Molting & Metamorphosis

Mondays are made for metamorphosis. Fresh starts. New beginnings. A time for transformation. And that, of course, brings me back to cicadas. To molting and metamorphosis…

Back on August 18, I glimpsed — up close and personal — a midsummer cicada on Rosslyn’s waterfront. Do you remember this image?

And, as memories lead onto memories, that single, solitary emergence invoked others, so many others.

I remember… the Cicadoidea Ultra Emergence… This summer’s super emergence — an *historic* emergence — of periodical cicadas birthed more buzz than political pundits pontificating. (Source: Solitary Cicada)

Now, a month short of an election, that’s causing more buzz than summer’s super emergence, it’s inevitable that transformation returns, this time in the form of an abandoned cicada shell (technically an exoskeleton) still clinging to a Rosslyn tree. 

In a moment, I’ll revisit the cicada lifecycle, the natural cycle of molting and metamorphosis that explains this ghostly husk. But first, two fragments, like patches snipped from an old handkerchief to mend a pair of overalls, borrowed from earlier meditations on metamorphosis.

The metamorphosis is a sweeping reimagination of an environment often disregarded… (Source: Gable End Window in West Elevation)

This makes sense in the context of renovating an old domicile. But what about this?

Like a three dimensional kaleidoscope, total metamorphosis results from each small turn. (Source: Do Differently)

The slightest swivel, the sublist rotation in the lifecycle of a cicada, an historic home, or a pair of adventurous lovers, is cause for metamorphosis. Molting is emancipating. Inevitable.

As one prepares to molt one’s exoskeleton, the approaching metamorphosis is both exciting and anxiety inducing.

Cicada Shell & Lifecycle

According to Google AI, “a cicada shell is the exoskeleton shed by a cicada nymph when it climbs a vertical surface, like a tree, to emerge from the ground.” (Can’t figure out how to cite that, but seems to be a pretty generic bit of bio pulled from myriad sources.)

I step aside and offer you science.

Periodical cicadas are insects that spend most of their lives underground as nymphs, feeding off the sap of tree roots. They emerge to transform into adults and mate. Some periodical cicadas emerge every 13 years and others emerge every 17 years. The males “sing” by vibrating a membrane on the sides of their bodies.

After mating, the female makes slits in tree branches and lays eggs there. The eggs hatch six to seven weeks later, the nymphs fall to the ground and go into the soil, and the cycle begins again. The adult periodical cicadas only live three to four weeks. (Source: Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History)

And more science. 

Once they leave the ground, the cicadas will shed their shells and develop wings, allowing them to fly around and locate fresh hardwood trees and shrubs…

After they’ve found a tree or shrub to land on, the cicadas will mate and lay eggs at the end of branches. Newly hatched cicadas will then chew through the branch tips, causing them to fall off, carrying the young insects back down to the soil where they will spend the next 13 or 17 years. (Source: The Nature Conservancy)

In the lifecycle of the cicada molting and metamorphosis are inevitable, as inevitable as the long period of underground dormancy, nourishing, growing, preparing.

A solitary cicada in August. The ghost of a cicada in October. Both encounters captivating. Both encounters lingering…