Year of the Cicada

I chose to start this blog at a momentous time for Mother Nature: the year of the cicada.  It seems fitting to begin my foray into writing about nature during one of its special events: the coming of those winged Rip Van Winkles, who have been asleep nearly as long as their human counterpart-seventeen years. Only three years shy of Rip's famous 20-year nap!  And like the famous Mr. Van Winkle of folklore, the bloody-eyed locusts have awakened in New York's Catskill Mountains near my home, alerting residents of their presence with an apocalyptic drone impressive enough to inspire doomsday tales around the campfire.

But, as most of us have learned, these are not the locusts of Biblical proportion, who blighted the land and ruined those ancient lives.  These modern creatures are, well, harmless.  Okay, they are an eyesore, with their bulbous crimson eyes and eerily transparent wings. And I am not relishing plucking those creepy shells they emerge from off the flowers and trees in my garden, but I'm not seeing any damage to my foliage since their presence became so audibly apparent this past week.  I have heard tales of nibbling on the wood and leaves of trees so I questioned an expert about this at my local nursery. He recommended a dusting of clay to any plant you may find vulnerable to the critters.  It coats the plants and makes it harder to dig into.

I say cut these little buggers a break; they're really only visiting, making their way up through layers of rock and soil to enjoy their time in the sun.  The males are doing what all males of all species do: just trying to find a friendly female to  have a little fun with during their oh-so-brief time above ground.  They play their mating song via two vibrating plates on their abdomens.  Sure it's loud and shrill, but it's also their swan song, a fleeting reminder to us all that life is short and, at times, intensely sweet.  It may hit us with a nails-on-chalkboard intensity that resonates with discord in our heads but, hey, the noisy males die by the beginning of July and you won't have to hear the sound again for seventeen years!  Sit back and enjoy nature's music.