Cicada-box

The fact that I cling to so much of my stuff is because it's what's left of 'home', it's what's left of who I was. Many, but not all, of these mementos are of my Papa, carefully wrapped, boxed and transported on a pallet across the ocean. The process of eliminating what to bring is heartbreaking, to say the least. I was fortunate to have a sister who understood the importance of not having to throw away dear things just because other things were slightly more dear ... and often smaller and easier to pack.
I contained myself with, and in, 40 boxes, and a few other miscellaneous things.*

One of the treasures that made it is a nest box my dad put together. It has been hanging proudly but empty on the tree since I got here, but I haven't given up hope just yet.
Earlier this week I noticed a bug hanging from the bird box. It was hanging there as I watered the veggies, cared for the butterfly-bushes, stalked hummingbirds. Surely it had to move at one point? Because it was SO big, this wuss was not getting too close to it.
Day two it was still there.
"Oh, that's just weird", I thought. "Why would it sit there for days?"
It was still very big, but I dared to get a bit closer anyway. Did it move?
Day three I decided to be bold.
Armed with the hose and making lots of noise I moved in.
Hmmm.
It appears to be dead?
Or ... uhm ... it has left the building?

Then I encountered the squirrel.
Then I encountered the sandhill cranes.
So that made today exo-skeleton day!
I didn't know it was a cicada before I asked around, and I had no idea cicadas molt. Then again, my knowledge of cicadas stops at the fact they make noise.

Somehow I think my nature-loving dad appreciates the good use of his handy-work :)

Tomorrow is my 200th. I better start preparations ;)