Cicadas winding down, they say

We've had loads of cicadas in our area for about three weeks. The novelty wears off quickly, even if it is only every 17 years they come along. The last cycle, in 1990, I was living in Chicago's north side, near Addison and Western, where we hardly saw a cicada. The cyle before that, I was 14-years old and in the peak of my short golfing career. We played golf courses of the Cook County Forest Preserves, particularly Chick Evans. I've been driving past that course regularly the past few weeks on visits to Dad in the Alden, remembering those golf outings. A beautiful public course that we kids played for a very low rate, and there were lots of cicadas. As you walk through tree-lined streets below the din of cicadas, it's hard not to measure your life in these 17-year cycles. Perhaps next time around I'll be retired with a revived golf career.

I don't suppose relatives in other parts of the country are familiar with cicadas. Don't get caught up in my nostalgia. They are noisy and stinky. Chris said that they're so loud they hurt her ears. My hearing isn't nearly so good. Their song comes in waves. We took a crack at making a recording from our front yard, but I can't say it captures their music. For fun, Clare used GarageBand software to throw in a back beat.