Blog - Personal Blog

It was the beginning of December when I first noticed his muted chirping while standing on my front porch. December in the northeast was a particularly cold and snowy month, so hearing the sound of a lone cricket seemed so out of place. After all, crickets usually die off in late autumn when the weather turns cold. I figured it must have been a fluke, and didn't expect it to continue much longer.

Days went by, then weeks, and now in the middle of January, I'm still hearing the occasional soft chirping of this lone cricket survivor. Beneath layers of snow and ice, amid sub-zero temperatures, night after night (and sometimes during the day) I still hear him - the lone survivor of the yearly bug holocaust. As near as I can figure, there must be some small crevice in the foundation close to the place where the main natural gas line enters the house. No doubt this is one of the many places where warmer air escapes from this often drafty home, thus providing the little guy with an insect sauna. There is a pile of dead leaves and other organic material that must be providing a source of sustenance as well.

I'm sure there's some allegory or moral I could draw from this continuing drama. Perhaps I could wax philosophic about determination, never giving up, or beating the odds. I could comment on the surreal feeling of this melding of late summer aural tones with the bitter silence of winter. For now, I'm content to simply share the story, allowing you the reader to draw your own conclusions.

Oh yes, we decided it was only fitting this little critter should have a name - Hermie. 

Here's a recording I made earlier this evening. Bet he never thought he'd be famous. Rock on, Hermie!