Where Have All the Cicadas Gone? An Unusual Summer 2025

This summer in Ehime has been eerily quiet compared to years past. Usually, the moment the rainy season ends, the chorus of cicadas—especially the minmin-zemi and abura-zemi—bursts to life, filling the air with that unmistakable “summer is here!” soundtrack. But here we are, already heading into late July of 2025, and yet their voices are strangely absent. I was curious whether it was just me, but a quick scroll through the internet and social media revealed that many others across the region are echoing the same feeling: “Where have all the cicadas gone?” “Why is it so oddly silent this summer?”

↑ An abura-zemi I photographed with my DSLR

After reading through expert opinions and fellow bloggers’ observations, a consensus emerges, the rare combination of an unusually short rainy season and an early, relentless heat wave seems to be the main culprit behind this year’s cicada drought. In 2025, the rainy season ended at breakneck speed—so quickly, in fact, that in my corner of Shikoku, we saw the earliest end to tsuyu (梅雨) in living memory. This meant that even after the official “end of the rains,” there was barely any precipitation, and the ground dried out rapidly while the heat soared.

Cicada nymphs, as it turns out, rely on subtle changes in soil temperature and humidity to know when it’s time to emerge. This year, the ground heated up far too quickly, and the soil became baked and hard, possibly robbing the nymphs of their usual cues. Some experts speculate that many simply missed their window to crawl out.

And if the cicadas did manage to make it to the surface, they faced yet another hurdle: the daily high temperatures, which have routinely soared above 35°C (95°F) since the end of the rainy season. As a result, the adult cicadas have been keeping a low profile during the hottest part of the day, only singing briefly in the early mornings or evenings when things are a bit cooler. I’ve seen some people mention that you can catch a few faint chirps around dawn or dusk, but those midday, wall-of-sound cicada symphonies I remember from childhood have all but vanished. Back then, the air used to tremble with their noise, the sound coming at you from every direction.

Of course, there are long-term issues too, urban development, pesticides, and herbicides likely play a role in gradually shrinking cicada populations, but for this summer, it’s clear that the timing mismatch and extreme weather were a one-two punch. This was simply a “perfect storm” for a silent summer.

Depending on the species, cicada nymphs can spend anywhere from a few years to up to seventeen years underground before finally emerging for their brief time in the sun. If this was the year they finally worked up the courage to come out, only to be thwarted by freak weather, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for them...

My Take on the 2025 Japanese Upper House Election

 A national election was held in Japan on July 20th.

Simple good-versus-evil narratives—us (the righteous) vs. them (the villains)—always seem to resonate with conspiracy theorists. In this year’s Upper House election, a certain party that loudly championed the slogan “Japan First” and trafficked in wild conspiracy theories made significant gains.

Despite stirring up division by blaming foreigners for many of Japan’s woes, the party’s leader, when asked in a post-election interview, “Do you think foreigners have special privileges in Japan?” simply shrugged and replied, “Special privileges for foreigners? I don’t think Japan has anything like that.”

As I watched the interview, I couldn’t help but think: conspiracy theories are a handy tool for attracting followers, but the more power one gains, the more inconvenient such fantasies become.

Just last month, I wrote skeptically about that “July 5th prophecy” that sent the spiritual crowd into a frenzy. I have little patience for occult nonsense or conspiracy thinking. Without hard evidence or any way to confirm it with your own eyes, why take such theories any more seriously than, “Well, I suppose anything’s possible”? Blind belief is out of the question.

That said, while I don’t care for that particular party, I find it bizarre that the media is dogpiling on them by claiming the very slogan “Japan First” is discriminatory. It’s perfectly normal for any country to prioritize its own citizens, especially in terms of taxpayers’ rights and fairness. In that context, “Japan First” does not mean “foreigners out.”

On a related note, Japan’s problem of “overtourism” has been making headlines for quite some time now.

After three decades of economic stagnation, the Japanese have become shockingly poor. Real wages have been falling for years, and according to the IMF, Japan’s GDP per capita (PPP, 2025) ranks 38th in the world. The Japanese, who once ranked 2nd in the world in terms of per capita wealth, now find themselves far removed from those prosperous days.

Wherever you go, tourist spots are crowded with affluent foreign visitors. More and more Japanese find themselves unable to enjoy the very services their own country provides. That, I suspect, is why the phrase “Japan First” has started to resonate with so many people.

Given that Japan is considered a relatively high-tax country, with a national burden rate hovering around 46%, it seems only fair that more local facilities offer resident discounts or even free entry, as is common in cities like San Francisco. 

In San Francisco, city-run parks and museums, maintained by residents’ taxes, often feature “resident discounts” or “resident free admission.” Show your ID, and you can stroll in for free or at a steep discount.

It’s only natural that locals might feel disgruntled when tourist attractions, built and maintained with their tax money, are overrun by visitors, making it hard for residents to get in. Resident perks, then, are just a reasonable way to keep things balanced.

Never Become a Politician’s Fan

On the 20th of this month, Japan will hold a national election that could dramatically shape our country’s future. I’ve already cast my vote at an early polling station.

Looking at the state of Japanese politics these days, I can’t help but notice how some politicians are worshipped almost like religious leaders, with devoted “followers” hanging on their every word. Honestly, I find it all rather unsettling.

Supporting your favorite idol or celebrity, what’s now called “推し活(oshi-katsu)” is, at the end of the day, just a harmless hobby (though, truth be told, I’ve never understood the urge to chase after entertainers or collect their merchandise, but hey, to each their own). Politics, however, is a whole different animal. The actions of politicians have a direct impact on our daily lives, for better or worse.

Let’s not forget: in a democracy, the people are the true sovereigns. Elections are simply the process by which we temporarily entrust enormous power to a handful of representatives. Our job is not to become fans or followers, but to serve as cold-eyed judges—scrutinizing these politicians, holding them to account, and swapping them out whenever necessary.

The more uncertain the times, the more people seem to long for a “strong leader” or someone who will “fight for Japan.” There’s comfort in clinging to the idea that this person alone can be trusted, or that that politician is on our side. But this mindset, I would argue, is the very definition of dangerous complacency for any citizen in a democracy.

We are not meant to be cheerleaders for politicians. No matter how impressive their résumé or how sweet their promises, we must maintain enough distance and clarity to see the interests and calculations behind the mask.

After all, why place blind faith in the words of a complete stranger—someone you’ve never lived with under the same roof—who’s ultimately saying whatever it takes to get elected? The only things we should put our trust in are their policies, actions, and the results those actions produce.

Our role is to keep scoring them, dispassionately, methodically, and if they come up short, to replace them at the next opportunity. That, in my view, is the true responsibility of a democratic citizen.

Everybody’s Right, Nobody’s Responsible

 I'm fed up with modern society. It's like a broken record, endlessly repeating "rights, rights, rights!" Of course everyone has rights—that's obvious, everyone knows that. But along with rights come responsibilities, and I think it's utterly irresponsible to brandish rights without considering anything else. In my view, rights are inherently something that should be limited to some extent by the impact they have on others, as well as by the duties we must fulfill. Yet when you say something like this, you risk being labeled a bigot, a racist, or something along those lines. These days, the word "discrimination" has become so convenient—just call something discriminatory and you can push through any argument. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's sick of this sort of thing. Society is supposed to extend a helping hand to the vulnerable, but when a handful of extreme activists abuse the "discrimination card," even those who genuinely need protection end up being resented. Isn't that a loss for society as a whole? I really don't like this trend...

Arcades that aren't too crowded are calming as hell

Tanabata Folklore - Shinobu Orikuchi's Perspective

Tonight, July 7th, is 七夕(Tanabata), the Star Festival in Japan. Here, it’s customary to write wishes on slender strips of colored paper called 短冊(tanzaku) and hang them on bamboo branches. As you can see in the photo below, supermarkets across Japan set up Tanabata displays as early as June, allowing anyone to freely write a wish and decorate the bamboo with their own tanzaku. In this post, I’d like to explore the folklore of Tanabata, drawing on the work of the renowned scholar Shinobu Orikuchi.

The True Face of Tanabata

— Japan’s Star Festival Through the Lens of Shinobu Orikuchi

This post summarizes and selectively quotes the folklorist 折口信夫 Shinobu Orikuchi (1887‑1953) and his 1931 essay “Tanabata and the Bon Festival,” rendered into modern English for today’s readers.

1. Wasn’t Tanabata on the Night of July 7th?

When we picture Tanabata we imagine writing wishes on colorful slips, hanging them on bamboo the evening of July 7th. Orikuchi, however, notes that the original festival ran from the night of July 6th straight through to dawn on the 7th. Old‑calendar rites in Nagano and in Okinawa still begin on the 6th, preserving what he calls the “classical form.”

2. Tanabata Isn’t a “Hanging Shelf” at All

The word 七夕(Tanabata) is an ateji for 棚機 (tanabata). Far from a dainty hanging shelf, it once meant a high‑floor platform or stage that juts out from ground or floor—a sacred place to welcome a god.

棚は、天井からなりと、床上になりと、自由に、たななるものは、作る事が出来た

“Whether it hangs from the ceiling or rises from the floor, anything that sets a space apart can be called a tana.” (Orikuchi)

On this platform a young maiden wove cloth for the visiting deity. That maiden, the Tanabatatsume, is the prototype that folk belief later merged with the Chinese Weaver Star myth, giving us today’s “Orihime.”

Term	Meaning	Modern Echo
棚機 Tanabata	High‑floor / cantilevered stage for welcoming gods	Bon shelves, treasure storehouses, shrine
さずき/やぐら Sazuki / Yagura	Roof‑less provisional platforms, often over water	Festival towers, pleasure barges
棚機つ女Tanabatatsume	Maiden who weaves on the shelf for a water‑borne serpent god	Orihime, star‑shaped dolls on bamboo

3. Tanabata + Bon = One Continuous Cycle

Orikuchi stresses that 七夕 Tanabata and お盆 Obon were originally two halves of a single midsummer cycle. The youthful “guest god” welcomed at Tanabata departs by dawn, then ancestors arrive for Bon.

夏秋の交叉祭りは、存外早く、固有・外来種が融合を遂げた。

“Summer–autumn crossover rites fused native and imported elements with surprising speed.” (Orikuchi)

The bamboo decorations still double as a purification rite. Tossing paper dolls or streamers into a river was, in Orikuchi’s reading, a way to “top up” the cloth that the Tanabatatsume alone could not finish in time.

4. Ikimitama and the Forgotten “Bon Furnace”

Between Tanabata and Bon lurked another ceremony: the 生き御霊 Ikimitama Festival, “Living Souls Day.” Just as New Year’s brings “Happy New Year,” villagers once offered a midsummer “Happy Bon” to elders, complete with a gift of salted mackerel.

Meanwhile village girls secluded themselves beside a temporary garden hearth called a bongama. Fasting and tending the fire, they enacted a pre‑coming‑of‑age retreat, mirroring the boys’ New‑Year camps in snow huts or bird blinds.

5. Yabu‑iri, Enma Pilgrimages, and Mid‑Year Resets

New Year and Bon were not mere calendars; they were reset buttons for social contracts. Servants got leave to visit home (藪入り yabu‑iri), while bosses renewed hires (出替り dekawari). All of it hinged on the Great Purification (大祓 Oharae), the belief that one could shake off the past and start fresh twice a year.

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6. Before You Write Your Wish…

• Tanabata originally starts at nightfall on July 6th.

• The “shelf” is a jutting stage where a maiden wove brand‑new cloth for a watery deity.

• Tanabata and Obon form a single cycle, greeting guest gods and ancestral spirits back‑to‑back.

• Living‑soul blessings, bongama retreats, and servant homecomings layered together to create the Tanabata we know today.

So next time you tie a wish to bamboo, imagine that lone girl on a high moonlit platform, weaving brilliance for a visiting god. It may lend your wish a bit of her ancient sparkle.