Want To Escape Cicadas? Here's Where To Go In The Tri-State
OSU Entomologist Joe Boggs was more than happy to oblige when I asked him to find places cicadas aren't. It took all of one afternoon of driving to find the eastern edge of Brood X.
(We left the other borders to be found on the Cicada Safari app.)
We began our journey at the Walgreens on St. Rt. 125 near I-275 in Union Township in Clermont County. A honey locust tree seemed to contain just as many cicadas as what we saw in Anderson Township. Boggs and cicada expert Gene Kritsky worked out a finger system for this trip. Boggs would take a picture containing these signals and upload it to the app.
- One finger: We see cicadas and hear their sounds
- Two fingers: We don't see many cicadas but hear their sounds
- Three fingers: We don't see any cicadas or hear them
With no end in sight, across from the Amelia Dairy Queen, Boggs declared, "It may be 'Welcome to West Virginia.' When do you need to get back?"
Some miles down the road, we come to a subdivision across from the Amelia Church of God. The cicada noise seemed to be getting quieter. "So this is where we're starting to get pockets," says Boggs. "You wouldn't expect it to be a hard edge."
He points to a large oak tree and sees nothing and hears nothing. But the journey continues because down the street the cicadas are present.
At the Nurre Funeral Home, Boggs is seemingly having a good time plotting out the border in the field. He imagines what the cicadas are saying to one another as their population thins. "We picked the wrong spot -George you led us astray!"
Boggs had hoped East Fork Lake would be cicada-free so we could invite people to have a peaceful time at the beach. But not to be.
With the cicadas still buzzing, we get back on 125 and end up at the Grant Career Center in Bethel where Boggs declares the end of the Brood, holding up three fingers and uploading it to the app.
To confirm, we make one last stop at Bethel's Burke Park, the home of the hollowed-out sycamore tree. That's where we meet Mary Patterson. "I haven't really seen any sign of any here alive, just their shells," she says.
She and others are enjoying the peace and quiet.