Don't Bug Me

It's the latter half of September and already signs of the changing seasons surround me in Nebraska.

One of the changes involves the thinning out of the insect population. The midwest has far more flying insects than southern California, as my windshield can attest. Before any given trip to one of the nearby towns, I clean my windshield with the bottle of glass cleaner and the squeegee I keep behind the front seat of the car. When the trip is done and I am back home, the windshield is a bug splattered mess. For a good example of what it is like, I refer you to the opening scenes of "Men In Black".

One of the more interesting insects here is the cicada. Its history is fascinating and its "chirp" or "song" makes it one of the loudest insects in the world. It can be heard more than a hundred yards away. On the right is the magicicada, which has a lifespan of over seventeen years. The cicada is over two inches long and about a half inch wide and at first glance looks like the world's largest housefly. It is harmless, however, and the only thing about it that bothers some people is its "chirp" or "song" at night. During summer when dozens might be in any given yard, the noise level can be spooky.

The male cicada has two empty chambers within its body which vibrate to create an extraordinarily loud mating call. It sounds like a cricket on steroids. While the cricket's chirp has a "forward and backward" sound as that insect rubs his legs together in a back and forth motion, the cicada's is a non-stop, continuing, high pitched warble. According to experts, the sound announces to others that this territory is taken and lets the opposite sex know that the male is available for instant mating (Ah, if only our lives were that simple). The female cicada has no "song" - she is totally silent (No comment). Not long after the mating process, life winds down for the cicada, both male and female. The female lays her eggs in the bark of certain trees while the male slowly begins to die. When the female has laid her eggs, she, too, will rapidly deteriorate in health and die. But it took a long time for both of them to reach that point.

When a cicada larva hatches in a tree, it falls to the earth and burrows six to eight inches into the ground. As it evolves underground, it feeds on roots and other vegetation and otherwise keeps occupied for the next year, thirteen years or seventeen years, depending on what type of cicada it is. When mother nature trips the time switch, the cicada nymph emerges from the ground and climbs up the nearest tree or bush. Soon the adult cicada emerges from the shell of the nymph. The male immediately starts chirping and looking for a mate.

There are three breeds of cicada: The annual, or "dog-day" cicada, the thirteen year cyclic cicada and the seventeen year cyclic cicada.

Seventeen years. Think about it - That's longer than most dogs and cats live.

The cicadas, however, have pretty well disappeared by now. At night I can hear one across the street, but they are few and far between at this time of September.

Erroneously, many people call the cicada a locust, but a locust is another insect altogether and is, in fact, a type of grasshopper. That's a locust on the right. I guess the best way to describe it is to say that when we see a grasshopper here and there, that's exactly what it is - a grasshopper. When the occasional infestational swarm of grasshoppers emerges by the millions and devastates every growing plant the swarm encounters, those bugs are now locusts. That's an over simplification, but it works for me.


I can hear the Alma High School marching band parading around the town right now. When a home game is upcoming, the band lets us all know that it's time to turn out and root for the home team. Currently the Alma Cardinals are 1-2 and hope to even their record this week. I'll let you know how it goes.