A commonplace miracle of transformation

Last Saturday night, at the Midwest Native Plant Conference (more on that in a soon to come post), many of the attendees set out on a nocturnal foray to look for anything interesting. As we passed a smallish white pine, I noticed several newly emerged annual cicada nymphs that had scaled partway up the trunk. Most had split open, and their inhabitants had liberated themselves, but we were interested to see that one nymph was still plodding its way up the tree. After spending a while at John Howard's mothing sheets, several of us circled back to check on the cicada nymph's progress.

By the time we returned, the nymph had reached the lowermost branch of the pine, and had moved out on it a foot or so and was firmly attached to its undersurface. One of its mates is in the background; that cicada has already emerged, leaving behind an empty shell. Annual cicadas in the genus Tibicen emerge every year, as you've no doubt guessed, with each crop spending at least two years under the ground feeding on tree roots. Finally, like strange little mud-caked zombies, some sort of cue triggers them to burst from the soil and commence the amazing transformation shown in this photo series.

I used my Canon Rebel T3i with its 100 mm macro lens and Speedlite 430 flash to make these photos. Fortunately, I had the camera's time and date stamp set correctly. The first photo, above, was made at 11:08 pm. The cicada within its soon to be former larval shell is pushing outwards; you can see the dorsal (upper) surface of the shell beginning to rupture.

By 11:19 pm, the cicada had broken through its shell and was rapidly expanding in size.

11:27 pm. The wing buds are nearly free.

11:30 pm. The stubby little wings - soon to grow much larger - pop free from the shell.

One minute later, 11:31 pm, and the animal's legs are nearly pulled free.

There! 11:34 pm and its legs are almost totally free. Short periods of rest were punctuated with flexing and wriggling of the legs, as the cicada pumped hemolymph into them and they grew and hardened. Note how the insect has taken on a beautiful bluish-green tint around the head and legs.

At 11:41, the cicada is hanging straight down, legs free, and giving periodic tremors as it pushes itself free. It is almost as if the insect is nearly imperceptibly oozing itself from its larval case.

At 11:45 pm, I shifted position and made this photo. The eyes are becoming pigmented and the wing buds are unfurling before our eyes.

By 12:08 am the animal was well on its way towards grabbing its nymph shell with its legs; bending forward and up as if executing an abdominal crunch.

By 12:10 am things were happening quickly. The animal has managed to reach its former shell, and has seized it with its legs. Not much of its abdomen remains imprisoned within the shell, and we were on full alert knowing the insect would soon pop free.

This photo is also stamped at 12:10 am; very shortly after the preceding photo the cicada pulled its abdomen completely free.

This is the last, or nearly the last, photo that I made, at 12:12 am. The cicada is completely liberated and will proceed to rapidly pump up, harden, and dry. I and my companions were pretty well beat by this time, and headed off for bed. Nonetheless, we hardly considered this hour or so of cicada-watching wasted time, as the process is one of those amazing little miracles that plays out untold thousands of times a night around here, but is very seldom seen.

I made this image of a nearby cicada that had emerged earlier and was a bit further along. In short order, the subject of my photo series will have reached this stage, a nearly adult lyric cicada, Tibicen lyricen. Come morning, the cicada will have made its way into the crown of the tree, and be fully flighted. If a male, it will add its buzz saw drone to the chorus of other cicadas; a symphony characteristic of the dog days of summer.

An amazing transformation

While down in West Virginia this weekend, I had occasion to visit the above outhouse on Saturday night. Now, that sounds really weird, I know. But, my purposes were noble - this structure, which is on the upper rim of the New River gorge in a small park called Burnwood, is famous for the moths that it attracts. That light remains on all night, and there is almost always something cool that has flown in and landed on the wall.

The field trips for the New River Birding and Nature Festival gather at Burnwood, and we always check the outhouse first thing in the morning. Lunas and many other cool moths are often found, and this may be the most heavily scrutinized john in the Mountaineer State.

While the outhouse was not as dense with moths as it is in spring, I wasn't disappointed. This is a Hog Sphinx, Darapsa myron, the larvae of which feed on Virginia Creeper, Parthenocissus quinquefolia, and other members of the grape family.

This one is even cooler. It is a Small-eyed Sphinx, Paonias myops, which uses cherry and birch trees as hosts, among others.

Small-eyed Sphinx has a distinctive posture when at rest, with the abdomen strongly curled upwards.

Anyway, I heard Nebraska Coneheads, Neoconocephalus nebrascensis, singing from nearby scruffy woodland borders, so off I went to investigate. In the course of searching for the coneheads, I lucked into this - a newly emerging annual cicada, attached to the culm of a Deer's-tongue Grass, Panicum clandestinum. The above shot was taken at 10 pm, and the cicada had probably begun splitting its way out of its larval case within an hour of my arrival.

There are about a half-dozen species of annual cicadas in these parts, and they live most of their lives subterraneously as nymphs, tapping into tree roots for nutrients. When some internal alarm clock rings, they emerge from the ground, climb up a plant, and begin the process of transformation into the winged adult. At this point, the wing buds are quite apparent and the insect is in the process of pulling itself upright. Cicadas normally emerge under cover of darkness to avoid predators. If they tried this transformation during the day, a bird or some other predator would have an easy feast.

By 10:30 pm, it looked like this. I could practically see the wings pumping up as the creature's hemolymph coursed through its veins. It was like watching air being slowly pumped into an inflatable raft.

Ten-fifteen minutes later and the wings had filled out, becoming a gorgeous translucent shade of blue-green. The patterning on the thorax is developing nicely, and the abdomen is rapidy enlarging. The animal can now be identified with some certainty as a Lyric Cicada, Tibicen lyricen, a common species in the area and one that I heard singing during the day.

Only five minutes or so later, and the wings had become clearer and more expanded.

By 11:15, the cicada was pretty much developed, sans some coloration and final hardening of its body parts. I had to leave at this point, but shortly after sunup the following morning, the cicada probably took its inaugural flight, high into the boughs of nearby trees. There, it would join numerous others and add to the mid-summer cacophony of piercing drawn-out buzzes that these strange insects produce.