On Saturday he ate through
one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon.
from The Very Hungry Caterpillar,
50th Anniversary Edition
written and illustrated by Eric Carle
Philomel Books, 2018
My brother was no different from most curious kids who like to see how things work and how they’re put together. The day he found a caterpillar, though, he wanted to find out how things come apart. Caterpillars have three thoracic segments and ten abdominal segments. He meticulously separated all 13 of them.
Mom found several caterpillar segments the next day when she was folding our clean laundry. Although I didn’t hear it, I’m sure my young brother got a simple lesson in the difference between living and not living, respect for nature, and what is acceptable pocket fare.
We had lots of caterpillars and other bugs, and insects, too, in our yard. Mostly we left them alone.
Caterpillars are not too similar to cicadas, except that they both molt. With the on-coming emergence of the cicadas later this month, I began to wonder about the difference between cicadas and grasshoppers. Turns out there are many.
Both cicadas and grasshoppers (and most other insects with an exoskeleton) molt. Most molt five times. Since their skin (really exoskeleton) doesn’t grow, while the insects eat and get bigger, a new, larger exoskeleton develops underneath. By the time they shed their last outer “skin,” the adults, including cicadas, have developed wings.
The first four times cicadas molt, they’re underground. Then the nymphs make their way to the surface, clamber up a tree or shrub, and molt once more. Now they are adults. They can, and do, spread their wings and look for a mate.
And what about grasshoppers? Grasshoppers molt, too. So do most other insects with an exoskeleton. It’s easy to tell the difference between grasshoppers and katydids and crickets and locusts. Even though they all, including cicadas, make sounds, grasshoppers and their like sport long back legs. To make noise, some rub them together, some have special spiny protrusions to scrape against. But cicadas have drum-like structures on their abdomens to make their loud, raucous sound.
And cicadas are true bugs. They are a type of insect that has a mouth shaped like a straw. Their eggs hatch as nymphs and then they transform into adults.
Like most insects, cicadas start out as eggs. Females deposit up to 400 eggs into tiny holes they bored into the branch of a tree or shrub. When the eggs hatch, between 6 and ten weeks later, the nymphs immediately fall to the ground and burrow under in search of tree roots. They stay buried, using their mouth-parts to sip on sap for a long time. Annual cicadas emerge each summer. Periodical cicadas can take a couple of years. Some more, up to seventeen years. Cicadas have one of the longest life spans in the insect world, but only a tiny portion of it is spent above ground.
They “count” the number of years that have passed by “noticing” the fluctuation in sap-flow between times of plenty and times of scarcity. When their time has come, the cicadas wait until the soil at their level, 6-8 inches below ground, reaches about 64 degrees F.
Then they emerge, up to one and a half million of them per acre. Their simultaneous emergence is a survival mechanism. Birds are waiting. So are skunks, bats, wasps, snakes, mice, fish, spiders, opossums, and even people. And my daughter’s dog.
Cicadas buzz, squawk, produce rhythmic ticks and high-pitched whines. When they sing together, it’s called chorusing. The males fill the air with their buzzing. If a female is interested, she responds with clicking sounds.
Cicadas' sole focus is progenerating their species.
They emerge, sing, mate, lay their eggs, and die all within about five weeks.
Neil Steinberg is calling this week (5/12-5/18/24) “ground zero, cicada-wise” because the 13-year and the 17-year broods have aligned. No one has heard and seen this many cicadas at one time since 1803 when Thomas Jefferson lived in the White House and Ohio gained statehood.
Cicadas are loud. The world’s loudest insect, an African cicada, sings at almost 107 decibels when measured at a distance of 20 inches. Two North American species clock in at 106. They are as loud as a motorcycle (probably a Kawasaki or a Honda. Harleys are really loud at up to 120 Db).
Cicadas are big. Adult cicadas are about an inch and a half long. They have red eyes, a greenish-brown body and two sets of clear wings.
Periodical cicadas live in the central and eastern United States. Thirteen-year cicadas (Brood XIX) will emerge in most of Missouri and northern Arkansas. Scattered broods will appear from northern Louisiana, across Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina.
An area from the northwest tip of Indiana and southern Michigan to southern Wisconsin, eastern Iowa, and north-central Illinois is home to the seventeen-year cicadas (Brood XIII.) Central Illinois will experience the greatest overlap.
If you want to be part of the experience, you might need to travel. The next double-emergence is predicted to occur in 2245.
Cicadas make a tasty meal, so I’m told. They are arthropods just like shrimp, lobsters, and crabs. Isa Betancourt, an entomologist from Drexel University calls them “the shrimp of the land.” They’re high-protein, low-fat, low-carb, and gluten free. According to Neil Steinberg in his article in the Chicago Sun-Times, they taste “papery and “a tad bitter” but “[n]ot at all unpleasant.”
If you’re going to try them, fresh or fried, boiled, or grilled, be sure to wash them thoroughly first.
I’m reading Wellness by Nathan Hill (Knopf, 2023). Jack and Elizabeth are first drawn to each other when they attend college in Chicago. They’re attracted to what they each have in common, as well as what sets them apart. We watch them navigate the tricky roads of togetherness, child raising, and home remodeling, all while trying to maintain their priorities as a couple and holding fiercely to their own individuality.
-—stay curious! (and try something new)
one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon.
from The Very Hungry Caterpillar,
50th Anniversary Edition
written and illustrated by Eric Carle
Philomel Books, 2018
My brother was no different from most curious kids who like to see how things work and how they’re put together. The day he found a caterpillar, though, he wanted to find out how things come apart. Caterpillars have three thoracic segments and ten abdominal segments. He meticulously separated all 13 of them.
Mom found several caterpillar segments the next day when she was folding our clean laundry. Although I didn’t hear it, I’m sure my young brother got a simple lesson in the difference between living and not living, respect for nature, and what is acceptable pocket fare.
We had lots of caterpillars and other bugs, and insects, too, in our yard. Mostly we left them alone.
Caterpillars are not too similar to cicadas, except that they both molt. With the on-coming emergence of the cicadas later this month, I began to wonder about the difference between cicadas and grasshoppers. Turns out there are many.
Both cicadas and grasshoppers (and most other insects with an exoskeleton) molt. Most molt five times. Since their skin (really exoskeleton) doesn’t grow, while the insects eat and get bigger, a new, larger exoskeleton develops underneath. By the time they shed their last outer “skin,” the adults, including cicadas, have developed wings.
The first four times cicadas molt, they’re underground. Then the nymphs make their way to the surface, clamber up a tree or shrub, and molt once more. Now they are adults. They can, and do, spread their wings and look for a mate.
And what about grasshoppers? Grasshoppers molt, too. So do most other insects with an exoskeleton. It’s easy to tell the difference between grasshoppers and katydids and crickets and locusts. Even though they all, including cicadas, make sounds, grasshoppers and their like sport long back legs. To make noise, some rub them together, some have special spiny protrusions to scrape against. But cicadas have drum-like structures on their abdomens to make their loud, raucous sound.
And cicadas are true bugs. They are a type of insect that has a mouth shaped like a straw. Their eggs hatch as nymphs and then they transform into adults.
Like most insects, cicadas start out as eggs. Females deposit up to 400 eggs into tiny holes they bored into the branch of a tree or shrub. When the eggs hatch, between 6 and ten weeks later, the nymphs immediately fall to the ground and burrow under in search of tree roots. They stay buried, using their mouth-parts to sip on sap for a long time. Annual cicadas emerge each summer. Periodical cicadas can take a couple of years. Some more, up to seventeen years. Cicadas have one of the longest life spans in the insect world, but only a tiny portion of it is spent above ground.
They “count” the number of years that have passed by “noticing” the fluctuation in sap-flow between times of plenty and times of scarcity. When their time has come, the cicadas wait until the soil at their level, 6-8 inches below ground, reaches about 64 degrees F.
Then they emerge, up to one and a half million of them per acre. Their simultaneous emergence is a survival mechanism. Birds are waiting. So are skunks, bats, wasps, snakes, mice, fish, spiders, opossums, and even people. And my daughter’s dog.
Cicadas buzz, squawk, produce rhythmic ticks and high-pitched whines. When they sing together, it’s called chorusing. The males fill the air with their buzzing. If a female is interested, she responds with clicking sounds.
Cicadas' sole focus is progenerating their species.
They emerge, sing, mate, lay their eggs, and die all within about five weeks.
Neil Steinberg is calling this week (5/12-5/18/24) “ground zero, cicada-wise” because the 13-year and the 17-year broods have aligned. No one has heard and seen this many cicadas at one time since 1803 when Thomas Jefferson lived in the White House and Ohio gained statehood.
Cicadas are loud. The world’s loudest insect, an African cicada, sings at almost 107 decibels when measured at a distance of 20 inches. Two North American species clock in at 106. They are as loud as a motorcycle (probably a Kawasaki or a Honda. Harleys are really loud at up to 120 Db).
Cicadas are big. Adult cicadas are about an inch and a half long. They have red eyes, a greenish-brown body and two sets of clear wings.
Periodical cicadas live in the central and eastern United States. Thirteen-year cicadas (Brood XIX) will emerge in most of Missouri and northern Arkansas. Scattered broods will appear from northern Louisiana, across Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina.
An area from the northwest tip of Indiana and southern Michigan to southern Wisconsin, eastern Iowa, and north-central Illinois is home to the seventeen-year cicadas (Brood XIII.) Central Illinois will experience the greatest overlap.
If you want to be part of the experience, you might need to travel. The next double-emergence is predicted to occur in 2245.
Cicadas make a tasty meal, so I’m told. They are arthropods just like shrimp, lobsters, and crabs. Isa Betancourt, an entomologist from Drexel University calls them “the shrimp of the land.” They’re high-protein, low-fat, low-carb, and gluten free. According to Neil Steinberg in his article in the Chicago Sun-Times, they taste “papery and “a tad bitter” but “[n]ot at all unpleasant.”
If you’re going to try them, fresh or fried, boiled, or grilled, be sure to wash them thoroughly first.
I’m reading Wellness by Nathan Hill (Knopf, 2023). Jack and Elizabeth are first drawn to each other when they attend college in Chicago. They’re attracted to what they each have in common, as well as what sets them apart. We watch them navigate the tricky roads of togetherness, child raising, and home remodeling, all while trying to maintain their priorities as a couple and holding fiercely to their own individuality.
-—stay curious! (and try something new)
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