We don’t live on a farm, but our barn doors are open.  Here in northern NH, we are on the cusp of the first frost.  The zippy little hummingbirds have stocked up on the juice they need to fly to South America, with the faith that they will return here after winter’s end.  Despite some terrible storms and measurable rainfall last week, our current weather is perfectly autumn– sunny, bright days and chilly nights.  The soccer pitch looks like a yellow field, our own version of New England tumbleweeds.

But the doors are open to let the fresh air inside– and also, apparently, a cricket.  He is spending time beneath our fish tanks, and maybe later I’ll be able to “fish” him out from beneath with some kind of go go gadget arm.  When I woke up to his chirping around 2 am, I first believed he was on the front porch because our bedroom window was also open.  But when I walked to the bathroom, his song grew louder– probably due to the house being dark and quiet.  I returned to bed after promising I would relocate him in the morning.  Akin to a fire alarm battery which needs replacing, his cricketing was steady, high pitched, and difficult to ignore.  

But when my actual alarm went off, I showered and dressed, forgetting about having to lay on the floor to find him beneath the fish tanks.  I also could predict what the reactions would be from both our teenagers if I suggested they find my cricket prior to leaving for school this morning.  Their language would be colorful indeed, but I’m sure even without that, this cricket was questioning his choices that led him into our kitchen– a table full of laundry, endless shoes on the floor, and evidence of finished and unfinished school work spread throughout the land.   

Now into our third week of school and fourth with soccer, it’s as if Summer Heather never existed.  But I’m trying to hold on to the best bits and pieces of her– the parts that said yes every time the kids asked to go to the river, the one who rode her bike all over, relished working in the yard, meal planned and grocery shopped accordingly.  Mr. Cricket would have loved Summer Heather’s house, and he could have come and gone more easily with all the doors open, with Emerson lying in the middle of the doorway so it was easier to keep an eye on the comings and goings of his family or the small groups of teenagers eating watermelon or meeting up to jump off a train trestle into the river below.   

However, today, like many in our world, there is a heaviness in my heart, a sadness for my Aunt Rosie, who lost her husband this past week– for the family of Charlie Kirk, a name I did not know yesterday, and other adults  shot down for their political views– but also for the children who continue to be traumatized, damaged, and sometimes killed by senseless gun violence, lack of mental health resources, and a surplus of emotional negligence.  We remind ourselves and our students to pay attention to one another– to check in on our actual neighbors– to pay attention to the signs of distress or fatigue from living.  Sure, being an American means our freedoms matter– but, hell, being a human means our humanity matters even more, especially now.  

So, today after school, instead of worrying about a world I cannot control or spending too much time on the news or social media, I found my cricket beneath the fish tanks, in a remarkable nest of dog hair and dust bunnies.  I released him to the front fence, where I found this little bee on a rosy sedum shrub.  I found thirty minutes to work with the son of old snowboarding friends from Loon.  After many sessions of working together since July, he is proud of his essay for nursing school, and I’m proud of him.  I also found Richard in the checkout line at the Plymouth Market Basket.  His name tag told me he had been an employee for four years, but he apologized for taking a little longer than some of the younger folks.  I learned he was heading to his 48th high school reunion next Wednesday with 20 other members of his class– and Richard is excited!  I found Shai, the possible front end manager, who was keeping her eye on the various lines while also bagging my groceries and helping Richard.  Although likely only in her 20s, the patience and kindness and calm demeanor she used with Richard was that of a seasoned leader.  She deserves a raise.  Richard deserves a raise too.  Arm yourself with patience, kindness, and a calm demeanor, and you may even find hope again, in a very complex world.  

Find your neighbor.  Spend some time out of doors with a friend and off your devices.  NH kids are unplugged now by law all day at school and one sophomore wrote: “This year students seem to be happier, and, while they don’t always say it, are thankful for some hours without their phones.”   Hug your kids tighter, even when they are being jerks– as I tell my friends– it’s part of their adolescent development and totally normal, albeit obnoxious.  Find the elusive indoor autumn cricket and just a little moment of quiet peace will follow.