I haven’t heard any sound from cicada in Edison, but it is said in the Princeton township 30 miles to the west, cicada is taking over the neighborhood. They climb on every branch and sing all day long and shed their skins everywhere. There’s a very interesting article about New Jersey cicada on nj.com news here.
It reminds me of the days when I grew up. There are no cicada to speak of when we lived right next to the Mongolian steppe. My father is a Mongolian and he and I would have preferred to stay in the north, but my mother preferred the south.
So we moved south where cicada comes out every summer and sing their never ending songs. The Asian version of cicada comes out every year. Each year, we had this loud summer–as loud as having firecrackers to ward off the spirits during the lunar new year festival. After a while, one gets used to their presence.
And I have to say fried cicada is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted. Usually only the big ones are fried and the little ones are spared. The ones as big as a thumb were fried and salted, sold by farmers’ children in the market. It seemed that the local farmers were not interested in this and it was a little business left to farmers’ teenager children. They would not only sell cicada, but also other insects too, but cicada is the most delicious of all since it has a firmer and more substantial body.
Nowadays, I feel a little creepy about eating insects and would not venture to taste a cicada even if it is thrust upon me. I guess people change through the years.