Forty or more years after the fact, if I happen to catch the blaring of a guitar tract unmistakably Foghat (Slow Ride) or a lick from Peter Frampton, I am reminded of Homan Hall - usually 12:40 AM when one of my dorm mates down the hall cranks up his large stereo system to shake the cinder block walls. What is now merely a reminiscence of undergraduate youth, was back then an annoying disturbance before the next morning's chemistry class. Studying for physics, calculus and chemistry back in the 1970's, I had to ask - Why pump up the stereo in the small hours of the morning in a dorm full of students?
Now, long gone from the haunts of campus, I find myself 1,335 miles away, living in suburban North Texas. There are some things that I immediately took a shine too in Texas, of course barbecue and its culture, Tex-Mex cuisine, fire flies and impressive springtime thunderstorms. Some other things I have come slowly to appreciate, and some that I just plain have had to get used to over the years. A hot and humid Texas summer is one of those things that is just a natural fact, and something you have to get used to - no real sense in complaining. I've recently become aware of the growing fondness I have developed for a suburban Texas summer phenomena, the local "locust" or more entomologically correct, the Cicada. The cacophony of shrill, metallic trilling and throbbing coming from the tree tops is as much a part of a typical hot summer Texas July day as Foghat's Slow Ride was a part of life in Homan Hall when I was trying to get some sleep.
The cicadas incessant songs are mostly a display to attract a mate, and in answer to my question back in the '70's; Why Foghat turned up to volume 11 at 12:40 AM? I think the answer is the same - the bigger the stereo systems, the louder the trilling and throbbing in communal space, the greater the display of virility. Isn't it always a matter of getting sex? Same for college boys and Texas cicadas. Males of all species are so simple.
It is official that the State Insect of the Lone Star State is the Monarch butterfly, and who doesn't like the Monarch? But I think the Lone Star Locust is deserving up runner-up, the silver medal, for the State Insect of Texas. The cicadas measuring in at 2-inches from proboscis to wing-tip, sits tall in the saddle on an insect scale, they are loud and proud and dominate the auditory landscape across Texas' hot afternoons when that space is left open for mad dogs and Englishmen. They are pure Texas in my opinion. I'd give 'em full credit for making a run for top billing as State Insect of Texas.
I've grown to marvel at summer's sexual symphony synonymous with simmering sun. With parallax heat waves rising from the suburban concrete sidewalks in combination with the chorus of clamoring cicadas, I know I am smack dab in the heart of Texas. I've grown to appreciate it; Cicadas songs along with those of Aerosmith, Frampton and Foghat.
On this mid-August afternoon, the cicadas are mostly silent, I listen and hear only the brief, lonely buzz of a forlorn long-lived individual in his depopulated tree. Their life cycle above ground is but a flash on a summer's day. By this time of the season they are mostly gone, I miss them. But I will enjoy their full throated (tymbral) return with the humidity and high heat telling me it is summer in Texas. Appreciate it, or might I say; Take a slow ride, take it easy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcCNcgoyG_0
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| Tibecen sp. perched on flowering Brown Eyed Susan in Suneson's backyard, August, 2019. |
Now, long gone from the haunts of campus, I find myself 1,335 miles away, living in suburban North Texas. There are some things that I immediately took a shine too in Texas, of course barbecue and its culture, Tex-Mex cuisine, fire flies and impressive springtime thunderstorms. Some other things I have come slowly to appreciate, and some that I just plain have had to get used to over the years. A hot and humid Texas summer is one of those things that is just a natural fact, and something you have to get used to - no real sense in complaining. I've recently become aware of the growing fondness I have developed for a suburban Texas summer phenomena, the local "locust" or more entomologically correct, the Cicada. The cacophony of shrill, metallic trilling and throbbing coming from the tree tops is as much a part of a typical hot summer Texas July day as Foghat's Slow Ride was a part of life in Homan Hall when I was trying to get some sleep.
The cicadas incessant songs are mostly a display to attract a mate, and in answer to my question back in the '70's; Why Foghat turned up to volume 11 at 12:40 AM? I think the answer is the same - the bigger the stereo systems, the louder the trilling and throbbing in communal space, the greater the display of virility. Isn't it always a matter of getting sex? Same for college boys and Texas cicadas. Males of all species are so simple.
It is official that the State Insect of the Lone Star State is the Monarch butterfly, and who doesn't like the Monarch? But I think the Lone Star Locust is deserving up runner-up, the silver medal, for the State Insect of Texas. The cicadas measuring in at 2-inches from proboscis to wing-tip, sits tall in the saddle on an insect scale, they are loud and proud and dominate the auditory landscape across Texas' hot afternoons when that space is left open for mad dogs and Englishmen. They are pure Texas in my opinion. I'd give 'em full credit for making a run for top billing as State Insect of Texas.
I've grown to marvel at summer's sexual symphony synonymous with simmering sun. With parallax heat waves rising from the suburban concrete sidewalks in combination with the chorus of clamoring cicadas, I know I am smack dab in the heart of Texas. I've grown to appreciate it; Cicadas songs along with those of Aerosmith, Frampton and Foghat.
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| Specific identification of this species of Texas cicada is unknown by me, but I root for this gal being a Dog Day Cicada (Tibicen spp.) because that is a cool name to have |
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcCNcgoyG_0
