Song of the cicada

“How can they be so loud?” my daughter, Claire, asked as she accompanied me on yet another “Nature Notes” photo mission.

Her question was a good one, and I had to admit that I did not know the answer. But if you have lived in the Lowcountry through a summer you have heard the sound, too. Describing it is a bit of a challenge. Perhaps a million crickets and a million bumble bees trying to drown each other out would sound this way. Some folks think it sounds like a high-powered electrical buzz. However it is described, it can be unbelievably loud, especially given the size of the creature creating the “song.”

Sometimes it seems to pulse with a beat-like rhythm. At other times it fades slowly in and out, coming from both nowhere and everywhere at the same time. The sound can nearly drown out a quiet conversation. To those who have spent some time here, this high-pitched hum is synonymous with the long, sultry days of late summer in the South. It is the song of the cicada.

So what about Claire’s question? How can an insect half the size of your thumb be so darned loud? Male cicadas “sing” by flexing their “tymbals,” which are drum-like organs found in their abdomens. The sound is amplified in the cicada’s mostly hollow abdominal cavity. Cicadas are referred to as “locusts” by many people, but they actually are not. They are insects that belong to the order Hemiptera. The most significant difference to you and me is that locusts swarm, will eat nearly anything and can decimate whole areas of crops or other plants. Cicadas eat, almost exclusively, tree sap. And while they may appear in large numbers, they do not swarm.

So, you have heard them, but have you seen them? That is less likely unless you knew what you were looking for. The cicada has a crazy life, something only God and Mother Nature could dream up. These creatures spend as long as 13 or 17 years (specific types have specific durations) in the ground as nymphs. They drop at birth to the earth, burrow down and spend their time sucking sap from the roots of trees. They will spend the vast majority of their lives there.

Then that magical day arrives. After years living underground and in the dark, the cicadas will find their way to the surface and climb nearby trees. Here they will shed their skins, which can be found on Daniel Island by the thousands at times. The empty shells can be attached to trees, hanging in moss or almost anywhere. The adult cicadas will spread their wings and for several glorious weeks live a life above the earth. The males will “sing” their mating songs with gusto, the females will reply with snaps of their wings and the entire cycle will begin again with eggs laid in the trees. These will soon hatch and create another generation of nymphs to quickly burrow out of sight. The adults, having served their biological purpose, will die. But as surely as there are seasons, late next summer we will once again find the air filled with the song of the cicada.

As an aside, Claire is also “spreading her wings” and recently departed Daniel Island for a one-year Rotary exchange in Belgium. I will miss her companionship, her wit and her photographic talents. As in all living things, there are cycles of human life, too. She has entered her next phase.