What is hopefully, and looking like, the end of the pandemic for us on the East Coast, is also as I write this, the middle of the emergence of billions, maybe trillions, of Brood X 17-year cicadas. And the epicenter is here, metro Washington, DC. We are out in the suburbs but not in the “old” suburbs. This is the third cycle of cicadas for our current house. Last time the brood emerged, our townhouse at the time was seeing its first cycle. Now, we have thousands of exoskeletons on our trees and on the ground. Our oak tree seems to be our epicenter.
I have to admit that I wasn’t looking forward to retreating back indoors with these clumsy fliers around. But, I’ll be honest, watching them as they started to emerge almost 2 weeks ago has been absolutely fascinating. The first several hours above ground is a real vulnerable time for these creatures. After 17 years in darkness and protection from predators, they emerge, shed their skin one more time hanging from any vertical surface while their wings unfurl and dry and their bodies harden. The first to emerge in our yard showed up on the cherry tree on the east side of the house. I’m pretty sure many of them became bird and squirrel food.
Now that all of our trees are hosting nymphs by night and adults by day, they VASTLY outnumber the predators. We see them flying and the serenade has begun in our trees just a few days ago. And as I watch their clumsy flights and landings, and listen to their crazy loud love songs, I wonder about our own emergence after almost 15 months of isolation during the early days of the pandemic, and then a few socially distanced gatherings before the difficult winter hit. And some people are still isolating.
As clumsy fliers as cicadas are, how clumsy are our first social interactions going to be with no masks required nor the 6-foot spacing? How strange and disorienting are those first in-person gatherings going to be? Will hugs be tentative except with those who have been part of our socially distanced bubbles? Or will we “fly” into each other’s arms with abandon?
In this area, masks have been a thing…EVERYWHERE! Some are starting to shed that layer around others, at least outdoors. And yet at the grocery store I still occasionally see people wearing gloves. How long before we are feeling okay shedding those protective shells? Our county is lifting almost all restrictions tomorrow. Things shut down hard and fast last March with restrictions thawing a bit at different times and to different levels, and also going back into effect.
Our vaccination numbers have us at this point in time, over 51% fully vaccinated and almost 62% having the first dose. Children as young as 12 can now be vaccinated. Here, we’re making good progress and many of us are making plans for dinners, summer gatherings, travel, and reuniting with family and friends from outside the area. As the cicadas sing their love songs with abandon, will we laugh with that same abandon? Will we live in joy?
Also of importance, in the 17 years that the nymphs spend underground, they molt their shells 5 times. Personally and as a country, we have come to realize in these 15 months, that we have also had things to shed…things we don’t use or need, unjust and oppressive systems starkly revealed during this time, busyness that really isn’t life-giving. These 15 months have provided much needed time for this sort of personal and collective reflection. As we emerge, what will we be willing to leave behind?
As I’ve been writing this, I’ve been kept company. This little guy has been doing circles on this stick. He gets to the top and looks for ways to keep going, his front legs searching for where to grab hold. May we not simply go in circles as we emerge from the pandemic, but may we find other ways, new ways of being. And yet, may we laugh, love, and hug with abandon.
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