes and the image below was the first thing I saw. It took me a moment, as you can imagine, to make sense of it.
Rocco’s Toy – Photo: L. Weikel
It’s a reflection of a small plastic toy that Karl put on his nightstand, an odd souvenir from a friendship he’d struck with one of the longest attorney-client relationships I had in my practice: a man I cared for and represented for just under 30 years.
He passed away a few years ago. And I think of him more often than I – or he, I imagine – would’ve ever thought I would.
We’re entering that season, I guess.
**Surely you ‘get’ this reference to the scene in Star Wars – Episode IV (the first one) when Luke meets Obi-Wan for the first time?
