I like nature. I like the sounds of nature. I like that I can step onto my deck and -- in those rare minutes where my neighbor across the valley isn't running some piece of machinery -- hear nothing but birds, bugs, and the raspy voices of tree frogs.
But this morning, I'm actually walking around the house were earphones and blasting Who albums. Not because I'm tired of mockingbird song or blue jay squawks, but because behind everything there is this incessant, unstoppable ringing call. It sometimes drops to a reedy, metallic susurration, but then it rises again to a cutting wince-inducing sharpness.
Like the next act in a biblical spring that has battered Missouri with tornadoes and floods, now it's the return of the 13-year Periodical Cicada (Magicicada neotredecim).
Of course, it's not only Missouri that's getting this visitation. This is Brood XIX, one of 15 recognized recurrent cicada broods. Also known as "The Great Southern Brood," this one spills across (at least) 15 states. This is the largest brood in terms of the land area covered, and possibly the largest in terms of sheer number of insects. You can find more info at Magicicada Central.
For those unfamiliar with these creatures, Periodical Cicadas are unique to the eastern part of the United States. Every 13 years (or 17, in the case of the three 17 year species) they emerge as pale nymphs from little holes in the earth. They usually wait until evening to emerge, and as night wears on they crawl out, trundle through the grass, and look for a place where they can indulge their programming to climb up, up, up. Eventually, they end up dangling from a leaf, or clinging to a twig, or clutching tree bark or even gripping the side of a building, often 5-10' above the ground.
Abandoned Cicada exoskeleton
From the shell of the nymph, a milky adult Cicada emerges. In the image below, you can see an adult pulling free of the cracking exoskeleton surrounded by the abandoned shells of several of its brood-mates.
Adult Cicada molting
For the next day or two, the newly emerged adult gathers its strength as its new exoskeleton hardens and darkens. Eventually, it flies off to eat (contrary to popular belief, adult Cicadas do eat), mate, and make that unending racket. Of course, I can't blame the females. As in most species, it's just the males that make all the noise.
Adult Cicadas
After mating, the females will produce as many as 600 eggs apiece. These will hatch into tiny nymphs that burrow underground and find a little rootlet to succor them in darkness for the next 13 (or 17) years. Their total lifespan from the point where they dig themselves out, till the time they finish mating and drop to the ground dead, is maybe a week.
It may not seem like the most exciting life, but it certainly appears to be a successful strategy for the Cicada. It also creates a bounty for birds, reptiles, other insects, and anything else with an appetite for masses of big ungainly greenish bugs. Other than a few trees that are either damaged by the fluid-sucking mouthparts of the adults, or heavily burdened with the dangling "shells," they don't really cause any damage. That is, if you don't count my sanity. That sound comes right through walls and through supposedly sound proof windows. It comes through my skull, races down to some deep part of my brain, and jabs in a little cicady claw. Interesting as they are, I will not miss it when they shut up.
Bonus Picture
As I was practicing with the camera's macro lens (which I think I've finally learned to work), a spot of shimmering metallic green came swooping down to join me on the rotting planks of the shaky walkway I constructed out of the parts of a destroyed deck.
Six Spot Tiger Beetle
I believe this is a Six-Spotted Tiger Beetle (Cicindela sexguttata). The dead simple identifier for this little bug -- which is very fast, moving more like a fly than a beetle -- is that set of fierce looking white mandibles. These beetles love to hang around paths and sidewalks where they use their speed and those gleaming "fangs" to hunt other insects. Like the cicadas, these guys also start as burrowing larva, but they'll spend the bulk of their lives zipping around in the sunlight.
Personally, I like the beetle's strategy better. Plus, they seem to be blessedly silent.