Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Cicada song



When you listen to the sound in this short little video that I recorded in my front yard, I want you to realize that the steady thrum in the background is the sound of millions of cicadas.  We live smack in the middle of the seventeen-year cicada Brood II emergence.  It's quite an event!  The eerie, echoing song is enough to drive some people nuts (one of my friends noted that he feels like his morning coffee is enjoyed to the soundtrack to a 1960's sci-fi movie).



Others are creeped out by how many, many cicadas have emerged.  It is impossible to overstate their everywhere-ness.  We sweep them off the porch every morning; we brush them out of our hair before we get into the car; the dogs either chase them or bark at them or stop with a jolt every time one buzzes by an inquisitive nose.  In this part of the country one can find on-line guides to planning a wedding around the cicada emergence.  Tip for the cicada-savvy:  skip the gazebo wedding if you plan to marry this summer.



I am fascinated more than grossed out.  I find their life cycle oddly compelling and even (am I weird?) endearing.  The males will serenade their lady friends throughout May and June, and then we will say good-bye to them for another seventeen years.  So -- don't be hating on the homely cicadas!  Their visits are so infrequent and so brief, and all they're looking for is a little romance!

6 comments:

  1. Your compassion for these creatures is compelling. I just think they look prehistorically ugly. We don't get them in such abundance here in Western PA, but I grew up in Baltimore, where we experienced them in full force. But as a kid I was fascinated by the exoskeleton shells that they left behind.

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    1. The picture of our littlest fabulous neighbor sorting the exoskeletons doesn't show his older brother, who was trying so hard not to crunch any cicadas or exoskeletons under his feet that he was not just standing on his tiptoes -- he was standing on one and only one big toe.

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  2. Where the heck are you?! We've seen nary a one (thanks be to God).

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    1. We are in Lake Ridge -- Prince William County. I will share . . . .

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    2. That's okay, keep them. I've already got travel plans for spring of 2021. That's the date of our next big invasion.

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  3. We have a similar type plague with locusts from time to time. Nature sure can be strange!

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