Cicada

The sound was deafening.

90 db indeed, thought Gerry as he led the little group through the trees. That's easily 110! My ears will be ringing for days.

"I can hear them," June nearly shouted to be heard over the cacophony. "But I don't see them. Where are they all?"

Bob nudged her with his elbow and pointed up. "After they emerge, they climb as high as they can and dry their wings."

Gerry picked up on the story. "That's the males you're listening to. They're singing to mark their territory and attract females."

But June wasn't done yet. "Ok, but they're just bugs! How do they make so much noise? I've never heard a racket like this before, and I've lived here 10 yrs!"

"They actually synchronize their songs to get the loudest sounds possible." Gerry replied.

"But still, I've heard them before, but this is outrageous." June covered her ears as she spoke. The noise was giving her a headache.

Gerry was now squatting next to a rather large maple. He looked up at the others.

"Look guys," he shouted, his voice cracking with excitement. "Here's one emerging. Right now!"

All three of them were now squatting next to the tree, watching intently. A thin, black filament was projecting above the ground, waving about in a circle. As they watched, another filament poked through the loosened soil. A small circle of earth began undulating and breaking into little chunks.

Soon, the loose soil raised up and two bright, orange-red eyes pushed through into the daylight. The juvenile insect shook its head, flinging bits of dirt in all directions. Then, two more legs poked out of the dirt and the little guy scrambled up and out of the earth.

The little fellow didn't stop to think about its next move. It went directly to the maple and began climbing. The group of explorers watched with fascination as the insect dug its powerful front legs into the maple's bark, fixing itself securely in place.

"Damn! I totally forgot." Gerry pulled his phone out and began recording a video of the creature as it shook hard a couple times before its back split open.

"He's molting!" Bob whispered. But only he could hear. The cicada's song had gotten much too loud for such soft vocalizations. "Shit, I wish we could watch the whole process."

"That takes hours, Bob." Gerry responded.

"Yeah, but look at this!" June was standing on the far side of the tree, looking at something about a foot above her. "This one's been at it for a while."

The boys quickly took up positions flanking their friend. The three watched in awe as the adult insect pulled the last bit of its abdomen free from the shell. It gave a quick shake, letting its wings unfold and hang down, then began its ascent into the upper branches of the tree.

"Ok, boys," June was back on task. "Back to my question. Why is it so freaking loud?"

"Well," Gerry started, putting on his very best know-it-all voice. "In this part of the world we have three basic types of cicadas.

"The annual cicadas, just like annual flowers, come up every year. At least some of them. Then we have the 13 year periodical cicadas that come up..."

"Let me guess," June piped up. "Every 13 years."

"Right," Gerry agreed. By now the three had taken up sitting in the soft grass that surrounded the maple. "We also have a 17 year variety."

"I know, I know," June giggled as she spoke. "They only come out every 17 years!"