It was the summer solstice a few years back when I first became aware of the peepers. It was 10:30 or so at night and dusk was falling. Despite a light now-and-again rain, I'd spent most of the long, mild evening outside by the campfire, listening to the hum and purr and occasional yakety-yak-yak of human voices. As darkness rose, voices dwindled. People departed. For a time, the rumble of car engines, shouts of "Where's my ...?" and good-byes mingled with a noise coming from the woods. What was that noise? Was it a ringing? A singing? An insect? A bird? Maybe it was just a ringing in my ears, some left-over noise from the party.The last headlight withdrew and faded; it was quiet. But ... it wasn't. There was a strange, pulsating, lilting, screeching, singing, noise coming from ... somewhere. Coming from ... all around.
"What is that noise?"
"Peepers."
The call of the peeper is hard to describe. It is B-movie scary - an incessant screeching in the woods - and as well a lyrical song of spring, a veritable symphony of lilting trills and staccato peeps. It is a monstrous noise created by a tiny inch-long frog; it is a love song sung by a froggie gone a-wooin'. It is a romance; it is a nightmare.
In the midst of a peeper serenade, it sounds as if there are thousands of frogs spread out all around, high and low, near and far. One half is trilling - trilltrilltrill - while the others peep - peep peep peep. The trills roll, one atop another, like waves too close together. The peeps pile on top of the trills like machine gun fire, with eerie pauses and grand crescendos.
The noise is a conundrum. I have read that the peeper's song is just one note, but that only stirs the confusion and the imagination. One note per frog? Or one note for all? One peeper, one note - this I have never heard. But, that's not quite true, for isn't what I am hearing in the throes of a peeper love fest just one peeper, one note, many times over? If I could see a peeper and watch him peep then maybe I could distinguish individual peeping, but that's not likely to happen. It's easy to hear a peeper, but not so easy to see a peeper. And they rarely, if ever, peep alone. In fact, I have read that they peep in threes, making a contest of it, giving the lady peeper some peeps to muse over, which would lead one to believe that the peeps do vary. But - three times three thousand is more like it, each peeper displaying his peeping prowess in a royal battle a cappella.
Amid such a din, it is difficult to focus one's ear on the sound of one peeper, though I almost did it the other night. I stood on the bank of the river surrounded by a multitude of lustful frogs. To listen better, I closed my eyes. Suddenly, one of the loudest peepings stopped. Only then, when this peeper turned quiet, could I distinguish his voice from the rest.
Whatever else it is, peeper music is joyful. These little frogs do most of their courting on spring nights, after the ice has melted back into the pond and a balminess rises from the earth. Indeed, there is no better troubador of spring than the peeper. The first night that I heard them this year, a fire in the woodstove had the house nicely toasted, so I opened the windows, let the fresh air in, sank back in my chair, and reveled in the advent of love.
The peeper photo is from Wikipedia's Spring Peeper page. Go there for audio clips!
