Although the leaves are turning, the nights are cooler and the sun drops faster from the sky lately, I was totally in denial about autumn coming. That is until I went into Starbucks tonight and got a seasonal favorite that magically appeared on the menu while I was in Jasper for the weekend; the Pumpkin Spice Latte. The late nights studying into the winter might be well accompanied by this drink. Yum.
One of the hazards of keeping insects is that they typically only eat other insects. While I have spoken of the escapes our little inmates have had, I haven’t spoken of the true evil, escaped crickets.
Although the chirping of crickets and cicadas pleases me on a hot tropical summer night, and it takes me to some porch in a southern American state, sitting on a swing, watching fireflies and drinking a sweaty-bottled beer, the experience is less enchanting when it’s in your own home.
A few weeks ago a cricket escaped in the kitchen of the apartment. This has been the only escape I know of this year. We’ve improved on last year’s numbers with the simple practice of killing any cricket that evades being eaten. But this little bugger had been quiet for quite some time, eating crumbs and other bits around the house (Wikipedia even suggests the assholes will eat nylon and wool, from carpets) and grew to be a mature male.
How do I know this? He started rubbing his legs on his wings, chirping for a mate, a few nights ago. Incessantly chirping, chirping, seemingly from the relative safety of behind an immobile fridge.
There was some discussion of using insecticides, but the side effects should be obvious. I thought about using another cricket to bait it out, using my hair blow dryer to blow it out, going more and more crazy with each passing moment of stridulation (look it up, future cricket expert).
Finally, last night, I awoke at 4:45am, discerning that the chirping had grown somewhat louder and closer. I jumped out of bed and quickly located the sound, coming from near where our heat lamp for most of the guys is. I tried baiting the jerk with food, and finally gave up, and laid a towel down, hoping to muffle the noise.
That proved to be useless, but I drifted off to sleep nonetheless. About twenty minutes later, I awoke again, realizing that the sound had moved. I moved in on the chirping, silently, stealthily. My skills were undeniable.
Moments later, I had the jerk scooped and had tossed him in with the hungry Hunstman spider, and drifted off to dreams of whales and boats.
On Wednesday/Thursday, I played mountain taxi and dropped my boyfriend and his two friends off in the mountains for an extended bachelor party hike. It was an amazing drive, but things just did not seem to add up…
300 km edmonton to calgary +
108 km calgary to canmore (at 530am, steam rising from sloughs, the sunrise burning bright in my rear view, turning the steam pink) +
37 km on a ‘well maintained’ gravel road to the mount shark parking lot, where we left a car for them to collect on their hike out +
2 black bears + 3 moose +
70 km back out and onto sunshine village, three minutes short of missing the first bus of the day the guys had planned on taking up the mountain +
group of sheep +
some random elk +
and then, the trip home. 400 or so kilometers home, three coffees, a red moon from a lunar eclipse and one ferrari spotted all added up to, two blocks from home, =
one flat tire.
And I wasn’t even the one going on the five day mountain adventure. I’m sitting at work in Edmonton on a Saturday night, watching the rain come down. The car remains jacked up until I have a day off to try and get the fucking lug nuts off.