We are well into the third week of the cicadan invasion and they’re still coming out of the ground albeit at a greatly reduced rate. The week-end of 5/16 was probably high tide for these noisy visitors but there were still significant numbers emerging from the soil, rehearsing a few pick-up lines and buzzing off to the great arboreal disco lounge. There are still a smattering of stragglers every morning but the onslaught has seen better days.
The racket in the leafy confines of Studio 54 is still going strong, however. We don’t even have to go outside to hear them. They are quite audible inside The Parsonage even with the doors closed and the windows shut tight. Meanwhile, their life of no-stop boogieing is really starting to take its toll and the back patio is littered with the mortal remains of ex-cicadas dressed in pastel leisure suits, gold chains and conspicuous
chest thorax hair.
North of Connecticut, Brood II is waiting just off stage and those who emerge around June 6th will no doubt paint invasion stripes on their wings and jitterbug to classic Glen Miller tunes. Hopefully, the ruckus will have died down around here by then.
. . . or the epicentre, or Swarmageddon or Omaha beech or whatever you wish to call it. Brood II of the 17-year cicadas are in da house!
Last week-end, I noticed that a fair number of these insects had emerged and were hanging around on the forsythia bushes on the south side of the house. By late afternoon, most of the newly-emerged had ambled off somewhere. There were a few stragglers on Sunday but it appeared that The Parsonage had done its bit in this annual phenomenon.
Boy, was I wrong! More came to the surface during the week but they were simply an advance party. The second wave to hit the beeches were beyond belief as far as numbers go. On Saturday & Sunday, they literally poured out of the ground and climbed on to every tree and leafy branch available. Some parked themselves on the discarded shells of the those that preceded them before climbing out of their own nymphal skin. The ground is littered with these casings and I think fondly back to my childhood where a bonanza like this would mean that every red-blooded boy – regardless of race, creed or colour – would have ample opportunity to chase girls with these things and that, my friends, is what makes America great!
I’ve been able to observe just about every stage of this process – from the point where they come above ground, to the point where they buzz off and head a block or so south of here. It’s an all day happy hour where everyone is asking everyone else the Cicadian equivalent of “Hey baby, what’s your sign?” There have been casualties, though. Some get part way out of their skins and expire. Adolescence is no picnic for these guys. Then there are some who make it to the outside only to buy the farm before they ever take flight. And then, there are the members of the advance party who have had their day in the sun, asked their partners if it was good for them too and then crawled off to die. There’s an ample supply of discarded wings and other body parts showing up now. Keep in mind that they don’t eat at all during their adult life. In another two weeks or so, it will be all over. Eggs will have been deposited in tree branches and all that will remain are some satisfied birds.
About that last bit, I’ve wondered if there have been any studies to see if there is an up-tick in the survival rate of the avian population during emergences. One would think that there could be a dissertation – or at least a thesis – somewhere in all that.
What I am sure of is that I didn’t notice any of this 17 years ago. There was little or no racket in the neighbourhood and the only reason I found out is that I noticed all the dead limbs along I-81. Will they be back in the ‘hood in 17 years? Will I even be here to watch? It seems that at least some fly off to new territory to deposit their eggs. Does this mean that the brood will shift their location after a few cycles? Another master’s thesis or doctoral dissertation to be sure!
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