Our Earth Historians Return: the 17-Year Cicadas

I was four years old when I first met the 17-year-old Cicadas emerging generation in northeast Illinois. We lived in the woods, and that late spring and early summer, the cicadas were all over them—chaotic, cacophonic, mesmerizing! Their gossamer wings and beady red eyes were a somewhat scary fascination, and I loved them. I carried them in my pockets and cared for them in leafed shoeboxes, only to have them delightfully let loose in the house.

I missed their return at ages 21 and 38, living elsewhere. At age 55, I was back at the place of my birth in the Oaks to help care for my mother. While living there again, I was honored and awed to reconnect with the great-great-great grandchildren of that tribal community I met when I was just four years old.