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The Grasshopper



The fall is quickly approaching. My mind drifts back to my grade school. Soon kids will be carrying back packs and cell phones, dressed in pajamas and slippers. We didn't have backpacks. We had Pencil cases. Our books -Jack, Jane and spot- were cradled in our arms and our lunch came in a brown paper bag. However, some kids had designer cartoon or superhero lunchboxes. I seem to recall I had one. Mine was red and back checkered. My attire most likely would have been a plaid shirt, tan corduroy pants and sneakers. But there's something else I am remembering today. Grasshoppers.

Saint Jules is closed now and will probably be torn down. And the addition my grandfather built will be rubble. But I'm thinking about the path and the high grass that grew beside it. It went from Westminster to Norman Road and it was a breading ground for grasshoppers.

Hop to it

It takes skill to catch a grasshopper: Some hopped and some flew. You couldn't call yourself a grasshopper hunter if you used a butterfly net; that was cheating. No, you had to catch them with bare hands. Once you caught them you had to put them into something. We didn't have fancy bug collectors with windows. We poked holes in to a margarine container and squinted. Some of the girls in the neighborhood spent their time netting butterflies. Other kids were collecting caterpillars. But that wasn't sport. We had to hide in the reeds and pounce, hands cupped. Inside the tub the little green guy went. After banging his head a while, he laid in a bed of grass until the dizziness passed looking up at a eyeball looking down on him. Our tiny friend was transported to our backyard and after a short while let go. 

The hitchhiker

Fast forward to last year. We are driving from Sault Saint Marie Ontario through Michigan to get back home. Or at least to the border crossings in Detroit. We picked up a hitchhiker along the way. He jumped on in Canada and like us, I guess he was trying to get through the border. I don't know if he had family in Michigan, but we are happy to help him along. I always get nervous at border crossings; some agents can be power tripping morons. But I was prepared and had my passport out. The bug didn't and he didn't seem to care. Luckily, it was an easy crossing, and I started down the road. Me my partner and the illegal alien hanging on for dear life on the windshield. We were flying down south seventy-five doing sixty-five and that grasshopper kept on hanging on. Passing cars and transports just hanging on. I could see he was alternating his stance. Resting a leg here and there. I must admit it was amazing entertainment.

 At rest area just outside Cheboygan, MI we needed a little pee break and when we got back to the car our little cling-on friend had hoped away. I wonder if he found a way back or if ice got him. I'd hate to see the poor guy a prisoner in a margarine tub holding cell.

~~~~

My pics. Hiding in the grass. My backyard.
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