The soothing cycle of the cicadas
There’s something calming about cycles, isn’t there? The cycle of life, the revolution of the sun, the herald of a new season. We rely on cycles for a sense of normalcy and certainty in a world that’s become increasingly alien to us. We tell ourselves that “at least the spring is coming,” or
“we can always count on those hot days of summer.” We breathe. We relax a bit, knowing there is a coming denouement to our fears.
Lately, we’ve found ourselves in a new kind of cycle, the quarantine routine. It may look different for everyone. Some are still reporting to an office each day in a mask, and some took refuge in a home office 12 long months ago. Regardless, we found ourselves abandoning our old cycles for this new one. We left our 9 to 5 office workday routine in favor of the safer, more controlled habit of working from home. We’ve stopped going to the grocery store daily to get ingredients for that night’s dinner. Instead, we are making large bulk orders from big box stores delivered in neat packaging to our doorsteps. In lieu of meeting friends for drinks on Thursdays, we’ve worn a comfortable indent into our office chair as we gather virtually. These new routines have morphed into our new cycles for which we’ve surrendered uncomfortably.
One cycle that will come full circle this year is that of the 17-year cicada. Often mistaken as locusts, the Magicicada, or
Periodical Cicada is a baby-carrot-sized, surprisingly rotund insect with red beady eyes and wings that crackle to the touch. This year’s brood is called the Great Eastern Brood, or Brood X and will populate 15 eastern states’ forests. They spend their lives underground, feeding on the roots of deciduous trees in the Eastern U.S. When they reach maturity, they surface, simultaneously, in hoards of billions that fill the air with a thunderous buzz. They fly perilously in every direction, seemingly clueless and blind to their destination, often flying into cars, faces or even your freshly washed and curled hair. They become an undeniable presence the moment you step outside, the thunder of their synchronous buzz pulsing disturbingly, omnipresent. One cannot live in the forested areas of the Eastern U.S. without remembering the summers of the 17-year cicada on a visceral level.
I’ve had the privilege of living through three cicada summers. My first memory includes peeling the crackly exoskeleton of a cicada from the bark of my grandmother’s large oak tree that grew in her backyard. Seventeen years after that, I graduated from college, experiencing life without a script for the first time and recovering from my first heartbreak on my parents’ screen porch when I remember the thunderous roar of the cicadas coming from the woods behind the house. That summer, I threw a graduation party where the theme was “Show Your Cicadas!” We wore tank tops with cleverly placed pictures of cicadas pasted strategically to the chest area.
The cicadas have served as somewhat of a comforting hallmark in my life. Knowing they are buried deep beneath the surface waiting to return and the good memories they bring always reminds me of freedom, adventure and warm, humid summer nights. They’ve marked important events to many people, including Bob Dylan, whose song “Day of the Locusts” was written to honor the Brood X appearance at his graduation from Princeton in 1970. This year, amid this tragic pandemic, vicious politics and general anxiety over the future, the return of these crunchy, clumsy bugs reminds us of reliable, steadfast cycles that can restore a sense of predictability, comfort and peace.
When cicadas filled the skies 17 years ago, my biggest concern was landing a summer job. Seventeen years before that, it was whether I could build a fort using honeysuckle bushes. Today our problems are more solemn, weighed down with life or death consequences. Our realities are unrecognizable. We can count on one thing, however, and that is the undaunted cycle of the cicada. When nothing is predictable and old routines are shaky beneath our feet, the cicada comes as a reminder that there are life elements that will continue, COVID or no COVID, and that’s something to celebrate.