the sound of summer

I love the sound of cicadas. They have, in the time I have lived in Indiana, come to define summer. I don’t feel like summer is really here until the grasses start to dry out and the cicadas sing in the trees. I don’t remember cicadas in NY, but we didn’t have the hot summers like Indiana does.

We have cicadas every summer, but also play host to a 13 year cicada whose emergence is pretty intense. I lived out in the woods last time they turned up and the noise was deafening. They prefer temperatures above 84° and sing the loudest in the hot part of the afternoon. Cicadas are the loudest of insects who make noise, nearly 120dB, so at close range they could cause permanent ear damage. This would really only be a problem if you make it a habit of pretending to be a tree so probably not worth worrying about, but wow – that’s loud.

I will admit that they are a creepy little bug, rather alien looking. (It would make a great movie – giant cicadas from space.) How is it that such a strange little creature has come to define something as significant as a season? There are other things of course. Iced tea made in a jar on your windowsill, fresh tomatoes from the garden, cantaloupe, riesling, fireflies, campfires, gin and tonic, salt water taffy, ferris wheels. . . these are all things that are a part of summer. I’ve picked them up along the way, a collection of memories that shape my idealized summer. Now, we add the cicada to that list.