I am disappointed in the cicadas.
I had hoped for something biblical. Grade B creature feature kind of thing. Clouds of them blotting out the sun as they pass overhead. A sound so loud people were hospitalized with migraines and confusion. Denuded trees, crop failures, a lot of ineffectual posturing about the War on Cicadas.
I don’t know if the pandemic has spoiled me for entertaining disasters, but the great confluence of 13- and 17-year cicadas has been underwhelming to say the least. A little noise and a lot of dead bugs. I experience a steady stream of disappointment at seeing the little guys flying around slowly because I keep getting briefly delighted that I’ve spotted a hummingbird and then realize it’s just another disoriented cicada.
The pets, of course, are delighted. Every so often we get one in the house, which is a great deal of excitement for the cats, who view them as possibly the best cat toy I have ever managed to provide. One of the dogs has little to no interest at all in cicadas, and the other one has probably consumed a bushel of them by this point. I do not know the nutritional value or digestive impact of cicadas on most creatures, but they do not seem to bother the big puppy. (She does try to entice them to play with her before she eats them, which is charming but does betray a youthful misunderstanding as to the un-exuberant nature of bugs.)
I have been surprised there has not been more opportunity to eat them myself. I recognize it would be more a novelty than a gastronomic treat, although in fairness I should note that one of the five best tacos I’ve ever eaten was the DIY chapuline appetizer at a restaurant in Houston: freshly made blue corn tortillas, a thin guacamole, and a bowl of deep fried crickets. I heard you can buy a bottle of Malört with a cicada preserved in it in the manner of a tequila worm, but Malört is so unpleasant I suspect the marinated cicada might improve the stuff. Surely there is an adventurous restaurateur in the vicinity who has at least considered trying to turn cicadas into a publicity bonanza.
I had also expected more dramatic sound. I vaguely remember a mid-’80s appearance of cicadas being audible through closed windows. Now it’s just sort of a pleasant droning sound that reminds me of living near the expressway. It has a nice summer soundtrack feel to it, but I don’t think Spotify is going to be launching a Sounds of Cicadas playlist to great acclaim anytime soon.
I should probably at least examine what I wanted to have happen before bemoaning it though. Did I want crop failures? Piles of dead bugs that you had to remove with rakes and leaf blowers? To have to power wash the windshield just to get rid of the bug guts?
Yes and yes and yes, really. It’s nice to have a change of pace sometimes, and the plague of cicadas could have eaten every plant in northern Illinois and I would still have enjoyed it more than I expect to enjoy the November election. You find your entertainment where you can.