Cricket song sets these pests apart
Crickets. They are everywhere. Seasonal visitors, arriving unexpectedly in January, still jumping around and serenading us in late March. I cannot recall them in my youth, or even as recently as 15 years ago. They didn’t use to be part of the summer experience yet they are now. Who are they, where do they come from and what do they want? More importantly, what do they mean?
No doubt there is a scientific explanation. Weather patterns are relevant. The proliferation of our little black friends could be thought tangible evidence of global warming. One hot summer does not a swarm make. A succession of hot summers . . . well, have we reached biblical proportions yet? The wrath of Jehovah is visited upon the land, both literal and metaphoric punishment for our environmental excesses.
The farmers are not happy. It’s an occupational hazard, you understand, but the specifics in this case have relevance to the wider argument. The black field cricket has been officially determined a pest. A threat to pasture. They are, apparently, herbivorous connoisseurs. They could eat weeds but they prefer grass. If they eat too much grass the poor old cows are going to miss out. Cricket population density that exceeds 10 per cubic metre is thought ‘‘economically damaging’’. Anecdotally, judging by the number that have taken up residence in the Hamilton CBD, I would say that numbers are way beyond those levels. There are so many crickets down on the farm that they’ve started shifting to the cities, looking for higher pay and better working conditions.
Is it all Jacinda’s fault? A little less posing for Vogue or telling off Putin or shopping for baby clothes would be appreciated. There’s a crisis in our midst, and the prime minster is seemingly indifferent. Mind you, to be fair, the problem did start under honest John. Successive administrations have failed us.
There’s no excuse for inaction now. Let’s all pull together before things get serious. A concerted effort to kill something is always good for the moral fibre of the nation. Would a ‘‘war on crickets’’ campaign be acceptable to the vegan wing of the Green Party? Perhaps we could set up cricket killing boot camps for the unemployed or those suffering from tobacco withdrawal symptoms. Better the mass slaughter of defenceless insects than the holding up of dairies, though ironically enough, devout Hindu owners of such establishments might see things differently.
There’s always the chance that today’s crickets were yesterday’s taxpayers, given their musical aptitude possibly reincarnations of old rock stars whose karmic sins determined a six-legged demotion. Crush a tubby cricket and you could be killing Prince Tui Teka.
There is a distinction to be made between the cricket and locust. Those of us less given to biology or who find wisdom in the scriptures might conflate the two, but the cricket is associated with the conscience and the locust is known collectively as a ‘‘plague’’. Consider the differing cinematic representations. It is Jiminy Cricket who advises Pinocchio on how to become a ‘‘real boy’’. It is a pet cricket who lives for years as companion to the ousted heredity leader of China in The Last Emperor. The locust, by contrast, eats everything in The Ten Commandments and in Days of Heaven, that beautiful early masterpiece from Terence Malick.
Personally, I am well inclined toward the cricket. The seasonal nature of the infestation distinguishes it from that of the cockroach. They might collide with you accidentally or surprise you in the middle of the night but they don’t make a habit of it or do it deliberately. A different class of citizen from your average fly, that’s for sure.
There’s also their singing to consider. The one who has taken up residence in the plug hole of my bathroom is not shy when it comes to showing off his talent. He might pause momentarily when I enter the room but soon resumes the tune. It’s a terribly soothing noise when one is about one’s toiletries. I cannot understand how the term ‘‘crickets’’ has become a synonym for silence. On the contrary, the decibel level is impressive. You couldn’t buy that kind of atmosphere.
I have only one real concern. Some years ago my wife had an intimate encounter with a cricket. Given they’ve got a much better voice, can leap most things in a single bound and only hang around for a third of the year, I’m not sure I can compete.