Saturday, June 11, 2011

Thirteen Year Cicadas

Ever since I was very small, I would listen and enjoy the sounds of the yearly cicadas that sing their songs to attract females.  It's a familiar sound to me, and when I first hear it, I think, "Summer!"

Sort of like when I saw the first robin this year, hopping around in the snow, and I thought, "Stupid robin!"  No, I actually thought that spring couldn't be too far away.  I was wrong.

This year, however, we've been attacked by what the scientific experts are calling the 13 year cicadas.  Since they come out of the ground every year, I'm not sure how they know these are the 13 year ones, but I'm not a bug scientist in any way, shape, or form.

When I say attacked, that's what I mean.  There are so many of these doggone cicadas around that the sound of the males calling for mates is incessant, never ending, and rather annoying.  There are bunches of cicada shells stuck to trees.  There are bodies of dead cicadas in piles at the parks around town.

At least they don't eat crops or swarm like the locusts of old.

Photo of a cicada shell by Erma.

As most of you know, my daughter-in-law, Britney in this journal, was involved in a very horrific car accident.  She's probably paralyzed, and the doctors are saying she'll be in the hospital for three months.  Today they are going to take out the tube that's in her lungs.  She has a back brace.  Lampshade said he knew she ordered it herself because it's black with skulls on it.  She's still in terrible pain, even with a morphine pump, poor kid.

Please keep both her and Lampshade in your prayers.

I know this post is short and rather buggy (HA!), but I have stuff to get done today.  

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