Silent and Sexless

The heat of July has not yet brought forth the nightly symphony of crickets.   Last night, although I had my windows flung wide open, I did not hear a single cricket chirping.  I heard only the pines scouring through the passing wind and the occasional reports of distant thunder before sleep dragged me down into the warm and syrupy black of near-nothingness.

The rate of chirping performed by crickets is directly related to temperature—as is the speed at which an ant walks.  Higher temperatures will incite a more frenzied song from crickets.  Entomologists have gone so far as to develop a formula that can be used to determine the outside temperature based on the rate of chirping performed by crickets.  This formula, which is far too sciency (my own word) to readily recall, involves counting the chirps for something like 14 seconds and adding 40 to that. 

Interesting, but the chirping is really all about sex.

Only the male crickets chirp.  This chirping, contrary to the popular myth that it is made by the insects rubbing together their legs, is produced when the boys in the band violin together the inside edges of their wings.  All chirping has some form of sexual content.  And, as with all species, the girls are really attracted to the boys in the band.  The loud symphony we normally hear is associated with attracting females and warning off other males.

Sex all through the hot nights!

Last night I and the crickets settled ourselves into a silent and sexless night, colored only by the occasional splash of lightning against the far side of the mountains.

Maybe August or September.

--Mitchell Hegman