I am ashamed to say that I find even minor mistakes in books awfully irritating. Like I was reading an otherwise entertaining novel yesterday and there were crickets chirping in the early spring.
Yeah, yeah, way beyond minor I know, but when you live by the seasons and are listening to three or four billion of them chirping around your yard.....and it sure as heck ain't spring....you begin to suspect that the author lives in town and observes the seasons through a closed window.
Fin loves crickets. He thinks they taste like chicken, only grittier.
There are myriad other insects as well.
Some of them are even pretty.
Very soon the box elder bugs and lady bugs will begin to filter through the walls like so many inopportune ghosts and I will wish, as every fall and winter, that there were out-sects!