The sheer volume of Brood X cicadas is impressive. That three species of cicada could emerge around the same time and take to the trees to make as much noise as possible before mating and dying seems like something out of a sci-fi novel. Their volume can damage one’s hearing.
Benjamin Banneker, the autodidact who briefly helped survey what would become Washington, D.C., wrote of cicadas in his memoir:
“The first great locust year that I can remember was 1749. I was then about seventeen years of age, when thousands of them came and were creeping up the trees and bushes. I then imagined they came to eat and destroy the fruit of the earth, and would occasion a famine in the land. I therefore began to kill and destroy them, but soon saw that my labour was in vain, and therefore gave over my pretension. Again in the year 1766, which is seventeen years after their first appearance, they made a second, and appeared to me to be full as numerous as the first. I then, being about thirty-four years of age, had more sense than to endeavour to destroy them, knowing they were not so pernicious to the fruit of the earth as I imagined they would be. Again in the year 1783, which was seventeen years since their second appearance to me, they made their third; and they may be expected again in the year 1800, which is seventeen years since their third appearance to me. So that if I may venture to express it, their periodical return is seventeen years: but they, like the comets, make but a short stay with us. The female has a sting in her tail as sharp and hard as a thorn, with which she perforates the branches of the trees, and in the holes lays eggs. The branch soon dies and falls. Then the egg, by some occult cause immerges a great depth into the earth, and there continues for the space of seventeen years as aforesaid.”
Memoir of Benjamin Banneker, Read Before the Maryland Historical Society (1845), pp. 11-12.
1749! That was 16 generations of Brood X cicadas ago. It’s strange to think of these periodical cicadas in human terms. My parents likely saw their last Brood X cicadas this year. Given my age, I hope to see two more emergences. Nothing is guaranteed, though, and the vast paving and terraforming occurring throughout the areas where Brood X cicadas live could threaten their existence.
With all that in mind, I ventured out to record Brood X cicadas near my home in Washington, D.C., and near my childhood home a few blocks outside of D.C. in Maryland. I recorded ~72 minutes of cicada song.
Recording these cicadas made me acutely aware of noise pollution. At McKee-Beshers Wildlife Management Area near Poolesville, Maryland, I realized I was in a flight path, likely for Washington National Airport, though possibly Dulles International Airport. Some of the recordings at McKee-Beshers have airplane noise in the background, while those along Sligo Creek have cars in the background. While at Klingle Mansion, I had to wait roughly half an hour for an idling truck to drive off before getting a clear recording. Noise pollution has affected other species’ health and caused some species to change their behavior. Do cicadas “sing” more loudly in louder environments? At a basic level, it would seem like a louder environment would impair the ability to find a mate.
Brood X evolves at a much slower rate than other species because they reproduce every seventeen years. It’s not clear to me whether this, combined with their sheer numbers, insulates them from the rapidly changing world above or sets them up for more sudden collapse. It’s probably a little bit of both.
The B-Lab 