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Cicada mania taking over
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By MARY ANN KEARNS
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For the past few weeks, cicada watchers have been predicting the little buggers would be emerging from their 17-year-long nap sometime this month. It appears the awakening has begun.
Reports have come in from Old Washington, Flemingsburg, Aberdeen and West Union that the annoying pests have been spotted. That's OK ... as long as the red-eyed mini monsters stay in Old Washington, Flemingsburg, Aberdeen and West Union. But no such luck for those of us who are cicada-challenged. In fact, a report really close to home came in Tuesday, too close for my comfort -- my front yard.
While out walking the "O" brothers, Odie and Oreo, my son spotted a full-grown cicada. The blue jays in our pine trees were chattering extra loud, maybe in delight over the all-too-rare (for them) gourmet treat, he said. So while the early population may be decimated by birds seeking a meal, in short order a cicada dinner will be as unwelcome as turkey casserole a week after Thanksgiving and the population explosion will begin in earnest.
So long to plans to get all my flower beds cleaned and all my flowers planted before the cicada invasion. Too late to take out all the screens and hose them off, to power wash the deck and rake out leaves from beneath. Too late to paint the front porch and seal the driveway. Instead, for the next few weeks, I'll be confined to indoor venues by my self-imposed exile, making a mad dash from car to building, from building to car to avoid the swarms of cicadas whenever forced to leave the friendly environs of house or office.
Why do I have such an aversion to cicadas? I don't know. Although I am no insect lover, I normally don't have such an extreme reaction to bugs. Even mayflies, which invade every year, don't bother me so much. Cicadas don't sting, don't bite, don't even eat your furniture. And some people seem to actually look forward to their arrival. Reporter Barbara Goldman said she saved all the cicada shells she could find -- "bucketfuls" -- when she was a child until her mother said enough was enough. And who can forget the "Snappy Cicada Pizza" song from the early 1990s.?
Maybe it's the clicky noise (I refuse to call it a song) the cicadas make which lies at the root of my hatred. More likely its the way the ugly bugs with the red eyes and orange wings fly at you, ready to cling to the first available surface, human or otherwise. Nothing is exempt from their nasty little clingy legs, not faces, hair, arms, skirts, nothing. Maybe it's the distinct cicada crunch you hear when walking through mounds of their dead bodies piling up on every available street, sidewalk and lawn.
Whatever the issue, don't expect to see much of me until the cicadas have gone into hiding for another 17 years. Until then, I'll be keeping my head covered, my windows closed and my running shoes ready.
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