The hot August nights are full of the sound of crickets.  I found one today on the porch, pretty big, but I have seen bigger.  We used to go to Wellfleet in August. I would get a small cottage "The Owl's Nest" and Maria would get an identical one right next to me.  They were really nice, on a quiet road, overlooking Black Creek.  Getting to town was easy.  A quick walk across Cannon Hill (really fun at low tide when the fiddler crabs were running around) and the walk across Uncle Tim's Bridge got you there is minutes.

But one thing, it was August and the crickets were amazing.  Rachael came over one morning, I think she was about ten.  She complained that a cricket had kept her up all night with his racket and now was behind the refrigerator, still at it.  I teased her and said, "well he is now your pet, you have to give him a name."  She looked at me disgusted and said, "I already did.  His name is ass hole".

So that it what I remember these nights when the sound of hundreds of crickets are at it.  I smile and think of a famous cricket that spent time with us on our vacation in Wellfleet.