I’ve grown up hearing the sound of cicadas that emerge here in the Houston area around late April. As the days grow warmer we often joke that the noise of those insects raises the temperature a few more degrees. The ones that we encounter most often make an annual visit to our area and can be found in many parts of the United States, most notably in the south. This year a most unusual occurrence that has not been seen since 1804, when Thomas Jefferson was President will take place. Two varieties of what are called “periodic” cicadas will emerge at the same time, promising lots of noise in the southeastern and midwestern areas of the country.
Periodic cicadas live underground for fifteen to seventeen years before finally emerging. There are only a few varieties of this interesting insect and all of them are found only in the United States. While the two emerging broods will be in mostly discrete places there might be an overlapping in the area of Springfield, Illinois. Because this is such an unusual occurrence there is an expectation that entomologists and those interested in insects will descend on the affected areas to view the emergence. This once in a lifetime experience will not happen again until 2245 and with climate change certain to affect the earth in multiple ways it is uncertain that the periodic cicadas will even exist by then. If they do, the world that they encounter may be far different than the one they have found in the past.
There is something hauntingly lovely about the sound that cicadas make. As a child I recall sleeping with our windows open because air conditioning was still not commonplace in most homes. The song of those insects from the stink bug family was like a summertime lullaby. They provided a lovely white noise that made my eyelids heavy and kept me sleeping through the night in spite of the heat.
I remember donning lightweight sleeveless pajamas with bottoms that were short. They were made in such a way that they did not cling to my body. With our home’s attic fan moving it’s powerful blades a light breeze wafted through the window next to my bed. I admit that I was a bit jealous of my brothers who because of their maleness were able to sleep without a shirt. They also had a room with two long windows set side by side creating an almost open feeling to the area. They got the full benefit of any breeze on their skin even on ninety degree nights.
I can no longer imagine how we made it through the long hot months without the cooling effects of air conditioning, but we did. We ran around with hardly any clothing covering our bodies and very rarely bothered to wear shoes on our feet. Our bodies were tanned each year from playing outside in the sun. We were free range kids who would have fit right in with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Our mother kept us vaccinated for tetanus because we frequently injured our feet with glass, nails or sharp tree limbs lurking in the grass. Welts from mosquito bites dotted our arms and legs but we hardly noticed. We were too busy playing with our friends and enjoying our childish adventures.
The garden hose was our friend. When times were overbearingly hot we would aim the water at one another and feel its cooling effect. Our mother was a favorite of the neighbors because she set out a large thermos of water cooled with ice each morning along with a generous supply of cups. Often in the afternoon she encouraged us to come inside with our friends where she hosted card games that lasted until the sun was lower on the horizon. We’d sip on homemade lemonade and little sandwiches while enjoying quite serious competitions.
When I got older and was no longer a little rug rat, our neighbor Mrs. Janot often invited me to join her for an afternoon viewing of General Hospital which came on at two. Mrs. Janot would turn on the air conditioner located in her living room and give me and her daughter, Karen, slices of watermelon to snack on during the program. The only rule that we had to follow was to be quiet so that Mrs. Janot would not miss a moment of the exciting life of the people who worked at General Hospital in a make believe town.
During those summers of old I could hear the people on my street talking and laughing. The music on their radios wafted into the street. I smelled the chicken frying on someone’s stove and heard the band kids practicing on their instruments. Mixed in with the sound of cicadas were the songs of the birds and the barking dogs who lived in little houses in backyards in those days. So much has changed.
I’m totally spoiled now. The heat of late spring and summer drives me indoors unless it is early morning or after dark. I only hear those cicadas during the brief moments when I dare to go outside. My windows are closed and my air conditioner pumps away. Even the children on my block stay inside their homes. I miss seeing them run around as they do when the days are cooler. I wonder if most people will actually notice the unusual cicada event that is coming if they don’t happen to read about it like I have. We may be cool now but we have also lost a kind of vibrance and joy of living that was so much a part of those summers of old. I don’t want to turn back because I can no longer take the heat, but I sure would like to be in Springfield, Illinois when those two broods of insects make their amazing debut. What a sight and sound that will be!
All It Takes Is A Little Love 