“I’m reminded when I wake up in the morning, even if the dawn chorus is nothing but the Caw! Caw! of the neighborhood crows, that I must renew my delight and effort in the tangled banquet.”
-Lyanda Lynn Haupt, Crow Planet
Late summer has arrived, and with it, the hum of the crickets. I always wonder who gives the first call, and how that solitary note breaks into a seemingly endless wave of song across the fields. For me, the sound signals autumn’s approach. It is a song of mourning for the passing summer, but also one of joy for the autumn ahead; a feeling of nostalgia for both the end of one season and the excitement of the new.
Crickets’ “songs” are made when a male cricket rubs his forewings together, a process called stridulation. He does this mostly to attract a female or to mark his territory against rival suitors. Almost like a violin, a rigid scraper on the edge of one wing is drawn across a comb-like file on the underside of the other, vibrating the wing membranes to project that familiar chirping sound. For the cricket, its own body becomes the instrument to strum; every organ vibrates with its own soulful melody.
That initial chirp every year reminds me how one voice can ignite a collective response. What starts as a single lonely call reverberates outward until the chorus becomes almost deafening. It is a reminder that arrives right when I need it most. By late August, farm burnout sets in. Carrying water to young trees, keeping up with the relentless harvest, and saving seeds under a blistering sun takes its toll. Yet I keep planting, picturing future summers when I will sit under the cool canopy of a ponderosa pine I planted, listening to the evening choir.
I think about that first cricket calling into the dark. It reminds me of the monumental work of rewilding this planet, and of the brave individuals who were the first to speak up. Those who sparked change with a single first call to action. We can all choose to be that first voice, planting seeds of change in a world that needs them. Likewise, we can all choose to join the chorus, re-echoing the call for wildness when it is needed most.
Because I love their song, I make space for the crickets on the land. I leave wild patches throughout the farm, using mosaic mowing to create a blend of high and low grasses. Log piles, bioswales, and rock-lined terrace beds offer shelter from the heat for these tiny omnivores. With this habitat in place, I wait with bated breath. Every year I catch myself asking where the crickets have gone, and then, when I least expect it, the night erupts with their songs. Wild, passionate, and relentless.
We all have something to learn from that first call.
With Love from The Garden,
Shannon
Farm to Table
Our tasting room menu this month features a tasting menu that highlights ingredients grown in our very own estate garden and sourced directly from local producers.