I am pissed off at them for pulling out the stump of the trumpet vine, though. First they trimmed it back too far, and now they've dug up its remnants. This is a hazard of hiring the buffoons who inhabit backwaters such as this. Most of them are not too quick on the uptake, so they invariably fail with at least some of the instructions. The trumpet vine was one of my favorite plants. Now I'm going to have to replace it.
Our current heat wave has been accompanied by higher than normal humidity for the time of year or this location. The mountain air tends to be pretty dry in the summer. I could tolerate this much humidity if the ocean were nearby, but here it's enervating.
The cicada population sounds like it has doubled in the last couple of days. The damp, sweltering air is vibrating with their racket. Unless I turn on the air conditioning I must have the windows open all night, and with the windows open the cicada chorus assaults my ears endlessly. I'll be exhausted before the night is over, and many such nights lie ahead until autumn, mercifully, mercilessly slaughters the noisy bugs.
As long as I'm doomed to hear the cicadas, I might as well go outside and hear them where I can be slightly cooler. Maybe I'll sit in the back yard and mourn my lost trumpet vine.