The Cicada Party of 2025 and How to Save Your Yard from Their Shenanigans
Hold onto your gardening gloves, folks—Brood XIV, the rock stars of the 17-year cicada world, are crashing the scene in 2025! These buggy divas have been chilling underground since 2008, sipping root juice, and now they’re ready to throw the loudest, messiest party Ohio, West Virginia, and parts of Kentucky have seen in, well, 17 years. Think Woodstock, but with wings and worse haircuts. Their mission? Sing, flirt, …, lay eggs, and maybe trash your landscaping in the process. Here’s the lowdown on Brood XIV’s epic comeback and how to keep your yard from becoming their personal Airbnb.
Meet Brood XIV: The Cicada Crew That Never RSVPs
Brood XIV is the cicada equivalent of that friend who shows up unannounced with a million cousins. After 17 years of underground R&R, these Magicicada maniacs emerge when the soil hits a balmy 64°F (around late May in Ohio and nearby states). They climb trees, ditch their crusty exoskeletons like bad prom suits, and get to work. The guys belt out love ballads at 100 decibels—think leaf blower meets boy band—while the ladies pick their mates and start carving up your trees to lay eggs. It’s a six-week rager, wrapping up by July, leaving your yard looking like it hosted a bug bacchanalia.
Why Your Yard’s on Their Hit List
These cicadas aren’t munching your roses or stealing your tomatoes—they’re too classy for that. But the ladies? They’ve got a thing for slicing into your trees’ branches (the pencil-thin ones, about ¼ inch thick) to stash their eggs. This move, called “flagging,” leaves branches looking like they got a bad haircut: wilted, brown, and ready to snap. Young trees—those whippersnappers under 3 years old—are their prime targets, while your big ol’ oaks just shrug it off. The result? Your landscaping dreams might take a hit, and your lawn will be littered with cicada corpses and crunchy exoskeletons. Glamorous, right?
How to Protect Your Yard from Brood XIV’s Wild Party
Don’t let these winged weirdos turn your yard into their post-concert dumpster. Here’s how to outsmart Brood XIV with a smirk:
Wrap Your Trees Like a Bug Burrito
Why: Cicadas can’t lay eggs if they can’t get to the branches. It’s like putting a “No Vacancy” sign on your trees.
How: Grab some fine mesh netting (tulle from the craft store works—channel your inner ballerina) and drape it over young trees and shrubs. Make sure the holes are smaller than a cicada’s ego (¼ inch or less).
Pro Tip: Tie it tight at the trunk so they can’t sneak in. Put it up in mid-May before the cicadas start their karaoke and take it down when they’re gone (mid-July). Your baby maples and dogwoods will thank you.
Hold Off on Planting New Trees
Why: Planting a new tree now is like inviting cicadas to a buffet. Young saplings are their favorite egg-laying Airbnb.
How: Wait until fall to plant that fancy cherry tree. If you must plant now, wrap it in netting faster than you’d hide snacks from a toddler.
Bonus: You’ll save money on therapy for your trees.
Skip the Bug Spray—It’s Useless
Why: Spraying cicadas is like trying to stop a tsunami with a paper towel. There are millions of them, and they don’t care about your fancy chemicals.
How: Save your money and the bees. Netting and patience are your BFFs. If ants show up to snack on cicada leftovers, deal with them later—those party crashers are a problem for July You.
Clean Up the Afterparty Mess
Why: Dead cicadas and their exoskeletons turn your lawn into a crunchy graveyard. Plus, ants love the leftovers.
How: Rake ‘em up, toss ‘em in the compost (they’re nitrogen-packed!), or blast them off your patio with a hose. Leaf blower? Even better—pretend you’re in a post-apocalyptic movie.
Fun Fact: Some folks fry cicadas for snacks. We’re not judging… okay, maybe a little.
Keep Your Trees Happy and Hydrated
Why: A healthy tree laughs in the face of cicada damage. Stressed trees? They’re the ones crying in the corner.
How: Water young trees weekly (1–2 inches), slap on some mulch (2–3 inches, not touching the trunk), and skip the fertilizer—lush growth is cicada catnip. After the bugs bounce, prune any flagged branches with clean shears. Your trees will be ready for their close-up by fall.
Embrace the Chaos
Why: Cicadas are nature’s glitter bomb—messy but temporary. They feed birds, foxes, and your neighbor’s confused cat. Plus, you won’t see this madness again until 2042.
How: Blast some music to drown out their buzzing, snap pics of their goofy red eyes, or let your kids collect exoskeletons for a creepy art project. Lean into the weirdness!
Source: Accuweather
Where’s the Party At?
Brood XIV is strutting its stuff in Ohio (think Cincinnati and Columbus), West Virginia, and parts of northern Kentucky. If you’re in California or Maine, you’re off the hook—this crew doesn’t tour that far. Check with your local extension service for exact emergence maps, or just listen for the telltale hum of a million cicadas tuning up.
Cicada Trivia to Impress Your Friends
Brood XIV’s synchronized exit is like a bug version of Ocean’s Eleven—perfectly timed to overwhelm predators.
Their 17-year nap is one of the longest in the insect world. Talk about commitment to the snooze button!
Cicadas were once a Native American delicacy. Pass the hot sauce?
Wrap-Up: Survive and Thrive Through Brood XIV’s Bash
Brood XIV’s 2025 tour is a loud, messy, once-in-17-years spectacle, but your yard doesn’t have to be the designated crash pad. Net your trees, hold off on planting, and keep those shears ready for a post-party trim. With a little prep and a lot of humor, you’ll outwit these winged weirdos and have stories to tell for years. So grab a lemonade, crank up the tunes, and let Brood XIV do their thing—just don’t let them RSVP for your trees.
