The Sounds of Summer My Heart Does Truly Miss

Everywhere we move to things are different, and when we move to different parts of the country the changes can sometimes cover over the memories of times that came before. But it’s amazing how strong sensory memories can be. In particular, sounds and smells can evoke emotionally charged memories. But the really interesting thing is that even in the absence of the actual stimuli, the actual sensory experiences can be recalled by thinking about them.

For me some sounds are very closely associated with my memories of seasons. For example, there was a train that passed not too far from our house. I remember hearing the sound of the whistle every night which became part of falling asleep. But the sound became most strongly associated with winter because it was transmitted much more clearly when the weather was the coldest.

I was reminded of this today, when I read the article, “Summer Must Be Here — Cricket Has Arrived” by Shadows Pub. In it the author describes how a cricket got into their home last summer and chirped quite loudly throughout the season, to the point their radio show listeners could hear it in the background.

As I read this, I remembered the sound of crickets and katydids in the summer so strongly that it was as if I had been transported back to my childhood home. During the spring when they were just beginning to chirp and it was still cool enough to leave the windows open I could hear them so loudly. They were loud enough that even with the window closed you could hear them after everyone had gone to sleep and all was quiet.

Suddenly, I had a jolt of realization. I have never once heard crickets here in Chicago. Wondering if maybe for some reason there weren’t any hear as I’ve also never seen any, I Googled “crickets Chicago” and found out that there are not just crickets but also grasshoppers, katydids and cicadas. Yet I’ve never heard any of them. Perhaps there’s a general buzzing in the background but that is quite different from the sound of silence and the distinct sounds of crickets and katydids that you hear in the south.

I became very nostalgic, thinking back to those sounds, and how clearly the sounds were a necessary part of the definition of summer for me. There were other things as well, the smell of gardenias from my mother’s bushes in the backyard, the taste of honeysuckle, the smell of newly mown grass and chlorine (we had a pool), and the feel of the cold air condition against my legs.

These and other sensations defined the hot months for me and once I started thinking back to the sounds of crickets, all of the other sensations returned as well. It was as if I could hear and taste and smell and feel all of those things, even the feel of the air conditioner in an apartment that had to be at least 80 degrees even with the fan on.

The memories were bittersweet as on the one hand the thoughts were lovely ones but at the same time I am so far from there now and none of those sensations exist for me here. While I’ve contemplated moving back, having really nothing in Chicago, no family, few friends while working at home, it wasn’t until today that I first thought about it seriously.

While we may not realize it, the sensations that we experience at different times or during specific events can play a large role in our definitions of life around us. Those sensation that repeat every season come to be associated with what occurs then. Summer time was defined for me as a young child, as the months that I didn’t have to go to school, and could read, swim and play all day long and into the evening.

Our neighborhood was safe and every parent watched out for all the kids so there was no fear anything happening. You rushed through dinner, since there would still be at least a couple hours of daylight left before you got called in for the night, which was prime bike riding time.

And all the while the cicadas serenaded us during the afternoons with the crickets and katydids taking over, their voices blended in a chorus, accompanying us through the evening and into the night, until they sang us to sleep.

Now that I have identified the absence of their song here, I feel a bit bereft. I have searched for the sounds of crickets and katydids to find just the right sound, and though I haven’t found it exactly, I’ve come pretty close.

Now that I have identified the absence of their song here, I feel a bit bereft. I have searched for the sounds of crickets and katydids to find just the right sound, and though I haven’t found it exactly, I’ve come pretty close.

I put my little wireless speaker out in the sun room, hoping the distance will help it fool my senses. I can’t say that I am lulled the way I was back then, but I’m slowly getting to the point that the sound is falling into the background like it would have been back in Atlanta.

I hope that perhaps when I go to bed once I start to drift off, my senses will be fully fooled. Perhaps for the first time in longer than I can remember, I will be able to fall asleep believing I am listening to the raspy voices of katydids, accented by the high notes of the crickets right outside my window.

Thanks to Shadows Pub for the inspiration for this story.

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