As with most insects, bush crickets are confused with other things. In parts of the USA, they’re known as katydids. Cicadas, completely unrelated and morphologically-different insects are also mistakenly called katydids. Apparently this mistake comes from the fact that both species are insects (apparently, they all look alike) and they make extensive use of rasping, clicking sounds. According to some accounts, their common name, “katydid” is derived from the clicking, stridulations these creatures are known for: to human ears tuned in a particular way, it sounds as if they’re continuously repeating the phrases, “Katy did” and “Katy didn’t.” I find this strange since bush crickets (katydids) sound more like castanets, or like the electrical-ignition assemblies of modern stoves. Bush crickets are not a foreign presence in Chicago; they are, however, commonly heard and rarely seen. Even among those who can tell the difference between an elephant and an insect, they’re not entirely easy to spot. Some of this is due to the perfect camouflage of adult bush crickets. They exactingly resemble leaves, in both color and the arrangement of leaf-veins on their wings. Not only do they resemble leaves. It takes some time, as evidenced by bush cricket nymphs, to master the leaf camouflage thing. They get the color right away. The shape and the leaf veins (and even spots of dead-leaf damage) come later. I spotted this particular katydid nymph while walking to visit Corey. I took this photograph (and one other) before the model in question jumped, hitched a ride of my arm for about two human steps, eastward, and then went off in whatever other direction the little person needed to go. Bush crickets are largely harmless, though some species are known to deliver a rather intimidating bite. Midwestern American bush crickets don’t bite, however, and unlike their grasshopper/locust cousins, they’re not known to swarm when populations cross a particular environmental tipping point. They seem to share more in common with their New Zealand cousins, the weta, in that there’s really a whole lot we don’t know about them, but we tend to like them when we see them, even when we call them something else. Bush crickets are not as prolific as their grasshopper cousins with shorter antennae, and though they’re known to eat the things that humans keep in their gardens and farms, grasshoppers (and even cicadas) take the blame. Usually when there are no grasshoppers in the area, and always despite the fact that adult cicadas don’t eat. I suspect that since many humans can’t really tell the difference between bush crickets and Volkswagens, it’s really easy for them to miss the leaf shaped thing (with legs and a head) actively munching on something delicious and, invariably, ornamental. I learned—a long, long, long, long time ago, that if it has a head and legs, and it moves on its own, it’s not a leaf. I’m always amazed at the number of Chicagoans who don’t know that. (It always makes me wonder what version of Chicago they're living in, and how nauseatingly topsy-turvy it must be.) Like cicadas, these little noise makers are immensely interesting, and strangely Zen-like in their slow walking motions. Though they fly quickly, they move with amazing precision when limited to the use of their legs. They’re also surprisingly heavy. Who knew that something this lanky and narrow could actually weigh what it does, or that young katydids were so willing to hitchhike. As I write this, I can hear a dozen of them just outside, and I’m sure that this nymph (now an adult) just might be one of them. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great weekend.