Elkhunter
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Billions of cicadas now on the move
By Stephen Manning
Associated Press — May 17, 2004
UNIVERSITY PARK, Md. — Now's the time to make their move: Billions of the red-eyed insects, who get only one chance every 17 years to mate, are crawling their way above ground for this rare opportunity.
Scientists say this year's batch, known as Brood X, is the largest of the cicada groups that appear at various intervals.
For Raupp and other "Cicadamaniacs" at the University of Maryland, it's also a rare opportunity to get the word out about what they say is a harmless, remarkable natural event.
"We've been able to calm a lot of people down," said graduate student Jenna Jadin.
Raupp heads a team of about a dozen graduate students who have been furiously writing cicada cookbooks, teaching classes at schools as far away as Ohio and working with landscapers to minimize plant damage from the expected hoard.
The team has fielded a steady stream of phone calls: Gardeners fret about their plants, pet owners wonder if their dogs will get sick from scarfing the creatures, and even a few frazzled event planners worry about cicadas dive-bombing brides at outdoor weddings.
Ultimately, the goal of the cicadamaniacs is to calm those fears, even if a few of the slow flying cicadas might mistakenly bounce off a forehead or two.
Caution is in order, however, for would-be cicada gourmets. An Indiana man who ate nearly 30 sauteed cicadas had an allergic reaction and had to be treated with antihistamines, steroids and a shot of adrenaline.
The experience wasn't all bad, apparently.
"He said they didn't taste too bad, but his wife didn't care for the aroma," said Dr. Al Ripani, the doctor who treated the man Thursday at a Bloomington hospital.
The University of Maryland's department of entomology's "Cicada-licious" cookbook, which includes recipes for Cicada Stir-Fry and Cicada Dumplings, contains a disclaimer urging people to consult a doctor before eating cicadas.
The first of the cicada nymphs emerged last week from their holes and crawled up nearby trees to molt, shedding their hard skins and emerging with wings. Those that survive the birds, squirrels and other predators will mate, lay eggs and die over the next several weeks.
This particular batch emerges only once every 17 years in the mid-Atlantic region and Midwest. They come out in force - as many as 1.5 million per acre in some places.
That kind of cicada explosion can be downright terrifying for those who fear bugs. But for entomologists, it's a chance that comes along only a few time in a career to study cicadas in the wild.
Many get a bit giddy.
In his lab, Raupp perches live cicadas on his face for the benefit of a visitor. Driving to one of his makeshift study sites, he cuts short a conversation with an excited shout as he points out a cicada buzzing across the windshield.
A perpetually busy man, he's been spending recent nights shepherding a film crew through shoots of emerging nymphs and his days handling calls from reporters as far away as Finland. Still, he knows it's a rare thing for entomologists to become instant celebrities.
"The press is going to leave us like a bad date when this is over," he quipped.
Pulling up to a University Park home, Raupp leaps out of his minivan and starts grabbing as many wiggling cicadas as he finds. He spent most of the previous night in the home's yard, fighting off hungry squirrels so that the film crew could have something left to shoot.
"This is wild and crazy good fun," he said. "This is what we live for."
Billions of cicadas now on the move
By Stephen Manning
Associated Press — May 17, 2004
UNIVERSITY PARK, Md. — Now's the time to make their move: Billions of the red-eyed insects, who get only one chance every 17 years to mate, are crawling their way above ground for this rare opportunity.
Scientists say this year's batch, known as Brood X, is the largest of the cicada groups that appear at various intervals.
For Raupp and other "Cicadamaniacs" at the University of Maryland, it's also a rare opportunity to get the word out about what they say is a harmless, remarkable natural event.
"We've been able to calm a lot of people down," said graduate student Jenna Jadin.
Raupp heads a team of about a dozen graduate students who have been furiously writing cicada cookbooks, teaching classes at schools as far away as Ohio and working with landscapers to minimize plant damage from the expected hoard.
The team has fielded a steady stream of phone calls: Gardeners fret about their plants, pet owners wonder if their dogs will get sick from scarfing the creatures, and even a few frazzled event planners worry about cicadas dive-bombing brides at outdoor weddings.
Ultimately, the goal of the cicadamaniacs is to calm those fears, even if a few of the slow flying cicadas might mistakenly bounce off a forehead or two.
Caution is in order, however, for would-be cicada gourmets. An Indiana man who ate nearly 30 sauteed cicadas had an allergic reaction and had to be treated with antihistamines, steroids and a shot of adrenaline.
The experience wasn't all bad, apparently.
"He said they didn't taste too bad, but his wife didn't care for the aroma," said Dr. Al Ripani, the doctor who treated the man Thursday at a Bloomington hospital.
The University of Maryland's department of entomology's "Cicada-licious" cookbook, which includes recipes for Cicada Stir-Fry and Cicada Dumplings, contains a disclaimer urging people to consult a doctor before eating cicadas.
The first of the cicada nymphs emerged last week from their holes and crawled up nearby trees to molt, shedding their hard skins and emerging with wings. Those that survive the birds, squirrels and other predators will mate, lay eggs and die over the next several weeks.
This particular batch emerges only once every 17 years in the mid-Atlantic region and Midwest. They come out in force - as many as 1.5 million per acre in some places.
That kind of cicada explosion can be downright terrifying for those who fear bugs. But for entomologists, it's a chance that comes along only a few time in a career to study cicadas in the wild.
Many get a bit giddy.
In his lab, Raupp perches live cicadas on his face for the benefit of a visitor. Driving to one of his makeshift study sites, he cuts short a conversation with an excited shout as he points out a cicada buzzing across the windshield.
A perpetually busy man, he's been spending recent nights shepherding a film crew through shoots of emerging nymphs and his days handling calls from reporters as far away as Finland. Still, he knows it's a rare thing for entomologists to become instant celebrities.
"The press is going to leave us like a bad date when this is over," he quipped.
Pulling up to a University Park home, Raupp leaps out of his minivan and starts grabbing as many wiggling cicadas as he finds. He spent most of the previous night in the home's yard, fighting off hungry squirrels so that the film crew could have something left to shoot.
"This is wild and crazy good fun," he said. "This is what we live for."
