I have many fond memories of the cicada summer that hit when I was in my early teens.
Reports of cicadas are spreading in my work circles, and I am jealous. Heaps of cicadas on their lawns. Everyone has a photo of a spooky red-eyed white cicada right out of its shell. “Look at this gross thing on my front door / car tire / trash bin.”
I have no cicadas. I thought at first the raccoons and crows were eating them as they emerged, but no. We built this house in a field in the late eighties, where there was only one tree. So all the trees we planted are relatively young, compared to trees in older communities. Younger trees, smaller chance to be a generational cicada hot spot.
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Speaking of trees, yesterday a friend explained why the Saint Louis pollen counts are so high. City planners don't like to plant female trees because of the messy fruit they drop, so the city is full of frustrated male trees just recklessly spewing their pollen in an attempt to impregnate the rare female pistil.
Trees. They’re just like us. Too young, too old, too horny.
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Update: The tree is now speckled with shells. I came home in time to see the last pale larval one on his way up to the leaves.
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