The Sounds of Spring

One evening last week, my son and I were driving to church when suddenly he said, “Mom, listen!” I slowed my car and rolled down the window. “Peepers!” he shouted. Sure enough, there was the telltale chorus of “peeps” coming from those tiny little frogs that herald the beginning of a new season. Spring is officially here.

Coincidentally, that same week both a friend in Hanover and my mother-in-law in Central New York sposted similar sentiment on their Facebook pages. My friend said, “I hear the peepers. Spring is here”, while my mother-in-law posted, “Spring is officially here when I hear the peepers, and they are just peeping their hearts out right now.”

Peepers (not to be confused with those nasty marshmallow Peeps that are also found this time of year), are “…small tree frogs found in woodland areas in the Eastern United States and Canada.” The Encyclopedia Brittanica goes on to say, “The spring peeper, with its high, whistling call, is one of the first frogs to vocalize and breed in spring.” After the breeding season, the peeper is seldom heard.
We may see daffodils and crocuses springing up in flower beds all over town, and smell the scent of damp, warm earth coming alive, but it is the sounds of the peepers that solidify spring’s arrival.

Of course, peepers are not the only sound that comes with warm weather. Now that my windows are open, I can hear an entirely different animal sound on my street; the call of the wild hog. Or more specifically, the Harley Davidson motorcycle. Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, “In the spring, the young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” What he didn’t mention was that the love in question was for a Harley CVO “Fat Bob” with a twin-cam Screamin’ Eagle 110 engine. I can appreciate the avid biker who excitedly stows his or her winter wheels in order to spend the summer gliding through the streets of my town. But damn, those bikes are loud. Still, they’re here to stay till the first flakes of winter, so I better get used to hearing those engines roar. Or perhaps it’s time to switch bedrooms with my son and sleep in the back of the house for a change.

One of the more pleasant sounds of spring is the song of the returning birds. True, I’ve heard many a chickadee and blue jay throughout the winter, but their chorus always seems a little thin. The full orchestra of spring birds have returned from their southern winter engagement, complete with the woodpecker playing percussion on the side of my house. What better way to awake in the morning than to the sweet harmony of birdsong?

And then there’s the lovely droning buzz of the lawn mower(such a happier sound than the dark, bleak, hopeless sound of its cousin, the snow blower) The lawn mower brings to mind images of lazy spring evenings, kids running bases at t-ball, moms and dads sitting on bleachers, cheering them on. The lawn mower represents Saturday soccer games and friends coming over to share a beer while you fire up the grill. The only caveat is that the lawn mower sound should be absolutely verboten before 9 a.m. in the morning. Yes, that includes Saturdays. Especially on Saturdays.

And then there is that one spring sound which fills me with both anticipation and dread. My stomach turns flip-flops when I hear this sound, and I have to slow my racing heart, take a few deep breaths and settle myself.

Have you guessed it yet? It’s the sound of my kids asking, “Mom, how many more days till summer vacation?”