The Swarm Superseason

A story from the Anthropocene, starring Boxelder bugs.

To anyone driving past the house at the right time of year it probably seemed to pulse. An in- and out-breath, undulating black. Gathering on the inhale; scattering on the exhale. Hyperbole perhaps, but not by much. This is the height of Boxelder bug season, and for me, it’s both a symbol of childhood and a marker for how our climate is changing.

Growing up in a far-flung Chicago suburb my summers were bookended by two noticeable events. For most kids those events were the last day of one school year and the first day of the next. Less critical to my joy but so much more prevalent — and easier for all to see — were the waves of Boxelder bugs that descended twice each year.

First, the bugs came out of hibernation and would swarm the warm, sun-drenched sides of our house. This happened mid-spring, after the last, chilly vestiges of winter had melted away, but before school was out and the heat of summer overwhelmed everything. This period led to a mating season after which the bugs dissipated, until just before my return to school. The hottest days of the year — a time known as the dog days of summer or, in my case, the Boxelder days of summer. This is when the offspring of the earlier mating season seemed to reach maturity and a new swarm would commence. At these times of year the front of our house seemed to transform in color, from a dark beige to a matte black piped with reddish-orange.

These bugs were entirely harmless, just a nuisance. What I didn’t know then was that these were not bookends everyone was familiar with. They’re called Boxelder bugs because, for some reason, they mainly subsist on Boxelder maple trees. This tree is apparently a “weed tree” and not often a choice of landscapers — because while at times it can be quite beautiful, it’s often rather plain. We, and some of our neighbors, had Box Elders in our yard, while others did not. Twice a year it was very easy to tell which houses were which.

Boxelder bug season was dependable, you could’ve built a calendar around it. When I was 12 we moved and Boxelder bugs were relegated to memory. It was not until my wife and I bought the house we currently live in that I saw a Boxelder bug again. Turns out, we have Boxelder maples in our yard.

While the bugs’ seasons used to be dependable and truncated, that is no longer the case. Warmer winters, earlier springs, hotter summers and falls have thrown their cycle out of balance. Now, opening the front door to collect a package in February could lead to a dozen of them rushing across the threshold. Sitting on the deck on a July evening could quickly result in me fishing bugs out of my water glass. Their mating cycle seems to have largely remained unchanged, but their presence is now closer to constant than cyclical. And we have watched it get worse and more prevalent just in the few years that we’ve lived in this house.

When it comes to climate change I think a large part of why it’s hard to get people to care and to act is that it doesn’t feel personal or tangible. Another part, of course, is that it feels too big. What can I do? How is me recycling more going to stop climate change? And that makes sense, we need systemic change from the tops of governments and corporations. But it’s our wallets and votes they need, so we do have some measure of control there. Before that can matter, though, we need to see how it affects us. A polar bear stranded on a melting iceberg is a sad visual. But we can change the channel. We don’t live next to icebergs (most of us, anyway) so it’s hard to contextualize. Likewise, we feel real empathy for the impoverished people half a world away experiencing the worst effects of our crisis. But they’re half a world away, not next door.

I also know that, as humans, we’re really good at getting used to things. So much so that a thing will change and, after awhile, we forget that it was ever any other way. By actually taking a moment to consider how something really used to be then the change becomes more apparent to us, and it can be jarring. Just like with the Boxelder bugs.

We have an affectionate term for them, given to us by our nephew. We call them Joeys. A fair amount of time is spent collecting them from around the house to release them back outside. This didn’t used to be the case, but it is our new reality. An effect of climate change that is noticeable in my daily life upon reflection. Had I never experienced my Boxelder summer bookends as a child I wouldn’t think anything odd of their near-constant presence now. But I know better. I know how the natural cycle used to be. And every day when I open my front door I’m reminded of just how much we’ve changed and in such a short amount of time. Some days that evidence flies right into my face.