Ch. 17

The summer monsoons have come & gone, come & gone again. The green green forest canopy above is alive with a strange brew of birds ~ quiet birds, mostly, full of stealth. Hawks must be lurking around, swerving around thru the trees.  This patch of woods now, I believe, is happy. So happy.

One morning, as I begin the daily task of rolling up the sleeping bag ~ I find beneath the foot of it, to my dismay, a cricket. I toss him out of the tent.

The following morning, I find next to the same rock as the morning before ~ a rock that helps keep the tent from losing its pristine shape in the wind, there at the foot of my sleeping bag ~ two crickets.

The first cricket, I presume, has not only returned but has brought his girl-friend. Okay, if ye want, ye can stay.

Alas, tent crickets!

One day, after another fine monsoon hits, I lift up a rock inside the tent, on the other side.  Beneath the rock I find a little puddle of rain water ~ and around the puddle ~ three crickets.

They look up at me like, yes, I am the boss, and they have been found lolly-gagging around the drinking fountain. What am I to do?

Well, 'tween them & one or two Daddy Long-Leg spiders, I think this wrecking crew helps keep the tent clean & free of vermin. Sometimes it is a fatal job. When I toss and turn in the sleeping bag, which I do sooner or later every night with or without the moon, casualties occur ~ a shriveled-up Daddy Long-Legs inside the bag, a cricket smashed flat beneath it and another one limping about with one leg now. These sorry and tragic deaths and near-deaths never prevent, though, 2 to 4 crickets and 1 or 2 Daddy Long-Legs from scampering around keeping me safe from other vermin lurking in the forest night. Strangely, there never seems to be more on this wrecking-crew than that.

And now, thanks to this little guy & gal entourage, I am one with the forest...




 Going To Prescott (part 2)

Oak Creek, Arizona