Every Seventeen Years

We saw them in 1981 and again in 1998. Now the seventeen-year cicada, more formally called Magicicada cassini., is hatching again, right on schedule.*

Their gossamer wings are works of art. In 1981 the gravel roads were littered with their wings. I gathered a cigar boxful of the wings thinking I would use them in a collage. They are still intact and stored in the basement along with all the other art supplies I haven’t used.

Male cicadas make a lot of noise in their courtship of females. The males sometime sing as a chorus, which makes quite a din. In 1981 our neighbor, a townie transplanted to the country, couldn’t bear the noise and tried to eliminate the cicadas by firing his shotgun at the trees. He soon realized that he couldn’t control nature, and moved back to town.

The cicada spends most of its life deep in the soil, feasting on roots. Cultivating the garden we sometimes find their larva, whitish grey grubs, and feed them to the chickens, who fight over the delicious treats.

I don’t blame these insects for making a lot of noise. We have to remember that they spend more than sixteen years living underground. Who wouldn’t be shouting joyfully when finally emerging into the light of day?

*For some reason I don’t comprehend, the seventeen-year cicada is known as “Brood IV,” nicknamed “The Kansas Brood.” For an excellent article about cicadas, including time-lapse photographs of a cicada emerging from its shell, visit Wikipedia’s “Periodic cicadas” page.

Copyright 2015 by Shirley Domer