the attack of '08

Like teenagers in a horror movie, I thought everything was just fine until the attack.

People had talked about the cicadas being around this year, after rising from the ground like demon-possessed bad guys in “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” But the most anyone had seen was one, and nobody had yet heard their constant whirring in the trees.

We thought maybe they had passed us up, and we were glad. We were also wrong.

On Monday, a comfortably warm Memorial Day just right for a meal at the park, a couple friends and I sat at an available picnic table to eat. Rain had threatened but did not fall; the air was warm, not muggy or hot. It was a nice time for a pre-“Indiana Jones” salad or bag of potato chips.

To my right, something flew through the air. It looked whitish, like a helicopter seed reflecting sunlight, but was too heavy to be one of those. It flew near me, and without any real concern I brush my hand on my back to make sure whatever it was hadn’t landed on my shirt.

1. It had.

2. It was not a helicopter seed.

This is the moment when my eyes were opened to the reality of the cicada invasion. This is also when I discovered that their bodies feel soft, which I learned as I flung one from my shirt to the grass. It flailed its little legs, and I flailed my little brain cells. It was a cicada, I thought, surprised. I remember that moment now with the revulsion of a seasoned bug-fearer. I touched it. With my fingers.

Now, I notice them everywhere: bodies on the sidewalk, some still crawling with final breaths; living cicadas perched on the bricks of my house or fluttering their translucent wings outside my window; the ceaseless hum from trees in the distance, on hills, across the road from work. One day, it was a single cicada body lifeless on a concrete step; now they’re as common as “Stargate” reruns on the SciFi Channel.

In a story today in the local newspaper, a West Virginia Department of Agriculture person says we’ll be rid of the cicadas in three weeks. That is when my friends and I will be willing to return to the park. In the meantime, a little research has sparked some appreciation for those ugly insects, which isn’t quite the same thing as being glad they’re around.

Things I learned about cicadas from Wikipedia:

1. Cicadas “are unrelated to true locusts, which are a kind of grasshopper.”

2. “Most cicadas go through a life cycle that lasts from two to five years. Some species have much longer life cycles, e.g. the Magicicada goes through a 17- or occasionally 13-year life cycle. These long life cycles are an adaptation to predators. … Both 13 and 17 are prime numbers, so while a cicada with a 15-year life cycle could be preyed upon by a predator with a three- or five-year life cycle, the 13- and 17-year cycles allow them to stop the predators falling into step.”

3. “The insects spend most of the time that they are underground as nymphs at depths ranging from about 30 cm (1 ft) up to 2.5 m (about 8½ ft). The nymphs feed on root juice and have strong front legs for digging.”

Lots of lovely (or make that creepy) pictures accompany the Wikipedia articles, too. Which of course I am really happy about.
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