The Last Word On Nothing

You know I love the 17-year cicadas. I loved when the nymphs were crawling out of the ground. I loved when the adults were blundering about. I loved the wings littered on the ground. I loved the singing from the trees. Now I love seeing the flagging on trees, the latest reminder of the cicadas’ presence – the brown-leafed tips of limbs hanging down, showing every twig where a cicada laid her eggs.

But the cicadas have left us one last gift that I could do without, according to various reports in local news outlets. Oak leaf itch mites are tiny critters that live in oak trees. According to at least one cicada expert, these mites might be having a really good year, feasting on cicada eggs. And then they might be falling out of the trees. And then, just for the heck of it, they might be biting humans.

I heard about these weird bites from a friend in northern Virginia first. Then the articles appeared. And then last Thursday I was sitting at my desk and noticed some very itchy bites on my chest, arms, and stomach. That’s odd, I thought – how did a mosquito bite me that many times, inside my apartment, without me noticing it? The next day they were worse, red and inflamed. Unlike mosquito bites, which generally fade if I ignore them, these kept getting worse. By Saturday each had a little blister-y blob in the center.

I reread the Washington Post article about the mites. And I remembered that, Wednesday night after work, I’d been feeling a little sorry for myself and went for a walk, which included sitting for about 10 minutes in the grass. Under an oak tree. An oak tree with cicada flagging.

It’s not always obvious why it’s useful to learn about nature in an urban environment. I live in the city. I get around inside manmade objections, like cars and trains. My food comes from a grocery store. The biggest threats to my life are probably other people. My survival skills are mostly in the fiber arts. I don’t need to build my own shelter or forage my own food.

But, on Sunday, in the National Gallery of Art’s sculpture garden, when a friend and I were looking for a place to picnic, I picked a spot in the shade of a row of linden trees. Lindens. Definitely not oaks. The mosquitoes had their way with me, but I avoided the mites.

Seventeen years from now, I hope there are enough cicadas for another spectacular event. I live in fear that the scientist in Jane’s Biographic article about cicadas is right: “They’re going to be like the passenger pigeons of the insect world” he said. I was so sad when I read that, I stopped reading.

So I look forward, with a little trepidation, to the return of the cicadas in 2038. And I hope that someone will remind me to leave town before the cicadas start hatching and the mites start raining down.

Photo: Helen Fields