Camel crickets keep falling into my bathtub during the coldest part of winter. Once there, they hop and hop, but they can’t scale the steep, slippery walls that tower above them.
Camel crickets compensate for being both deaf and dumb by having unusually long and sensitive antennae. But the antennae cannot help them escape the tub.Now for the most part, camel crickets live in basements. They like the damp darkness of caves.
The crickets I encounter breed in the crawl space under my house, and find their way upstairs in the fall and winter seeking warmth.
They creep into the bathroom at night, mount the wooden tub-surround, and attracted by the smooth, white tub, they recklessly leap in and can't get out.
What are they thinking?
Like the rest of us, they must have secret passions. They have evolved to succeed in a gloomy habitat, a habitat in which they are safe and nimble. Why do they rashly throw their advantage away to explore the treacherous bathtub in which they are helpless? Is my tub the great and terrible temptation of camel crickets?
Whatever their weakness, I feel a certain comradeship with them. They should know better, but they can’t help themselves.
Their visitations confirm something I know about myself. I share some weakness with them, some deficiency of discretion, and neither they nor I know how to fix the flaw.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with more notes on nature and the seasons. In the meantime, we are under the power of the camel cricket moon. Be careful. Don't do anything stupid.
