Cicadas’ enduring love story is similar to ours
Flirting, mating and dying — before disappearing
Imagine preparing for 17 years for a mating ritual that will last only four to six weeks — if you’re not first eaten alive by hungry insects, historic predators or curious humans. And then, soon after that climatic moment of longawaited satisfying sex, you die.
This is the sad but enduring love story of cicadas and their latest offspring, Brood X.
Since 2004, this Great Eastern Brood has been living underground in Mother Nature’s subterranean closet, waiting for their chance to emerge as “nymphs” (no kidding) to mount the nearest vertical object. Whatever it takes to get noticed. And desired.
Plant life across Indiana and Illinois is serving as makeshift singles bars for the horny red-eyed insects, billions of them with the same evolutionary objective — to get lucky. No wonder they make so much damn noise leading up to their anticlimactic
deaths. They go down with a deafening buzz, not a dramatic sigh.
Before serving their primary purpose in a fleeting life, male cicadas flex their drumlike organ called a tymbal to attract females. This is the chorus of no-nonsense flirting that we hear echoing in trees like a familiar old love song. If thousands of amorous male cicadas join together, their chorus can reach more than 100 decibels. In fact, rock legend Bob Dylan wrote the song, “Day of the Locusts,” after experiencing a Brood X emergence in 1970 while receiving an honorary degree from Princeton.
“Oh, the locusts sang off in the distance. Yeah, the locusts sang and they were singing for me,” Dylan sang.
Last month, countless numbers of “lonesome Bobs,” as bug scientists nickname them, showed up too early for the big party that takes place this month. They banged their drum for any available females, but eventually got stood up because the numbers just weren’t there. If females are interested, they twitch their wings. Males instinctively know what to do next.
The cicadas’ existence is all about flirting, mating and dying — similar to ours — before they disappear from our planet. It’s a biological dance that’s been taking place for eons, though many broods have gone extinct. This is why there are so many of them when they reemerge, whether it’s every year or every 17 years. As with us, it’s a numbers game for survival of their species.
Cicadas are harmless to people, animals and plants, experts say. The biggest nuisance is their sheer number, loud noise, and intimidating presence when they show up together. It’s like obnoxious guys who crash a cool party, get drunk and never shut up.
Otherwise, cicadas go about their periodic business until they perform their reproductive business. But don’t snack on them if you have seafood allergies, according to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration: “We have to say it … these insects share a family relation to shrimp and lobsters,” the agency stated in a tweet earlier this week.
While writing this column, a friend messaged me to say, “I love Brood X stuff.” He’s not alone when it comes to our captivation for this periodic insect. Everybody is buzzing about cicadas, once again unearthing our pop culture fascination with these intriguing creatures. This week alone, I’ve received more than a dozen news releases about Brood X and related topics.
“Hi Jerry, are you planning any coverage around the resurgence of these bugs?” asked one public relations representative.
“This large swarm of cicadas will coat everything, including your car if it’s parked outside. These bugs can cause damage to your car’s paint, clog its grill, and splatter on the windshield if you hit one on the road. There are even reports of car accidents caused by cicadas flying into car windows while driving,” she wrote.
A claims manager from SafeAuto, she added, is available to share tips on how to keep you and your vehicle protected from cicadas this summer. I quickly imagined vehicles being pelted with cicadas, like swarming waves of love-struck locusts, as motorists frantically slam into each other. The reality is much more enjoyable.
Bug experts and enthusiasts have been waiting many years to experience this latest brood emergence. For laymen observers, it’s called citizen science, with multiple mobile apps available to track the cicadas’ short but sweet lives. The two most popular apps are iNaturalist and Cicada Safari. Users can take photos, record the cicadas’ love-song chorus, pinpoint their geographic location, and upload all the information for research purposes.
The only survivors of the cicadas’ mating ritual are the eggs. Before dying, a female can lay up to 600 eggs in her lifetime by making tiny slits in tree branches and letting nature run its course. After the eggs hatch, offspring drop to the ground and instinctively burrow underneath, preparing for the next generation and its own six-week dating opportunity.
If we get lucky, we can again experience this brood’s next whirlwind courtship in 2038. Like I said, it’s a sad but enduring love story.