My husband would have kept going, but the grasshoppers turned me back after we’d been about a mile down the back lane.

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The dog, lunging and leaping through canola on one side and peas on the other, would have kept going forever.

But the grasshoppers right now are crazy. Demented, they fling themselves at you, sticking to clothing or bare arms or hair. A horror show, but real. Hundreds of them squished into the dirt by whatever farm vehicle travelled the road that day.

The chickens chase them around the yard, necks extended and running for all their worth, vacuuming up the plague that is their feast.

It makes me a bit sad, because grasshopper season means summer is almost at its end.

Grasshopper season is quickly followed by Cricket season and by the time we reach Maple Bug season, Fall is well and truly settled in.

I’m never ready.

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