Early this morning as I was walking my dogs, I experienced the best weather of my life. The lake rippled slowly onto the wet sand like soapy bathwater. A warm breeze blew like flannel cloth against my legs. Tree branches swayed above the bluffs, performing a ballet with their oblong shadows to the back-drop of a turquoise sky. All the while the 17-year-cicadas hummed like a latte maker stuck in overdrive. When I could ignore the signs posted all over town that said "Aerial Spraying Tomorrow," I felt relaxed for the first time in over a year.
Now it's 2 p.m. and 90 degrees. Every window of the house is open, and the breeze that embraced me like a baby's receiving blanket this moring is now blowing papers all over the floor, like a toddler in the midst of a terrible fit. School work; bills, camp notifications; bills. My family-room looks like a dumpster for recycled paper. But I don't mind. I 'd rather sweat it out in front of an open window than wear a sweater in the summer. This is why, several years ago and at the suggestion of my dear friend Louisa, I bought a Mazda MPV. At the time, it was the only minivan with middle windows that open.
Oh, but for those opened middle windows!
A few hours ago, I drove into town with all the windows down, letting the wind toss my hair into a spaghetti frizz. I needed to buy a bug catcher for T's upcoming Indian Princess camp-out, and--because it was the last day of school--I needed a large coffee with two dollops of half-and-half and a packet of Sugar In The Raw. Driving home, I sucked coffee from the plastic lid like a kid guzzling apple juice from a sippy cup when suddenly, a cicada flew through the window and bonked into my face. Talk about the ultimate bug catcher!
"Pfpfitpfpfpfitpfpfitppfifot!" went the cicada.
It sounded like my Irish grandmother cursing the Devil and her husband as she did the washing up after dinner every night.
"Pffpfitpfifpfitpfpfpfpfittpfitit!"
The cicada boinged off my cheek and took another dive into my thigh. I knew there was nothing to fear; like most humans, cicadas are just looking for companionship before the inevitable end. And a little fun. They don't bite or scratch or sting. They cause no disease and mean no harm. But, man, are they ugly! Uhg-Lee! UGLY! They're downright prehistoric looking, with a black tube-like body; lacy, slow-mo wings; and red eyes that bulge like a frog's.
I had to get rid
of the cicada. It creeped me out to have it boinging into my body like that. And besides, I needed to pick up the kids from school. So I pulled the car to the side of the road and shooed the bug out the passenger window.
At least one of us is free...for now.
Postscript: here is a picture of T holding a 17-year cicada. She has become their benefactress, moving them from the driveway and yard to trees to save them minivan tires and Milo's sharp, white teeth. Our dog is enjoying these bugs far more than the rice-and-lamb kibble that we dump in his dish at mealtime. Instead of coming to his bowl when he's called , he trots to the back door and licks his chops. Cicada sushi, anyone? .
Below is a young cicada emerging from its shell.






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