{"id":51154,"date":"2021-06-10T07:59:20","date_gmt":"2021-06-10T12:59:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu\/nll\/?p=51154"},"modified":"2021-06-10T07:59:20","modified_gmt":"2021-06-10T12:59:20","slug":"how-and-why-some-insects-sing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu\/nll\/?p=51154","title":{"rendered":"How and why some insects sing"},"content":{"rendered":"

I was going to title this post \"Insect vocalisms\", but thought better of it, because I didn't want anyone to think I was claiming any kind of linguistic quality for the mind-boggling acoustic phenomenon that I witnessed on Saturday.\u00a0 Though what I heard was not language in any way, shape, or form, it did impart an overwhelming message.<\/p>\r\n

I was on a long run in the mountains of western Pennsylvania.\u00a0 I started out from Breezewood and headed for Bedford along Route 30 (Lincoln Highway).\u00a0 As I ran happily at a comfortable clip, I was puzzled by a shrill ringing noise that accompanied me all the way.\u00a0 I couldn't tell where the loud, high-pitched sound was coming from.\u00a0 For awhile I thought it might be some mining operation underground, but I soon dismissed that theory because it lasted too long and I seemed to be enveloped in the noise.\u00a0 All around me were forests and woods, and the constant ringing seemed to be emanating from them.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

The penetrating resonance was loud<\/b> and high-pitched, though not quite as high-pitched as my tinnitus, which I liken to a whistling tea kettle going off full blast in my ears.\u00a0 If there was one truly good thing about the loud noise I was hearing, it is that it masked my tinnitus for a while.<\/p>\r\n

Finally, at the bottom of a hill, after running about three or four miles, I spotted a woman in a car who was parked by the side of the road and had a box of mail on the passenger seat beside her.\u00a0 I asked her if she was the postwoman, and she said yes.\u00a0 There were no houses visible for miles (apparently only a few people live on lanes here and there tucked back in the deep woods).\u00a0 I said, \"Are you from around here?\"\u00a0 \"Yes,\" she replied.\u00a0 I said, \"What is that loud, high-pitched ringing?\"\u00a0 She laughed and answered, \"Those are cicadas.\u00a0 They come every 17 years.\"\u00a0 Ah, now I understood. We had similar creatures back in Ohio too, but we called them \"seven-year locusts\", though they made more of a buzzing, rasping sound than their screaming Pennsylvania cousins.\u00a0 The raucous sound of the Ohio \"locusts\" too could be overpowering, and on hot days was quite annoying, at times almost intolerable when it reached a feverish pitch.<\/p>\r\n

There must have been billions of those buggers in the Pennsylvania woods to make such an all-encompassing, cacophonous din.\u00a0 The heat of the day, combined with the all-pervasive, shrill, sonic shrieking of the cicadas, made me feel as though I were having a surreal, transcendent experience.<\/p>\r\n

As I ran for the next two days (ultimately the insectile reverberations persisted for 15-25 miles), I came to learn quite a bit about the behavior of the cicadas:<\/p>\r\n

1. Apparently they come up out of the ground after the weather is at 64\u00ba for awhile (so people told me).<\/p>\r\n

2. They crawl up on trees and climb out of (slough off) their old skins, which they leave there clinging to the bark.<\/p>\r\n

3. Then they go about the business of mating, which they do tail to tail.<\/p>\r\n

4. It seems that it's the guy cicadas who are making all the racket; they are, so to speak, hot and bothered, and are trying to attract the girls, so they are trying to outdo the other fellows with their frantic singing.\u00a0 After they hook up — mate tail to tail (I saw many of them doing it) — their mission in this life is over, and they might as well just die.<\/p>\r\n

5. They fly around clumsily for a while (occasionally one of them would bump into me) — I saw lots of them on the ground, wandering around in a post-copulative daze — but never stepped on them, both because it would have been messy and also because I wanted to be Jain-like:\u00a0 let them die according to their own life cycle.<\/p>\r\n

6. Sometimes the plump bugs land in the Juniata and other rivers, which makes the fish and fishermen happy.<\/p>\r\n

I'm not a professional, or even amateur, entomologist, so what I've written above about the nature and behavior of 17-year cicadas may not be scientifically correct.\u00a0 These are just things I saw myself or heard from the local people.<\/p>\r\n

After I had a chance to sit down with my laptop, I found exactly the article I was looking for, \"Why are cicadas so noisy?<\/a>\", by Robert Valdes, HowStuffWorks, which explains the mechanism and probable reasons why cicadas screech out their lusty chorus:<\/p>\r\n

The cicada<\/a>'s claim to fame is its singing. The high-pitched song is actually a mating call<\/b> belted out by males. Each species has its own distinctive song that only attracts females of its own kind. This allows several different species to coexist.<\/p>\r\n

Cicadas<\/a> are the only insects capable of producing such a unique and loud sound. Some larger species can produce a call in excess of 120 decibels at close range. This is approaching the pain threshold of the human ear<\/a>! Smaller species sing in such a high pitch that it cannot be heard by humans, but may cause dogs<\/a> and other animals to howl in pain<\/a>.<\/p>\r\n

The apparatus used by cicadas for singing is complex. The organs that produce sound are called tymbals<\/b>. Tymbals are a pair of ribbed membranes at the base of the abdomen. The cicada sings by contracting the internal tymbal muscles. This causes the membranes to buckle inward, producing a distinct sound. When these muscles relax, the tymbals pop back to their original position. Scientists still don't fully understand how this apparatus produces such extreme volume.<\/p>\r\n

Cicadas usually sing during the heat of the day. In addition to attracting a mate, the loud noise actually repels birds. The cicada's song is painful to the birds' ears and interferes with their communication, making it difficult for the birds to hunt in groups. Male cicadas in the same brood will stick together when calling in order to increase the total volume of noise. This reduces the chances of bird predation for the whole brood.<\/p>\r\n

Even cicadas must protect themselves from the volume of their own singing. Both male and female cicadas have a pair of large, mirror-like membranes called the tympana<\/b>, which function as ears. The tympana are connected to an auditory organ by a short tendon. When a male sings, the tendon retracts, creasing the tympana so that it won't be damaged by the sound.<\/p>\r\n

Only a Japanese haiku could capture the essence of the cry of the cicada so perfectly:<\/p>\r\n

\u9591\u304b\u3055\u3084
\u5ca9\u306b\u3057\u307f\u5165\u308b
\u8749\u306e\u58f0<\/p>\r\n

\u3057\u3065\u304b\u3055\u3084
\u3044\u306f\u306b\u3057\u307f\u3044\u308b
\u305b\u307f\u306e\u3053\u3091<\/p>\r\n

shizukasa ya
iwa ni shimi-iru
semi no koe<\/p>\r\n

\u2014\u2014\u2014-<\/p>\r\n

stillness\u2014
sinking into the rocks,
cicadas\u2019 cry
\u2014Barnhill, Bash\u014d\u2019s Haiku<\/i>, 94, #392<\/p>\r\n

the stillness\u2014
seeping into the rocks
cicadas\u2019 screech
\u2014Ueda, Bash\u014d and His Interpreters<\/i>, 249<\/p>\r\n

Quietness\u2014
Sinking into the rocks,
A cicada\u2019s cry.
\u2014Ueda, Matsuo Bash\u014d<\/i>, 52<\/p>\r\n

stillness\u2014
sinking deep into the rocks
cries of the cicada
\u2014Shirane, Traces of Dreams<\/i>, 228, 273<\/p>\r\n

Lonely stillness\u2014
a single cicada\u2019s cry
sinking into stone
\u2014Hamill, The Essential Bash\u014d<\/i>, 22, 143<\/p>\r\n

Ah, such stillness:
that the very rocks are pierced
by cicadas\u2019 drone!
\u2014Carter, Traditional Japanese Poetry<\/i>, 356<\/p>\r\n

Ah, tranquility!
Penetrating the very rock,
a cicada\u2019s voice.
\u2014Helen Craig McCullough, Classical Japanese Prose<\/i>, 539<\/p>\r\n

How still it is here\u2014
Stinging into the stones,
The locusts\u2019 trill.
\u2014Keene, Narrow Road<\/i>, 99<\/p>\r\n

Quietness: seeping into the rocks, the cicada\u2019s voice
\u2014Sato, Narrow Road<\/i>, 95<\/p>\r\n

Silence\u2014
Penetrating the rocks,
Cicada voices.
\u2014Stephen Addiss, The Art of Haiku<\/i><\/p>\r\n

\u2014\u2014\u2014-<\/p>\r\n

T\u0129nh l\u1eb7ng \u2013
Th\u1ea5m v\u00e0o \u0111\u00e1,
Ti\u1ebfng ve.<\/p>\r\n

\u00a0<\/p>\r\n

Cicada Voice Haiku<\/a> \u2013 Basho<\/a> (1644-1694)
August 29, 2017 ~ suisekiblog\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

S<\/b>elected readings <\/b><\/p>\r\n