Cicadas: The Bittersweet Sign of Summer
- Gabrielle DeRose
- Oct 6, 2024
- 3 min read
In the summer, one can typically expect to hear a variety of sounds: the chirping of crickets at night, the crackling of a campfire, the songs of birds flitting overhead. Perhaps the most recognizable tune of summertime, however, is the buzzing of the cicadas. These rather large insects are members of the order "Hemiptera," also known as "true bugs." They are related to leafhoppers and planthoppers, and their life cycle is somewhat bittersweet.
For the sake of keeping things simple, we'll keep this post to periodical cicadas, of which there are seven species. Periodical cicadas are also known as 13- and 17-year cicadas for their strange and unique life cycle (yes, these insects can live for up to 17 years in some species!). Regardless, the cicadas most people are familiar with follow the same pathway of life as all the others.

Like most insects, cicadas begin their life in an egg before hatching into what is known as a "nymph," or essentially an undeformed, baby version of itself. As nymphs, cicadas spend a majority of their life underground, hidden from the sunlight. While beneath the earth, the nymphs feed on fluids from the roots of deciduous trees. Throughout their years underground, the nymphs continuously metamorphose into larger, more advanced "versions" of themselves. The nymphs must navigate the dark underground for over a decade, avoiding a wide array of predators including moles, ants, crows, foxes, and even bears. Cicadas even have their own specially designed predator, known as the cicada killer wasp, which almost exclusively hunts members of the cicada family. After 13 or 17 years of this (depending on the species) simple yet dangerous life, the nymphs emerge as "semi-adults," in a strange in-between form of the winged cicadas we're familiar with and the otherworldly nymph stage.
This is perhaps where they are at their most vulnerable, for they must navigate the aboveground that they have avoided for nearly their entire lives. As awkward, flightless adults, their goal is to climb to a comfortable spot on a tree and metamorphose one final time, growing their large wings and often colorful exterior carapaces.

Similar to butterflies, when the cicada emerges from its shell, it is weak with damp wings that must fully dry and inflate in order to be used. Once the cicada passes this momentary vulnerable period, it is able to fly and call out in its long, trilling summertime song. These songs are useful for a variety of reasons, from establishing ones territory to communication to, perhaps the most important, mating. When the cicadas enter their final stage in life as a fully fledged, winged adult, they have only weeks to find a mate and reproduce.
To live such a long, difficult live in the wilderness as nymphs underground, to emerging to see the sun for the first time in years, to navigating a strange new world, to finally being able to fly and achieve their purpose in life, I find cicadas to have a sort of melancholy livelihood. I try to understand these tiny creatures and their lives, however simple they may be. Regardless of how loud (and yes, sometimes annoying) their ringing songs are, they are, without a doubt, one of the things I mark as a sign that summer has truly arrived. As fall now creeps into the Midwest, the buzzing of the cicadas grows ever quiet, and I think about the short period of time these somewhat alien insects had to experience the sun's warmth.
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