We thought…you was…a TOAD…
Three nights ago they were a loud, high-pitched, cacophonous chorus emanating from the creek that runs behind my house. It’s rather remarkable that something as tiny a spring peeper could make that much noise. Then again, it’s always rather surprising just how loud any frog of any size can be. God made ’em noisy.
The next night, two nights ago, the amphibious choir disappeared. It was quiet, save the occasional guttural thunk! bellowed out by an older frog.
Tonight it is silent in the creek. No peeping, no thunking, no trilling, nothing. I wonder where they went?
I wonder this every year, usually several times a year. Spring peepers aren’t just for the spring in the south, I’ve noticed.
I’m glad humans mature faster than frogs. I’m also glad we skip the weird tadpole stage. I’m not sure how one would diaper that.
When my kids were small someone once told me that the days are long but the years are short. I can’t begin to express how true this is. Tonight I looked across the table at the Sparkette, the last of the Spark-lings, and thought wow…she’s so beautiful. When did that fiery little spunk of a redhead become such a smart and lovely teenager? A young woman, really.
Of course, in spring peeper terms she’s probably about four days old.