Cicadas

I realize I should be offering up a delicious recipe right now, but I am rather preoccupied with the cicadas.

One is crawling toward me right now.

Because it is finally warm enough to write on the deck and because we are trying to sell our house and I am smoking outside, I am keeping a constant eye out for the cicadas. They come every 13 years and they are like bad relatives who don’t know when it’s time to go home. In the beginning, they’re kind of cute. Bulgy red eyes, paper thin shimmery wings. In the bug world, they would be considered Angelina Jolie. But after a few days, well, you know. We don’t have it as bad as some people, whose yards are literally covered in the things. Crunch, crunch, crunch. This group is known as Brood XIX and they have emerged by the millions in Tennessee. They stick around for more than a month while they mate and then the babies burrow back into the ground for another 13 years.

And let me tell you, the noise will drive you insane as the males emit a mating call that I cannot believe any female would respond to. It’s amazing the species exists at all. Have I ruined your appetite yet?

Needless to say, we won’t be doing any grilling recipes for the foreseeable future.

I will get back to the business at hand tomorrow. I have exciting revelations involving lamb shanks and a new-to-me grain called farro. But now I have actually lost my appetite. The smell of cigarette smoke does not seem to repel them in the least. Maybe they will buy my house.

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