It was the summer of 2013. Arriving for the first time at a cozy bungalow in the Hudson Valley just outside of New Paltz, New York, we took in the view of sloping lawn, woods and pool and savored the cool hilltop breeze - streaming in at a balmy temperature we last experienced in Florida in March.
We would set flowers on the dining table of the screened-in porch and relish time spent in this spot from morning to night. We also would encounter a fair share of noisy neighbors known as cicadas - these happen to emerge from underground abodes every 17 years. According to Gardenersnet.com, "When a particular brood (of cicadas) matures and emerges, it is usually in many millions of insects."
Our little bungalow colony was spared the worst of the lot, and after a while, we adapted to the daylong background cricket clatter. Harder to view were the thin branches of some deciduous trees falling victim to the insect's routine devastation. Said Gardenersnet. com, "Fortunately, their adult life span above ground is very brief, lasting about four to six weeks."
Still, we learned it was not so easy for those in an affected region who found their properties inundated with the cicadas; slender tree limbs draped with brown leaves and lawns blanketed with the carcasses of these crickets who had been living it up for their very brief lives. (I do mean living it up: A female cicada can deposit up to 600 eggs.) Forget about relaxing outside in such an insect orgy.
States affected in 2013 included CT, GA, MD, NC, NJ, NY, OK, PA, VA. In some cases, the remains of thousands and thousands and thousands of crickets carpeted lawns and yards. Raking them proved to be a macabre and unending task. It made winter's snow-blowing and autumn's leaf-blowing routines blithe by comparison.
In the face of such a deluge and with a choice between going absolutely mad and going creative, one New York resident came up with a wild, bright idea: fashioning garland from cricket remains and spraying the buggers bronze. Looking at the resulting garland, I marveled at the choice we have to face life's plagues of locust. (Being bronze, this option falls just short of foiling the creeps - but it is artfully defiant.)
Can't always run from unpleasant reality, and a "House for Sale" sign wouldn't work in the midst of 17-year cicada season. Residents somehow learned to hunker down and address the icky situation with the resources at hand. Up went nets over young trees. Down came damaged limbs. When at last the brunt of the invasion ended, and it was possible to kick back outside on a visible green lawn, the summer breeze never seemed so good. The relative peace never comforted so much.
If you are in the midst of a plague upon your life, I wish you a creative alternative to agonizing defeat. As with all things, this too shall pass. May you have some say in how it will leave you.
Cottage 2013
Garland of Nature 1