Eclipse, cicadas and ... army worms?

Opinion editor’s note: Editorials represent the opinions of the Star Tribune Editorial Board, which operates independently from the newsroom.

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By strange coincidence, two once-in-a-generation events are about to take place in the natural world. These events are not to be missed, judging from the excited voices attending them.

The first is the total eclipse of the sun scheduled for Monday, although “scheduled” seems an inapt word to describe something whose timing was established before there were … well, schedules. “Expected” might be a better choice, but that word suggests a degree of uncertainty that doesn’t exist in orbital mechanics. “Ordained” connotes a divine mandate, as does “predestined.” Put it this way: The eclipse will happen. The only question is how many North American earthlings will be able to see it. A cloudy day would ruin the experience. There will be no rain checks.

The track of totality runs hundreds of miles to our south, starting in Texas and ending up in Maine. Because this will be the last total eclipse visible in North America until 2044, people from Minnesota and other places are making plans to travel to see it. There is no way to guarantee the weather will cooperate, however. To drive such a distance, and maybe book a room in some quaint town with a fitting name — we notice that there is an Evening Shade, Ark., and what could be more perfect? — is to make a leap of faith. Good luck to the leapers.

Most of Minnesota will experience between 60% and 80% of totality, which is still something to see. But don’t look at it directly. To avoid damaging your eyesight, be sure to use eclipse glasses or a pinhole projector.

The other event involves less precision, in both timing and geography. Sometime this spring, two separate broods of periodical cicadas will emerge from the ground more or less in unison. One, known to scientists as Brood XIII, appears every 17 years. The other, Brood XIX, shows up every 13 years. Brood XIII is the more northern of the two, occupying territory in Illinois and parts of Iowa, Wisconsin and Indiana. Brood XIX is scattered more broadly along the Southeastern seaboard and deep South, with sightings that range into Illinois and Missouri.

Fortunately for all concerned, cicadas are harmless. The cousins we know here in Minnesota are the annual variety, known as dogday cicadas. They are here every year, and the buzzing sound they make with their abdominal membranes is a familiar soundtrack to our summer evenings.

Minnesota cicadas are active between July and September. Their emergence may not be as dramatic as that of the periodical cicadas, which have been underground for more than a decade, waiting for this moment. But Minnesota, after all, is not a dramatic place.

Our cicadas are a steady presence; they are good enough. We will get only a partial eclipse; also good enough. We have 10 electoral votes, compared to California’s 54. U.S. News and World Report ranks Minnesota as the fifth best state overall, and CNBC says we’re the fifth best state for businesses. In most ways, we have room for improvement, but generally speaking, we do well enough. Could do worse.

But if you’re not satisfied, and long for something to put us on the map, here is hope: We may be in for an outbreak of forest tent caterpillars, sometimes called army worms. That’s just a nickname, and an inaccurate one at that, inspired by the caterpillars’ habit of massing in fearsome hordes.

Most years, their presence in Minnesota is barely noticeable. But every 10 to 16 years, their numbers increase dramatically and stay that way for up to four years. They defoliate trees. They do not bite people, but they can take a lot of the fun out of picnics and create a slippery mess under the wheels of cars.