When I first moved to Virginia, it was mid-August. I was young, hadn’t lived anywhere but Massachusetts, and oblivious at how ten hours could make such a difference. One of the first things I noticed was the constant noise that the cicadas made–it was like grasshoppers on crack. At first it was maddening–it was like the mountains and forests that surrounded my bucolic college campus never stopped. But soon it started to blend into the background, and now it’s just another sound of summer that is frankly comforting to this yankee transplant.
I never truly thought about cicadas again until we moved into our home, and even then it was because once or twice a year we’d find a cicada casing, I would freak out that it was a roach, JGL would have to assure me that it was just a casing, it wasn’t alive, and we didn’t have an infestation of something gross, and then we would resume with our daily grind. This year since putting in the laundry line, though, I’ve found that cicadas like to cling to wood things when they molt, and my laundry line is PERFECT for this. If I had a nickel for ever cicada casing I’ve come thisclose to touching with clean laundry, or even worse almost stuck my face in trying to get said clean laundry off the line, I’d be a rich woman by now. They blend in so perfectly in the wood, and they freak me out just as much as the first time when I notice them.
Much to my dismay and horror, there are at least five casing on the line today, today the day that I’m attempting to finish laundry from this week, and from the NH vacation. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any more creepy, I saw the actual bug emerge from a casing.
It’s in these moments I have to remember that I am 29 years old, I am an adult, and I can absolutely, unequivocally, and adultly choose to wait to finish the laundry when JGL, aka my Bug Protector, comes home from work.
God bless the long-ass days of summer!