For several weeks social media reactionaries have been hearkening the end of times with near Biblical fervor. It’s not a plague of locusts, but a measurable oddity that manifests from time to time in the form of periodical cicadas.
Yes, hordes of noisy bugs with sometimes marginal aviation skills are due to return this spring to most of Missouri, including Jefferson County. And while it is a fact that two separate North American broods are due in 2024, they do not have any overlapping areas in our vicinity. So all the bluster about a double whammy are sensationally over-rated.
Because of the widespread nature of the world wide web, and the trends of modern media to make scary mountains out of skimpy mole hills, many people are nonplussed to near frenzy. Their memories of gigantic creatures filling the skies like hard shelled confetti during previous invasions are certainly compromised by the passage of time. In this case, exactly 13 years.
To get started we have to crunch some numbers. With apologies to entomologist Charles Marlatt who designated the different broods 130 years ago, I am disregarding his affinity for Roman numerals. The figures are tricky enough without complicating things with Is, Vs and Xs.
Brood No. 19 is a group of 13-year cicadas that reappear throughout Missouri, and in significant portions of Illinois and Arkansas. Known as the Great Southern Brood, they also pop up sporadically across the southeast United States. What we will hear and see this spring are the offspring of cicadas that emerged in 2011.
Also appearing this year will be Brood No. 13, a group of 17-year cicadas with a range that covers northern Illinois, eastern Iowa, southern Wisconsin and smidgens of Indiana and Michigan. While the two groups have some overlapping areas in central Illinois, compared to the entirety of the range the double-emergent locations are minuscule.
In years when two broods coincide we are treated to headlines for “a once in a life-time occurrence.” Each 13-year brood matches up with a 17-year emergence every 221 years, so the last time that No. 13 and No. 19 were in-sync was 1803. The overall number of broods complicates the rarity claims.
Those of us who know our memories don’t go back to Thomas Jefferson’s administration may recall 1998 when our 13-year No. 19s matched up with the 17-year Brood No. 4 in northwest Missouri and neighboring states to the west. Half of those bugs were in the news again in 2015 when the No. 4s reemerged during the same season that the 13-year No. 23 Brood found its way up from the earth in the Missouri Bootheel region.
According to the state Department of Conservation, periodical cicada nymphs crawl out of holes in the ground as temperatures warm in late April. By early May they have attached themselves to tree trunks and other structures, abandoning their exoskeleton shells, unfurling new wings and taking flight.
Males spend the next several weeks “singing” to attract females in a high-pitched droning noise. After mating, the females lay their eggs in small slits they cut into tree branches. Once the eggs hatch, tiny cicada offspring fall to the earth and dig in to wait for their emergence in 13 or 17 years.
The slow-moving nymphs and short-lived adults provide a smorgasbord for birds and fish. The massive numbers of them hatching in a short amount of time are their defense against so many potential predators.
I first heard about this year’s emergence from Ozark Smallmouth Alliance founder and big bass bug fly-tier Ryan Walker who was busy creating lures to “match the hatch” this summer. While they may be noisy and their shells and carcasses abundant, they also signal a good opportunity to feed the fish and fatten our wild turkeys.
Missouri is home to annual “dog day” cicadas that appear from late June into August. While similar in habits and habitat, those bugs are bigger and not as abundant each year.
It’s going to be noisy for a few weeks, but cicadas cause no harm to people and do minimal damage to trees that host their egg-laying activities. It’s a small price to pay to experience an interesting natural phenomenon. We should all just hope and pray to be around to complain when our No. 19s return in 2037, in the same year as Brood No. 9, for the first time in 221 years.
Don't Call Me Outdoor John 