Insect summer
One of the unfortunate features of Southern California is the dearth of insects. I know some people may find this perplexing; insects are usually regarded as a necessary annoyance and something most people would be happy to be rid of. But as I lay in bed last night, drifting off to sleep, I was struck by the silence in my room. The only noise outside I heard was the oceanic whisper of the freeway nearby, and the occasional tire wheels on the asphalt driveway.
Laying in bed in New Jersey, my summertime lullabies were the chirping of crickets and the frogs in the nearby swamps. The tinny buzzing of mosquitoes outside the screen, and the occasional "thwop" of a powdery moth wing striking the porch lights. If one were took glance out the windows, into the inky, humid night, it would appear as if one were floating in space - surrounded by the twinkling posteriers of fireflies as they unpredictably spark and hush.
The time of Jersey summers is marked by insects. In May, the dragonflies and ladybugs begin to appear. By June, the heat and humidity from the storms pressing off the ocean hatch various larvae, and housewives and housecats everywhere chase houseflies around the home. Praying mantises delight children and scare grownups by saying their devotions on the leaves of summer squashes and ripe Jersey tomatoes. Butterflies hatch around August, and in particularly sweltery years, the cicadas emerge from underground hibernation to sleepily loll around the air, flying so slow and so lazily that bird only have to fly past to grab a healthy meal for their hatchlings.
I saw more fat birds in the summer of 1995, when the cicadas hatched, than I ever have in my life. Standing in front of the YMCA where I worked as a lifeguard, I would be endlessly amused at the thick-bodied bugs clumsily puttering around, utterly defenseless against the dozens of birds that would just pick them off out of the air like popcorn. We had a lot of happy, well-fed birds that year. It was also a banner year for car washes.
Laying in bed, I strained to hear some sign of life. Not a single cricket? No thwocking moths? Not even the faintest hint of batwings, happily chowing down on their six-legged nocturnal feast? There was nothing. I haven't even swatted a fly.
I fell asleep humming this song by Ida:
Always more than I can catch inside this jar
Lighting up the night sky
Flicker in your eye
Ladybugs crawl across your hand
In plain sight, broad daylight
I don't mind
But in the dark
Invisible and beautiful
Then gone again
When you've forgotten them
They're back again
On and off
On and off
On and off
Only a fool tries to follow the light of a firefly
-Ida, Firefly
Laying in bed in New Jersey, my summertime lullabies were the chirping of crickets and the frogs in the nearby swamps. The tinny buzzing of mosquitoes outside the screen, and the occasional "thwop" of a powdery moth wing striking the porch lights. If one were took glance out the windows, into the inky, humid night, it would appear as if one were floating in space - surrounded by the twinkling posteriers of fireflies as they unpredictably spark and hush.
The time of Jersey summers is marked by insects. In May, the dragonflies and ladybugs begin to appear. By June, the heat and humidity from the storms pressing off the ocean hatch various larvae, and housewives and housecats everywhere chase houseflies around the home. Praying mantises delight children and scare grownups by saying their devotions on the leaves of summer squashes and ripe Jersey tomatoes. Butterflies hatch around August, and in particularly sweltery years, the cicadas emerge from underground hibernation to sleepily loll around the air, flying so slow and so lazily that bird only have to fly past to grab a healthy meal for their hatchlings.
I saw more fat birds in the summer of 1995, when the cicadas hatched, than I ever have in my life. Standing in front of the YMCA where I worked as a lifeguard, I would be endlessly amused at the thick-bodied bugs clumsily puttering around, utterly defenseless against the dozens of birds that would just pick them off out of the air like popcorn. We had a lot of happy, well-fed birds that year. It was also a banner year for car washes.
Laying in bed, I strained to hear some sign of life. Not a single cricket? No thwocking moths? Not even the faintest hint of batwings, happily chowing down on their six-legged nocturnal feast? There was nothing. I haven't even swatted a fly.
I fell asleep humming this song by Ida:
Always more than I can catch inside this jar
Lighting up the night sky
Flicker in your eye
Ladybugs crawl across your hand
In plain sight, broad daylight
I don't mind
But in the dark
Invisible and beautiful
Then gone again
When you've forgotten them
They're back again
On and off
On and off
On and off
Only a fool tries to follow the light of a firefly
-Ida, Firefly
posted by The Semi-Pro Chef at Wednesday, May 02, 2007
2 Comments:
No bugs! That seems like the best selling point California ever had. I wonder why people don't mention it more often; it's certainly better than: "It's sunny all the time." If you miss bugs so much, then move to Florida.
That was so lovely, it makes me want to move. For bugs.
By the way- it has really been too long- we must remedy that!
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