ACROSS AMERICA — Despite the complex evolutionary strategy of the 17-year periodical cicadas, already pushing their way out of the ground in some places, these marvels of nature have a simple, almost singular purpose:
Go forth and multiply to ensure the species will emerge again in a monotonous cacophony and — we hate to say it, but nature is brutal, as every Nature Channel aficionado already knows — promptly drop dead after finishing the one job they worked their way out of the ground to do.
The emergence of Brood X of the 17-year periodical cicadas in a noisy courtship ritual that ensures the species will survive. Delaware, the District of Columbia, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Maryland, Michigan, North Carolina, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Virginia and West Virginia in addition to the District of Columbia are all part of the buzz.
To be fair, periodical cicadas don't just do it and die.
They aerate the soil as they push their way out of the ground; the females prune trees by digging and then laying their eggs in furrows in slender branches; and their decaying bodies are a nitrogen source for trees.
But, read no news headline ever, "The 17-Year Cicadas Are An Rx For Strong Tree Health"?
Admit it.
It's insect sexy that the males raise their voices — kind of; they vibrate their tymbals, drum-like membranes on their abdomens, which conveys a certain intimacy — in a concerto of cicada romance.
They all — well most of them, again nature is brutal — eventually make it the treetops in this choreographed cicada copulation. The females switch partners, hooking up with as many of the fellas as they can because that's how the species continues.
And then they die.
"Once in the treetops, hey, it's all going to be about romance. It's only the males that sing. It's going to be a big boy band up there as the males try to woo those females, try to convince that special someone that she should be the mother of his nymphs," Michael Raupp, an entomologist at the University of Maryland, told The Associated Press. "He's going to perform, sing songs. If she likes it, she's going to click her wings. They're going to have some wild sex in the treetop.
"Then she's going to move out to the small branches, lay their eggs. Then it's all going to be over in a matter of weeks. They're going to tumble down. They're going to basically fertilize the very plants from which they were spawned. Six weeks later, the tiny nymphs are going to tumble 80 feet from the treetops, bounce twice, burrow down into the soil, go back underground for another 17 years."
Raupp practically lives for the emergence of periodical cicadas, and he is quoted so often about cicadas' extraordinarily long life cycle that he emerges along with them every 17 years as the reigning cicada expert.
"This," he told The AP, "is one of the craziest life cycles of any creature on the planet."
Other than the dangers from farm and lawn chemicals sprayed on the ground above them, everything's pretty chill during the 17 years that periodical cicadas — or 13, depending on the species — spend underground. Scientists say Brood X, also known as the Great Eastern Brood, is expected to be the largest ever with potentially trillions of cicadas, burrowed underground as nymphs 17 years ago.
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Cicadas aren't sleeping hibernators, a common misconception about the insects, according to the National Wildlife Federation. They are busy underground tunneling, but especially sucking the juice from tree roots to prepare for a courtship ritual to continue the species.
Their short lives above ground are fraught with danger. They time their synchronized emergence at night when many of their predators are sleeping, yet they make so much noise with their tymbals vibrating that every predator around knows they've popped out of the ground.
What's up with that? Acceptable casualties? Darwin's survival of the fittest evolutionary theory in play, up close and personal?
They are very, very loud.
Their chirping — incessant chirping, many say — can reach 100 decibels, as loud as a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with straight pipes or a jackhammer running full bore into concrete or a lawn mower cutting through tall grass.
Among predators, their mating call is one long, loud dinner bell, a meal call for carnivores that usually have a much harder time foraging for a decent meal.
Copperhead snakes snack on cicadas. Pets gobble up cicadas and hack them up if their gluttony goes too far. And despite a wide array of food choices, people sometimes eat cicadas. They're considered by some as the "truffles of the insect world," and others call the "the shrimp of the land" — which makes sense, as both cicadas and shrimp are arthropods with crunchy exoskeletons.
Even if a ton of them were devoured by predators, enough would survive to mate and lay eggs, according to the National Wildlife Federation.
And as surely as their parents emerged in 2021, these soon-to-be hatched cicada nymphs will burrow again and repeat the cycle. Scientists can't fully explain periodic cicadas' evolutionary strategy. One theory is their periodic emergence is timed to avoid certain predators.
"If cicadas came out every 16 years, for example, predators with two-, four, and eight-year life cycles would be around that year to eat them," University of Indiana biologist Keith Clay said in an interview with the American Association for the Advancement of Science. "The main hypothesis is that it's very difficult for predators to have a similar life cycle, where they could actually specialize on these cicadas 'cause they also would have to have a 17-year life cycle."
Another hypothesis about the synchronized emergence of periodical cicadas is that the forced developmental delay was an adaptation to climate cooling during the ice ages.
So, if you've got any heart at all, you're rooting for the cicadas to enjoy their time on Earth.
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