I´m guessing a lot of people are still away, so today´s a random holiday thread. I invite you to post in your comments some of your favorite summer things that arouse your senses OTHER than smell for a change {oh, fine, go ahead and put your smells in, I’m not going to stop you}! Touch, sight, taste, feel…
Here are mine:
Fireflies rising from the lawn as dark falls, and up high in the trees at midnight. I missed fireflies desperately when we did not live here. I understand they live in various parts of the world, in populations so dense in some places that entire trees shimmer with their light. There´s something I would love to see.
The fireworks that look like giant golden chrysanthemums. (okay, and that sulphur-y smell which I assume is gunpowder afterwards.)
The taste of the nectar when you bite the bottom of a honeysuckle blossom. Brandywine tomatoes. Silver queen corn. White peaches. Frozen custard from a roadside stand.
The sound of the breeze rushing through the leaves of the ancient black walnut trees behind our house on a windy night. The sound of people setting off firecrackers and the wooooeeeeeeeeeeeet! of bottle rockets in the dark.
The warmth of my children´s foreheads as they sleep. The softness of their skin. Morning dew on my feet when I go out early to get the paper.
Summer.
image: Hecate and Buckethead getting their Fourth of July on in our neighborhood parade.
I was just out on the front porch, having a late lunch and two sounds drifted to me, lulling me into such relaxation. How could I have forgotten two quintessential summer sounds: the sound of a gas lawnmower (the walk-behind kind) a bit off in the distance…and the rhythmic ‘squee-squaww’ of a swing.
xo>-)
The swing!!! Yes, the swing. But, ya know…I haven’t heard that sound in a while…or the swoosh of a glider.
Ah, the sights, sounds, and smells of the boardwalk here in southern NJ… this is summer, to me. I especially love dusk, when the air is cooling on sun-kissed skin, and the possibilities are endless; well, at least it felt that way when I was a teenager. Even now, walking the boards, the sound of the seagulls, the taste of salt water taffy, the ocean breeze blowing humidity-waved tendrils in my face… it still floors me with the feeling of that ultimate relaxing laziness, coupled with the electricity of hopeful anticipation. Where will the evening take us? It’s summertime, anything is possible. 🙂
Oh I miss fireflies! And thunderstorms!
Summer here is morning and evening fog and warm days. The Jacarandas are starting to be over, meaning Palm Drive is going back to green from purple. We still might get rain, but if we do it’s an event that’s almost of MJ proportions complete with live remotes from ActionMcNews. The jasmine will be in bloom; mostly we’ll have these dry days with the moist foggy evenings and mornings. What we get that’s really magical is the late afternoon sun that really is golden: that perfect 45 degree angle and golden hue that makes even the palest glow, blue eyes Paul Newman blue, green eyes sparkle like emeralds and brown like a snifter of cognac held to a candle.
So lovely to think about the parts of summer I haven’t yet appreciated! Sad to hear about Silver Queen not really being Silver Queen.
Last year we had the the emergence of some brood of the 17 year cicada. A film crew stayed in our town for days waiting for them to emerge. Emerge they did. Deafening at times. Our cat likes to eat them, but then he throws them up. Yuk.
I’d like to add a pint of Michigan blueberries, freshly picked. Never knew blueberries could taste like that until I spent a long weekend with a friend at her lake house and she brought in berries from a local farm.
Love to huddle on the screened porch at our Ohio house and enjoy thunderstorms. Thunderstorms, as experienced on our 8th floor porch in Florida, send me running inside. Scary. Lightning hits the electric lines along the causeway and we end up with mini-fireworks and rather loud kabooms. Plus no electricity. The river at night as it laps at the dock. The sound dolphins make when they blow air out their blow hole as they swim in the river. We run for the porch every time. Hard pressed to explain the sound the manatees make (breathy) but that too will get us to the railing lickety-split.
A sailboat flying a spinnaker. Awakening on a sunny morning with open windows and hearing the birds sing. Watching a hummingbird flit from one blossom to another. Biting into a tomato, just plucked from the vine, still warm from the sun.
I miss the laughter of my sons and friends (all grown) as they played flashlight tag in the dark. The sound of the screen door slamming as they run in and out. Never thought I’d miss that.
Popsicles in every color. Freshly brewed iced tea. Nectarines. Hydrangeas in any color.
LOL! I love this post! My Newfie, Brutus, recently discovered a nest/herd/colony/hive (whatever the term) of fireflies. Brutus stuck his head in a patch of tall grass and emerged with a mane full of winking lights. When he shook his head, they flew away like his own personal fireworks show. A little miracle that I serendipitously caught>
I would have loved to have seen that!
Our Newfie, Fleetwood, has been gone many years and the mere mention of the breed now brings me joy.
What a lovely picture.
Add me to the list of loving the sounds of cicadas and crickets, as well as how the air smells during an approaching thunderstorm, as well as after the rain.
Right now, the civic employees are on strike here in Toronto, so the overwhelming smell of garbage is prevalent depending on where you are. As I celebrated my first Canada Day as a Canadian, I reveled in the smell of charred meat, poutine and loamy soil at the Downsview Park Canada Day celebration. Later on, it was the residual scent of gunpowder during and after the impressive fireworks display. Ah, summer…
Hey, happy Canada! That sounds like a great collection of smells.
Non-scented senses of summer:
~ the light pattering of a gentle rain on the tree canopy above you, as you sit under and remain dry (with the exception of an occasional drop);
~ the sunlight as it reflects on the ripples of the lake … especially nice if you are in the dappled shade of a tree;
~ Fur Elise from the ice cream truck;
~ “Marco!” • • • “Polo!”;
~ mud between your toes…and that awful but fascinating feeling of dirty feet after you’ve been running around barefoot;
~ a lightning bug in your gently cupped hands;
~ the smell of the firewood, before, during, after.
Wait…. our ice cream truck plays Pop Goes The Weasel.
Marco!
Polo!
Little lightning bug feets tickle.
Centipedes…more tickle for your buck 😉
Yeeeeeeeeeeeech. I never got used to the 8-inch biting (stinging?) centipedes in NM.
I’m surprised no one has mentioned butterflies, or have they?
Nope. I think we got some moth action, though.
I would say that you pretty much hit all of the highlights of an East Coast summer, March. Especially the part about lightning bugs (that’s what we called them back in the day…does anybody still call them that?) and frozen custard. Ooh…frozen custard!!! I wonder if that frozen custard stand is still around on Georgia Avenue in NW DC, about two miles from the Silver Spring border. They made the best frozen custard ever.
Your children are adorable!
Hugs!
As far as I know it’s still there. You’re making me want to hop in the car and find out! Growing up I used to go to one out Route 50 which I know is long gone… my sister goes to one in Rockville.
I went to that same one on Rt. 50! What was it called again? It was still operating when I moved to NYC. God, I loved that stand on the highway.
Did it even have a name? It must have. I always got vanilla. You know a place is too foofy if they offer more than vanilla and chocolate.
Oh and PS — yes, they’re “lightning bugs” too — I got to thinking about that… I use that as a kid word, like “tummy” for stomach. But I feel funny calling them that to other adults, hence “fireflies.”
I forgot the swifts. The swifts! My favourite sight and sound of summer – if a hideous screech can qualify as love, this is the one.
I have never heard a swift, I don’t think…
They’re becoming endangered, but we have hundreds acrobatically hurling themselves around the village all spring and summer – most noticeable in the evenings, and during the day, near invisible arcs of dark swooping and darting high in the sky.
Listen: http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/name/s/swift/index.asp
Lee, thanks for that! I’ve been haunted by the sound I heard after landing ’round midnight on Shetland many moons ago. I think maybe all the people disembarking disturbed them? It was weird to hear that in the dark, so late…but then again, it was June, so darkness did not descend until quite late.
So that makes, what, three creatures mentioned in this one post, all disappearing in number? Swifts? Frogs? Bees? Oh, dear. I am delighted to report at least three types of bees in my yard, a couple of types of dragonflies, though not many…but…uh oh…it dawns on me I’ve only seen 2-3 lightning bugs this year.
Hey, did y’all know fireflies might be different than lightning bugs because there are actually different *colors* they shine, depending on what N.American region they/you are in? Not because of latitude/longitude, but because there are different types. Hmm.
Raspberries and peas, picked and eaten within seconds.
The co-ordinated dancing of oh too many flies on newly turned earth
Driving towards heavy purple grey cloud with brilliant sunlight above you (today)
The giggly terror of driving through a torrential downpour with next to no visibility (today: rain at last – woohoo!)
The descent into our basement – its cool darkness a caress
The splash of the twins next door in their paddling pool
The sound, if not the experience, of cricket (the game, not the insect)
The low slanting light at 8pm on a still hot day across a ripening wheat field
And one scent – the uniquely arresting smell of Bells of Ireland (Molucella laevis), in all medicinal acid green oddity
Bells of Ireland do smell odd. I can never decide whether I like the smell, but it’s an arresting one.
Cricket… what would that sound like? I’m trying to imagine the sound of the bat connecting to the ball.
Others have posted many of the sensory experiences that I love about summer. I would add the soft texture of the leaves of the lamb’s ear (stachys byzantina) in my garden, and the lamentful calls of the mourning dove.
Mourning doves… is that one of nature’s most melancholy sounds? I love that sound. Wat is it that makes it so mournful, I wonder?
Oh yes! And the whistle of the northbound train late at night as it heads into the tunnel under Riverside Park — lovely and melancholy bookends to the day.
Trains! How did I forget them? There’s a train track in Silver Spring, I hear several trains a day. I love that sound in the middle of the night…
Some interviewer asked the actress Marcia Gay Harden what her favorite thing was about NYC and that’s what she picked.
Cicadas, in full voice, calling back and forth to each other from the branches of the oaks that nearly touch over the street where I walk the dog every hot, humid morning. They are the soundtrack to this hallucinatory heat–still in the upper eighties in the middle of the night! The only way to cool down is to swim in the dark green water of our blessed city springs, where it’s always 68 degrees. Everyone moves slowly and parks in the shade.
Our cicadas are VERY late this year, which I presume is the cool weather. I heard my first one yesterday and it made me so happy. I can’t believe I forgot to put it in this post!
I remember that in Houston in August, the cicadas were so loud in the middle of the day that you had to raise your voice to talk over them. We have them here, too, but not like that!
Yep! I’m in Austin, but it’s just like that — and especially great in the stillness of the heat, when it’s the only sound…
And then at night — the frogs take over! I bet you had those in Houston, too.
Yogurt with granola, raisins, blueberries, white chocolate chunks, and pecans.
Big salads with legumes, pears, kiwis, lemon oil, etc. with a touch of sausage.
bacon.
My cat offering her head for the morning kiss.
My old quilts from India.
When I read the quilts from India, the first thought that hit me was their SMELL. You know, that Indian cotton smell? What IS that smell, I wonder? The dyes? Nothing else smells like that. I have cotton bedspreads I sniff just for that smell (I use them as tablecloths, which gives me a ridiculous amount of pleasure.) The old Pier One used to be full of that smell.
Yes, I remember it too! I think it’s some part of the Indian dye-ing process. Back in early 70’s California everybody had those Indian bedspreads. We made clothes out of them too. Long skirts and halter tops and so on. People would use them as wall-hangings, too, or curtains.
You are so cheating!
Letting my hair air-dry. The bird symphony in the morning. Simple summer food; sliced cucumbers in sugared vinegar, fresh white acre peas, white peaches, tomatoes (of course!) July’s white sky. Four-o-clocks in magenta and gold. Bleached white cotton sheets.
The sheets, absolutely! And you’re right about the simple summer foods. Aren’t they a feast for the eye as well? I was just gazing at my strawberries in a robin’s-egg blue bowl. Perfect.
Oh my gosh, yes! on the White Sky! Nothing says summer quite like that sky.
And we have a clothesline. And I line-dry my sheets in the summer. And they smell incredible. Towels, too (bump ’em in the dryer for a hot minute to take the roughness out, then throw them on the line)
xo>-)
ps. cherries. how could I have forgotten cherries?
Line-dried. Sigh. That I really miss. I used to hang the sheets in Santa Fe, you could practically start over at the beginning after you’d hung them to take them down, the air was so dry! It’s too humid and pollen-y here for me to do that.
I line-dry clothes whenever possible, and *yes*, absolutely, there is nothing to beat line-dried sheets. The smell of wind and sun, the crisp feel of them… and the cool smoothness of my worn cotton nightgown, soft as a second skin.
And the way the kids shriek, running under the garden hose. The sound of my boys playing basketball: the round, meaty thunks of the slightly-deflated ball on the driveway, and the sproingggg! when they miss the hoop. The resident mockingbird dive-bombing our cat, screaming what must be piratey curses in Mockingbirdese.
And the taste of old-fashioned T’mater Sammiches. Fresh, store-bought white bread, real mayonnaise, ripe ‘maters sliced a quarter of an inch thick, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Throw on a sprinkle of fresh herbs (basil, dill, oregano or thyme) if you must, but to add anything else would be sacrilege.
The cloudy, glassy look of new grapes growing on the vine, all bunched up like baby toes, round and smooth and cool. White and yellow cabbage butterflies ghosting over the alfalfa field. The blueness of our mountains, each more distant ridge fading a paler blue, like dreams of mountains…
Slippery slides!
Wow, you captured the basketball action perfectly! The boys next door have a hoop, and that’s just the sound. And tomato sandwiches are the best.
How about sound? The silence just before a storm breaks open – only a few birds twittering, the wind stalled momentarily, the leaves stop moving – like everything is holding it’s breath. Then it all breaks looose, pounding rain, thunder & lightening, wind crashing branches together, dripping rainspouts. And the smells! The first raindrops, the ozone of nearby lightening. Aaah.
Or the sounds as the sun sets. The earth cools and the wind settles down, the leaves on the trees stop moving, the swallows come out. Then the sun goes down, the night birds and crickets start up, the bats come out with their squeeking. And the wind starts up again, often changes direction and the leaves whisper and discuss the new development. And the smells! The baked earth cooling, the dust of the day settling, the night blossoms coming out.
Sorry, I just can’t leave out the smells! 🙂
Smells are back in, babe. Couldn’t do it. I just wanted to noodge everyone to talk about other senses, and you all have! And yes, I love that heavy, holding-breath silence before a storm. Wonderful in a humid climate.
Ozone, baked earth, night blooms. Three of the great summer smells.
and nothing better than watching a storm roll in from the relative safety of your front porch. We have them like crazy here (storms AND porches!LOL!) and I really enjoy sitting on the front porch, watching the storm roll in (you can pretty much see them coming, as there is little to block the view) – it starts out as a gentle rain for a hot minute, then it gets pretty heavy-duty; still, one can sit out and enjoy it until the gale-force winds kick in. Then it’s that mad dash for the door, shrieking and laughing like a loon!
xo>-)
I think we have sung the praises of the summer storm on here before. Porches were pretty much made for storm watching, yes?
Balconies do a great job too – particularly wonderful if there is a huge linden tree right beside the building, as I once was lucky to have for a few years. But especially wonderful if accompanied by a long view up the river valley as the storm clouds come barreling across. And especially wonderful when you can stand in the back corner of the balcony and only get splashed a bit by the wind whipped rain – cuz then you can stand there and inhale all those wonderful rain smells, watch the lightening scurry across the sky, and see the strange colours of the clouds as the storm comes and goes. okay, maybe now I’ve sung the praises enough? 🙂
Balconies are wonderful and private and intimate. And the high-up ones have the best views. I can feel the wind and rain on my face!
No smells? C’monnnnnn…. what am I to do with the smells of grass and hay, and the linden in full bloom right now, the lavender, sage, thyme and rosemary on my balcony, and the rain on tar of a hot day?
OK, no smells: the green light before a thunderstorm. Berry picking on a hot day, sticky hands (and mouth), sweat, scratches, mild sunburn included, gadflys barred. A glass of cold rosé wine or white wine spritzer in the garden of a restaurant (or your own garden, if you have one). Hours of twilight, and an “heure bleue” which just goes on and on. And there’s a kind of heaviness to the air that encloses you and whatever you’re doing (berry-picking, hay-making, weeding, walking to the bus) in a sort of meditative capsule, shutting everything else out – I’m never as centered as in summer (oh dear, I really can’t find the right words to express this)..
And then, of course, there are the smells!
You’re right, I changed the post, smells are back in. 🙂 The blue hour, of course! Maybe I’ll wear some today, I think it will be warm enough… and the berry picking, absolutely. Anything that gets you outside and working up a sweat, followed by that glass of wine (moisture beading on the outside of the glass)… you capture that meditative capsule perfectly. I was there two days ago.
I try to write about the meditative aspect of gardening, but it ends up sounding trite, like everyone else said it better first. I love how it makes me feel like I am part of some giant, glorious organism.
There were organisms in my pea pods yesterday. Little wriggly ones.
Ugh! That’s not really what I was visualizing!
Sorry. I’m all for a smattering of the prosaic with the poetry!
They were fascinating in their own way. Tiny brown heads and creamy white bodies. Miniscule. But the peas were screwed.
Stupid organic gardening. My fault for being right on.
Buck up! Maybe your peas saved an wriggler species from extinction! You should be proud of yourself (I sprayed the aphids with some organic stuff anyway. My preservation urge goes only so far….)
Um. Only on this blog, and to you, March, would I admit that I was reading kind of fast and misread the word “organism.” Wrigglers were not what I was visualizing either.
Although… o:
Heh heh. Yes, that’s that whole NARS Organism makeup line…
Hey, no fair changing the rules mid-play! I did that entire post with one hand tied behind my back!
Where’s my smirking emoticon?
Oh man, linden blossom. I run down an avenue (well, a private drive actually…) to a moated manor house as a regular part of my run and the lime blossom / linden is beyond beautiful and out the other side right now…
I love linden fragrances, but I feel like they can’t really capture what it’s like to be under the actual trees.
Unmoglich!
I do agree – linden fragrances tend to be light and airy, but when you’re near a tree, the smell is very tactile, like green-gold velvet. Sometimes I feel I could cut it in tiny, transparent slivers, and those would be very heavy for their size…
What a beautiful post. And a beautiful photo of the twins. I am up at godforesaken time because of poor little random dog barking for the last two hours.
I was up last night because of the MOON! You’re lunarly oriented 🙂 why does the moon do that? I have blackout blinds, it’s not the light. Whatever that magic is, it’s stronger than my shades…
The moon last night hanging above the Delacorte Theater in Central Park with the Belvedere Castle in the background as we watched a wonderful performance of Twelfth Night will perhaps the singularly most wonderful memory for me from this particular summer.
Lovely post, March. And beautiful, beautiful children.
I share with you a love of all of those deeply evocative summer pleasures, and would add the hypnotic sound and sparkle of the surf and the feeling of complete awe that comes over me whenever I am near the ocean. The crunch as each footstep breaks through the crust of sand sand beneath my feet and sensation of my muscles in my calves working as I walk, the warmth of the rock under my legs when I sit down to take it all in, the glowing light of the magic hour before sunset, the flutter of the sails, the slap of the lines, and the wooden creak of the otherwise silent boat as it glides along the waves. The cries of the gulls overhead, the dreamlike, otherworldly quality and exhilaration of if all!
I love the visual excitement and spice of a bushel of bright red, Chesapeake Bay blue crabs and the frosty mug of beer as it cools my burning lips and completely quenches a seemingly unquenchable thirst. And then, exquisite exhaustion I feel at the end of another perfect summer day and the lullaby of the crickets as I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
But March, Silver Queen corn is no more. It is for all intents and purposes extinct, and unfortunately nowadays the corn you see being marketed and sold as real Silver Queen isn’t. What a crying shame.
No way, really? That’s so sad!
When I was very young we lived across the road from a Silver Queen farm in Aberdeen, Maryland (home of Cal Ripkin, yay!) and every summer the harvesting machines would run through the rows and mechanically pick the corn, leaving hundreds of ears of the beautiful stuff on the ground, just there for the taking. My brothers and sisters and I would grab brown paper grocery bags full of them and bring them home to my mother (plus raspberries from the vines in the back of the field) and she would make dinners of just about nothing but corn and tomatoes and raspberries, picked just minutes before we’d sit down to eat. Then, the next day she’d make succotash for my father and white corn pancakes (for dinner!) for the rest of us. God, that was such magic! I still love corn, but nothing elese tastes like THAT corn.
So … that stuff we buy on the eastern shore isn’t actually Silver Queen? That’s the only place I see it.
No, it isn’t, although you’d be hard-pressed to get those selling it to admit it. There are newer varieties of sweet white corn that mimic SQ and are much easier to grow with longer shelf lives. I was reading a very good article about heirloom tomatoes and such a couple of years ago and this dirty little secret came out from behind the bushel where it has been hiding for many years.
I love your description of the water experience! There’s something magical about the ocean, isn’t there? We really missed it living inland. It’s like we’ve taken some sort of gentle, soothing drug. Not that I’d know anything about that.
I am too lazy to pick my own crabs, but I make an excellent Maryland broiled crab cake, if I do say so myself. Just enough filler to hold it together.
Well, you can’t beat a softshell, or a softshell sandwich (on Wonder Bread) if you ain’t a picker. When I was a kid my father would take us to Lexington Market in Baltimore, and we would get one of those sandwiches and eat it standing up at the counter. Then we would head to the Silber’s Bakery stall and get two pounds of Berger Cookies (named after my family bakery, which is where they were born) one pound of chocolate, one pound of lemon and strawberry mixed.
And the crabcakes, yes, that’s the way — just short of falling apart. Both of my grandmothers and my mother — Baltimore girls, all — made their crabcakes just that way, nearly 100% crab, served with saltines and cocktail sauce. When I got my hands on a recipe that used a reduction of cream instead of mayo — you take it down from about a cup or so to no more than about a 1/4 cup — they actually changed their recipes. A shocker! But it’s a kick-ass crabcake, and if you want the receipt, give a yell.
Wait, you’re THOSE Bergers? The cookie Bergers?!? We eat those all the time, the ones with the chocolate on top that are like 500 calories each.
The very same. When my family closed the small bakery in Balto where they came up with the wonderous thingies (the lemon and strawberry ones were also delicious, but not the miracles that were the chocolate) they sold the recipe to Silbers, and that was the only place where you could get them, both at the brick-and-mortar shop as well as in Lexington Market. Then they in turn sold it, and now the cookies are made by an different entity altogether. It’s still pretty much the same recipe, but stuff has been added to preserve them that changes the texture of both the base and the topping — both are harder and sort of crustier. Our bakery and Silbers made them fresh daily and only sold them very, very fresh so no preservatives were needed.
I told my girls about this. The Berger Connection. For a brief, shining moment they thought I was cool.
The sound of crickets.
The solid warmth of our puppy’s body, as he lies there, passed completely out, in the back seat of the car, after a long afternoon’s romp, secure in the knowledge that he is completely safe.
The first crisp corn out of a local farmer’s garden – they provide the corn for our corn boil and it is complete perfection.
Watermelon. Cold. Crisp.
Sliding into clean, cool sheets after a late evening shower.
Fireflies, fo’ sho’ – they’re out in force, bless ’em.
xo>-)
You just reminded me — I forgot to put in cicadas!!! I heard my first one yesterday. Sigh. They’re ugly as hell, but I love that sound. Crickets, for sure.
Mmmmmm, we just had the best corn.
Hey — what’s the best way to juice some of these watermelons? Can I use a blender? Food processor? (“seedless” melons.) Or do I really need a juicer?
Nope – scoop out the watermelon meat, toss it in the blender then, depending upon how you want it, run it through a strainer. End of story.
UNLESS you want aqua fresca, in which case you can blend it up with some ice and lime and a bit of sugar (if it’s not sweet enough).
But that’s pretty much it. I make watermelon juice all summer long, me and my blender and strainer.
xo>-)
Yummy! Thanks. How much ice and lime? 50/50 ice and watermelon?
Gonna get out the blender today!
to taste – srsly. there is no recipe. just play with it.
xoxo>-)
so what exactly does a cicada sound like? in the summer in the midwest, I have sometimes heard a buzzing, high pitched, almost like a transformer or electric wire humming – no one has been able to answer me what it is – they usually say, oh some kind of insect. But it’s not a cricket or grasshopper. I have heard it in the heat of the summer and in a few different places, so it can’t really be the wires??
Hm. It’s kind of a screeching sound, but it has a rhythm to it, and it gets louder and softer. They’re usually up in the trees. Here, let me type it out for you. It’s scratchy.
ssss…sss..skreeskreeskreeskreeskreeSKREESKREESKREESKREESKREE!!
and like that. Over and over. It’s LOUD. And if you didn’t like the sound it’s probably really annoying.
It sounds like you’re describing cicadas, Kim! They sound different, depending on the species. Growing up in Idaho, ours sounded like you are describing, a little screechy, and LOUD, and not unlike a humming electric wire. The ones down here in Austin sound like a very fast rattle, the starts a bit slower and then rises in speed, sound and pitch before falling off again. Different groups of them do it at different times, in a kind of overlapping call and response. When paired with green shade and high heat and humidity I find it mesmerizing.
Thanks. These have usually been VERY loud and yet I can never figure out where they are coming from. And they get louder as it gets hotter – you can almost use them as a thermometer if you are inside in the air conditioning. And you mean to tell me that there are louder ones? Yikes!
Yes, yes! That’s it exactly, they respond to heat. You’ve probably seen their huge, empty exoskeletons around without realizing what they are. Keep an eye out for a prehistoric looking thing, about the size of a large thumb.
Wikipedia says they are the loudest insects known to man!
They have some wonderfully ooky pictures on wiki. I’m skipping the “culinary uses” section myself.
plus they drop down the chimney into the fireplace and scare the shit out of a body.
and Lord help you if one of them finds its way into your house in the middle of the night!
xo>-)
Oh, yes! Insomnia Central…