August 07, 1986 - The Thunderstorm WatchThe Thunderstorm Watch
By PAUL STOUTENBURGH
Thunderstorms mean different
things to different people. To me there
has always been a feeling of anticipa-
tion when I hear those far -off rumbl-
ings. The other night we had just such
a thunderstorm. It was one of those
hot and humid summer evenings that
seemed to be just ripe for a storm.
Outside our open bedroom window
it was black and starless and not a
breath of air moved through the trees.
Laying there I could hear the rumbl-
ings, like in some giant's stomach, of
the approaching storm.
Our dog, outside the front door,
knew of the storm's coming for he
started to bark, which meant he
wanted to come in. When I opened the
door he was there, wagging his tail,
panting and eager to hide. Thun-
derstorms are not one of his strongest
points. It was down to the bedroom
he headed where he lay panting the
rest of the night.
By the time I got the cushions in
from the patio and closed the living
room windows, the sky was flashing
with blue lights far to the west.
Remembering Thunderstorms
As I lay in bed, my mind ran back
to the first real thunderstorm I re-
membered. We kids had stayed over
at my Uncle Henry's summer bun-
galow. It was one that had nothing
but partitions surrounding the bed-
rooms and living space with no ceil-
ings but the roof above. One thin
layer of sheetrock separated each
room which let us kids chatter back
and forth easily. On the west side was
a big enclosed glass porch with win-
dows that, when opened, swung up
and hooked to the ceiling.
The thunderstorm that approached
that night left a shattering and last-
ing effect on all us kids. We got up
with our parents and sat on the front
porch to watch the storm. It seemed
as if we were inside every lightning
bolt. The torrential rains, the flash-
ing lightning and the clashes of thun-
der made us hang on dearly to our
parents who comforted us through
this new and scary experience. The
following day we found that lightning
had struck two trees a short distance
from the house. One, a huge oak on
my dad's place, was literally split in
half.
And so, as yesterday's storm slowly
moved its way towards us, my mind
reflected back over those early years.
But,, with time and many thun-
derstorms later, I now looked forward
to the storm's coming.
Besides the rumbling and flashes
of blue, there was a stir in the treetops
which meant a change in the air. The
next ingredient was a coolness that
flowed into the room. The elements
were blending well for a storm. All
that was needed was the seasoning
and then, like a giant chefs final
touch, a sprinkling of delicate rain-
drops was added. Very quietly at first,
but with every flash an increase until
we had our summer thunderstorm
with its heavy rains, flashes of light-
ning and thunder. The dog by the bed-
side shivered with anxiety.
Locust Climbs Out
The next day the ground was once
again moist and soft. Weeds could be
pulled from the garden with ease and
the world had taken on a fresh new
look. This might have been what the
Focus on
Nature
locusts, or cicadas, as they're more
technically known, were waiting for.
Now they could come out of their sub-
terranean tombs, where they have
been for the past two years, and start
a new life. There are different kinds
of locusts, some spending as much as
17 years underground before making
an appearance.
The ones we hear in the treetops
during the hot summer days are
called the dog -day harvest fly of the
East and they only stay underground
for two years. When they come out in
the nymph stage they have no wings
until they shed their skeleton nymph
skin. This splits down the back and
out comes the new soft locust with
wet crumpled wings. When dried, the
locust will fly to the top of a tree and
start its mating call so familiar to us.
Once the male has attracted the
female and mating takes place, his
life's job has ended. He soon dies and
drops to the ground. I've often found
these dead locusts as proof of their
mission accomplished. The female
will now lay her eggs and soon die,
as well. When the young nymphs
develop they drop to the ground and
dig in for their underground stay.
Again, depending on the species, it
can be from two to 17 years.
So when you hear the locust calling
in the treetops this summer, re-
member he's celebrating his arrival
from down under. His song, such as
it is, is his triumph and the mating
that takes place, the fulfillment of his
life and the continuation of the
species.
The Suffblk Times %August 7,' 19£i6 /Page 9A
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
LOCUST - -After two years underground, the nymph crawls out and
sheds its skin. Here it dries its wings before flying to the top of the tree
to call its mate.
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