In what can only be described as a once-in-a-generation symphony of screeching wings and questionable life choices, billions of cicadas from two broods are emerging simultaneously across the eastern United States, because apparently one cicada outbreak just was not dramatic enough. Brood XIII and Brood XIX, long buried in a sort of subterranean bug sabbatical, are crawling out for the social event of the century, if your idea of fun involves molting insects, mating calls that sound like malfunctioning leaf blowers and enough discarded exoskeletons to alarm even the most laid-back entomologist.
Brood XIII, which makes an appearance every 17 years, has chosen the Midwest as its prime destination, while Brood XIX, running on a 13-year schedule, is making its presence known in the Southeast. Apparently they did not compare Google Calendars but still managed to coordinate this rare crossover episode. According to experts, the last time these two broods emerged together was in 1803, when Thomas Jefferson was president, which means they have more consistent timing than most modern infrastructure projects.
While the thought of a sky darkened by wings and a chorus of bug love songs might be unsettling to some, scientists are giddy. Entomologists liken the event to Halley’s Comet, albeit significantly louder and with more crunchy underfoot hazards. The bugs themselves pose no direct danger to humans, pets or national security, though they are known to startle the unsuspecting jogger and occasionally mistake power drills for potential mates. It is all very romantic in a misunderstood sort of way.
The cicadas’ brief emergence is all about romance, reproduction and passing on their tiny genes before disappearing again into the soil like awkward party guests who accidentally walked into the wrong decade. They spend most of their lives underground, which, in fairness, sounds increasingly appealing given the state of things above ground. And then they surface, scream, mate and die. A lifecycle that any overworked office employee might find eerily relatable.
So if you hear the rising crescendo of what sounds like a siren mating with a kazoo orchestra, do not be alarmed. Just know it is nature reminding us that timing is everything, appearances are fleeting and volume control was never part of the plan.
On the bright side, at least they are not locusts, and they do not want your crops, just each other.