The Plague

The first time I had ever heard of the 17 year cicadas was back in 1982. One of my co-workers was talking about how bad they were at his house and how his 20-something year old sister was refusing to leave the house. I had met his sister previously and just concluded that she had some mental or emotional issues if they were bothering her that much. I'm sort of changing my tune now.

Skip ahead to 1999. We were under siege that May/June. My memories of that time were my two younger kids collecting the shells in their sandbox buckets and my husband raking up the dead ones in our driveway into black garbage bags. Yes, there were that many. Our oldest, who was in 3rd grade, was afraid to get off the bus. She would run home from the bus stop like she was being chased by wolves. This may be why she's been concerned over the past year, when we realized 17 years was up again.

We were hoping that since we now live in a 'newer' development, the cicadas wouldn't be that bad. We were wrong. They have been horrible. Going for a walk in the neighborhood means bobbing and weaving more than actual walking. These are not the most proficient flying insects. A bike ride is worse, unless you enjoy getting torpedoed every few yards.

Almost worse than the above is the noise. You can hear them in the house, even with all the doors and windows shut. It's like living in the original Star Trek series, with the phaser overload going 24/7.

Here are some photos to share in the joy:

They emerge from the ground and crawl up tree trunks, large blades of grass or leaves from flowers such as irises. After vacating their shells, the shells tend to cling until a strong rain knocks them off.



 

This is why I call it The Plague. Trees are covered in them. It's the sheer number of them that make it so creepy.



 

Up close and personal with evil. Aren't their beady red eyes the worst?

 Once they mate, they are soon dead. Then you have to deal with them belly-up. We have a broom on the deck to sweep off the few dozen that end up there nightly. I refuse to eat out there until it's all over.

 

Even though the Brood V region covers many counties in Ohio and neighboring states, there are definitely pockets of them. Where I grew up, bordering the city limits, there were none. I have friends who live just a few miles away and they say that they can hear them, but don't see any. With any luck, I will be living in a different climate by 2033.