Cicadageddon

We've had a fantastic summer this year. Lots of warm, sunny days with very little wind and rain. Occasional weather tantrums have quickly given way to more of the good stuff. This is the kind of summer that future childhood memories are made of.

My own childhood memories of summer include a soundtrack of cicadas chirping happily from dawn til dusk. Cicadas hung out everywhere when we were kids: on tree branches, on the roofs of tree huts, outside windows and even up lamp posts. I always thought cicadas chirped when the temperature reached 17°C (or somewhere around there), so chirping meant it was a lovely warm day, but apparently it's more like 28°C. Whatever the actual temperature, there's something about this summer chorus that summons up memories of happy days and long, hot holidays.

I was alarmed to discover this week that not everyone feels as sentimental as I do about cicadasong. During an early morning shuttle ride to the airport this week, my driver complained of not being able to sleep because "the skaders" keep him awake all night. He had a reasonably thick accent so I wasn't exactly sure what he meant until he explained further: they're everywhere outside the house, banging against the window all night and some of them even come inside and make a noise! Ah. Not skaters.

Cicadageddon has even been compared to a horror movie. Here's where I confess my unpopular opinion: I love cicadas. Not so much the insects themselves, but what they represent. The chirping sound is male cicadas singing their lungs out to woo their women. It'd almost be romantic, if they weren't so creepy looking.

I say let's enjoy the sound of summer for the few short months it lasts. It'll be winter again before we know it and no doubt we'll find other things to complain about.