{gross!}

I’m pretty used to living in Ohio by now. In fact, most of the time, my daily life doesn’t even seem that different than life in California: By day, I edit books and shop at the LOFT; by night, I watch tv and eat ice cream. I make cards, get treats at Starbucks, hang out at local parks (although ours are free), dine at smoke-free restaurants . I even experience the occasional earthquake.

But then there are the times that the fact of my Cincinnati life smacks me right in the face: like dealing with insanely low speed limits, violent thunderstorms, and tornado watches (for the record, we haven’t had any actual tornadoes since I’ve been here). And now, cicadas.

The cicada "invasion” is an entirely new experience for me—and not a pleasant one I might add. In May, I heard rumors of the cicadas' impending invasion. Heard stories of the one I escaped four years ago. I waited and watched for the cicadas. And they did not come.

Until now.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate—they’ve been strumming their tune for a week or so now in spots around the city. I noticed the hum when I left work each day. But I had yet to see the so-called “invasion.” That was last week. Today is a whole other story.

Let me stop here and explain a little bit about cicadas. According to Wikipedia, “After mating, the female cuts slits into the bark of a twig, and into these she deposits her eggs. She may do so repeatedly, until she has laid several hundred eggs. When the eggs hatch, the newborn nymphs drop to the ground, where they burrow. … Some species have much longer life cycles … a 17- or occasionally 13-year life cycle.” This explains why Ohio experienced an invasion in 2004 and again this year. Wikipedia continues, “…they construct an exit tunnel to the surface and emerge. They then molt on a nearby plant for the last time and emerge as adults. The abandoned skins remain, still clinging to the bark of trees.” "Brood XIV" of the cicadas recently hit Southwestern Ohio.

So, I leave work today to the deafening cicada rhythm. Really, I could have used a pair of earplugs. I could hear the ebb of flow of their tune even as I drove with the radio blasting. But that’s not even the worst of it. As you drive—or heaven forbid, walk—you see cicadas flipping through the air. But not like you see a bird soar. Imagine how the dried leaves swoosh quickly, up, up,down, quickly swirling, several at a time as autumn sets in. Yeah, it’s like that, but with giant, ugly flying bugs. Gross! And if they’re not flying their silent, lifeless carcasses are littering the roads—and car grills. Double gross!! I’m assured that cicadas are “harmless” but I really don’t take kindly to the idea of any critter larger than pinhead bonking me in the head without my permission.

Fortunately, the cicadas where we live haven’t yet hatched so I’m enjoying a cicada-free zone at home. But I’ll beware.