As frightened as I am of bugs, I do admire cicadas (from a distance). As a species, they’ve got a compelling story. Their 13- (or 17-) year plan conceivably makes for an intense life, and I smiled one night when I was awoken by one of their symphonies being conducted in my Manhattan garden (which … Continue reading There’s a Grasshopper in My Pants: What Not to Do in Billings, Montana

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