When the Cicadas Sing

A Day in My Life

The sun begins to rise at 5 a.m. If I’m lucky, I roll around in a light sleep for a few hours. If not, I’m up around 6. The cats wake early, excited to chase wild snowshoe hares, which hop around the yard every morning before the day heats up.

The birds have returned to the mountain, and I lie in bed listening to their songs. In the depths of winter, I always forget how lively summer becomes. This summer seems more lively than any before. I don’t know if it actually is, or if I’m just happy to hear all of the birds after such a long winter.

A breeze rolls through the stand of aspen next to my house, sounding like gentle waves on a beach. Some days I get up to make tea, other days Curt does it and runs to the outhouse. Lately, tea has been my morning drink of choice. It makes me excited to make ‘Ivan chai’ using native fireweed, once the plants have matured a bit more.

I let the cats out to harass the hares, which they very rarely catch. As I sit with my tea, my body wakes up, and I catch up online. After a cup, I pour another and get dressed to go do my ‘chores’. Though still technically spring, my shoulders are burnt and peeling. The sting reminds me to wear layers, a hat and sunglasses, as the day will inevitably warm up and the sun will be intense by midday

I head out to the barnyard, setting my tea on the garden table Curt made between two trees. The chickens are always very eager to get out, so I open their doors and they run out enthusiastically for today’s bugs.

The bunnies get water and food next. Does and their kits first, then the boys. I currently have three litters of young bunnies with their mothers, which have just started eating rabbit food. On these hot days, they go through food and water pretty quickly.

While I feed and tend to critters, Curt waters the greenhouse and newly planted fruit trees. The day warms as we finish our ‘chores’ and it’s no longer sweater weather. We rejoin to complete tasks together, starting with filling the pond.

The natural spring below has been running great, so we’ve decided to embrace the flow and try to get as much water into the newly dug pond as we possibly can. 1,000L at a time, we cart water uphill in the back of a truck. I’d bet it’ll take more than 50 trips, which sounds tedious, but it’s a fun activity to do together. About twice per week, we also bring up water to an IBC tote that supplies the yard. From there, it gravity feeds to be used like a normal garden hose.

At this point, it’s about noon, and the day has heated up. Some of the songbirds still sing from shady roosts, but most hide from the midday heat. The three cats, especially due to their being all black, lounge in the shadows. For a moment, I wonder if I’m poorly acclimated to mild heat - until the cicadas start.
When the cicadas sing, you know it’s a truly hot day.

Usually, we decide to tinker in the shade, fix a thing or forage. When the days get really hot, Spain enters my mind. Walking through small towns where siesta is still a part of daily life. During siesta, you can get a drink at a bar, but not order food. Siesta is for resting, and even the servers aren’t expected to work too hard. On really hot days, when the cicadas sing, Curtis and I siesta until the temperature becomes bearable again.

I’ve learned that I’m better acclimated to cold than warm. I enjoy the heat, but I don’t enjoy trying to get anything done in it. Kudos to the cicadas as they embark on their romantic lives while the temperatures spike. I’ll siesta, thank you.

In the evening, I check the rabbits and top up their water. They siesta too, and will want an evening drink. The chickens put themselves to bed. I check that they’re all tucked in, collect eggs, close the door and wish them good night. Before dark, we make dinner, get another 1,000L for the pond and anticipate what the next day might have in store.

The temperature begins to decline, just in time to have a comfortable sleep. As I lay in bed, the cicadas go quiet, making way for the spring night orchestra. The birds begin again. One song in particular comes from what I call the ‘ethereal bird’, because it seems to sing multiple pitches simultaneously. As if it were some sort of elusive mystical creature, I’ve never seen it.

While the sun sets far to the west, so far it seems to be going north, the chorus frogs begin, and ruffed grouse pitch in as a baseline. The approaching hot days of summer have a rhythm, led by the cicadas.