Cicada Assault.

It is a beautiful late summer, early fall day at Cowfeathers Farm. On the list for the day is to do some painting outdoors. Youngest had begun priming the beautiful jump standards he and I built last month, but tired of the task before it was complete. He did a great job on what he had done, just gave up a little soon. So, out to the front pasture with my can o' Kilz. (Paint primer and mildew combatant). Sun! Space! Breezes! And, the music of the Cicadas.
Here we are experiencing the annual song of the Dog Day Cicadas. They are green or brown, and not to be confused with the periodic Cicadas whose life cycle is 17 years long, and will not emerge at my house again until 2016. That will be Brood V. We had Brood X back in 2004. Cowfeathers is located at the intersection of the two Brood's territories. We are like the block in LA where the Crips and the Bloods both hang. Right?

Anyway, this year, just the usual green cicadas. But there are plenty. So, while I'm out painting, I am enjoying their song, which starts slow, builds to a crescendo, and then peters out. I'm bent over, painting a jump standard, when one of the males jumps onto my back, near my right shoulder and starts singing for a female. I figure, I'm in his field, so I will just wait for him to get tired of this "tree" and find somewhere else to sing. But, as his song builds to the crescendo, I begin to think it is doing more damage to my hearing than the Grateful Dead concerts I snuck into when I was...younger. So, I reached back with the end of my paintbrush and knocked him off. He settled into the grass about 5 feet behind me to continue singing. Fine.
But, I think I made him mad.
In one swift cicada-ninja move he leapt up, wings flapping, and flew down my shirt and into my bra. Now, compared to the roach-in-the-bra incident at Randleigh Dairy in 1989 where I divested myself of garments and did some good old fashioned screaming like a girl, I was very calm.
Not that I can explain that to any of the cars that drove past the farm this morning.

I wanted to be a Princess. Ended up scarred for life.