I was not at home last night; in fact, home is no longer home – we’ve sold our house in suburbia and are waiting to move into our new house in the city. In the meantime, we are staying in an Airbnb, just a mile from our new home.
When you are staying in a strange home with unfamiliar surroundings, it can be challenging to get comfortable. Things that used to come automatically now require some thought. Where is the can opener? How do you turn on the TV? How to open that window.
Last night, as I was feeling particularly unsettled, I sat on the front porch. And there it was: the sound of cicadas, a sound that can make me feel right at home. Many people find the loud whirring of those bugs to be pretty annoying, and I’ll admit it can be. But it is familiar. It evokes memories of summer nights in Wisconsin. Summer nights in St. Paul. Cicadas remind me of big trees and the shade they give on hot summer days. They remind me of sleeping with the windows wide open.
Those cicadas reminded me why my husband and I are once again putting ourselves through this dreadful, draining, demoralizing process of moving. Believe me, we do need reminding. The sound of cicadas helps me remember what I need to feel comfortable in my home. I need to be where there are big trees, sidewalks filled with kids on bikes, and a place to walk. This was and will be my life in the city.
Last night I fell asleep to the sweet, slightly jarring, always persistent sound of the cicadas, and it brought me home.
It gave me great JOY.