celebrating the seasons - royal fireworks press...celebrating the seasons 55 will feel your eardrums...

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Celebrating the SeasonsIn the half-light of a late summer evening, my sister

Bethany and I lie upon the ground watching the clouds and early-risen moon. Sometimes nighthawks would cross our sky temple, shadows against the dusky blue twilight. We could hear the sound of evening all around us: a symphony of crickets, the neighbor’s farm ani-mals lowing and braying, the exhale of a sweet smell-ing wind. The air was cooling, dew had condensed on the grass and chilled our backs. In the near darkness we felt the night settle like a cloud.

Then the show started. At the edge of my vision flashed a greenish sparkle. In the second it took me to orient upon its light, it was gone. Then twenty feet away, there was another. The first spark triggered a hundred more, and the fields and woodland edges danced with tiny lights. In the magical thinking of a child’s mind, I imagined each flash accompanied by the ring of a thin silver bell. We were surrounding by chimes of light, by the semaphores of lightning bugs.

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To this day, my family’s annual lightning bug hunt remains a treasured memory. I remember looking for-ward to firefly season as much as I did the Easter Bunny or fireworks on the Fourth of July. Before nightfall, Dad would poke holes in the lids of two jars with a nail. Then Mom, Dad, Bethany and I would leap about the old farm field, trying to cup our hands around our glow-ing quarry. Catching those tiny candles was so difficult when we were young, but each year we grew more co-ordinated, and Mom and Dad had to catch fewer of the fireflies that filled our jars.

Witnessing the seasonal displays of nature as a fam-ily honors the natural world and brings you closer to-gether. Sharing the wonder of the seasons gives you the opportunity to add a number of holidays to the calen-dar. These are holidays that can become unique to your family such as an annual spring peeper party, firefly fes-tival, or lady slipper dance.

Depending on where you live, there should be sev-eral seasonal events to witness. In the Northeast there are the few weeks when the amphibians hold sway. Spring peepers, wood frogs, and American toads per-form their mating symphonies in the springtime. There are many other wonderful events: wildflower blooms, mayfly emergence, lunar eclipses, hawk migrations, the flight of the woodcock, and the evening calls of the ka-tydids.

In our area, after months of silence, March comes. Anytime between the second and fourth week of this mercurial month, we hear the first notes of the spring peeper chorus. Each tiny peep blends seamlessly into a symphony heralding a new season.

To feel the force of springtime’s voice, gather your family at the wetland’s edge in early spring. The com-bined calls of the spring peepers are so loud that you

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will feel your eardrums vibrate as the decibels rise and fall. One would hardly imagine that this inch-long frog could make a sound that could carry well over a mile.

The spring peeper’s magical song has a particular resonance with children. Unlike the obviousness of, say, a bullfrog, the peepers are so small and well cam-ouflaged that picking one out from its hiding place is near impossible. It is this invisibility that has led many a child to speculate that the song is the voice of the pond itself!

Having spent the winter underground, these frogs awaken and burrow out of their winter shelters, called by the rains, warming temperatures, and lengthening days to the ponds and swamps. About the time pussy willows burst their buds and adorn themselves with fur-ry, white catkins, the brown frogs with the characteris-tic dark Xs on their backs start singing. Up close the sound of an individual is a clear peep; from a distance it has been said the chorus sounds like sleigh bells. Many

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people misidentify this early spring sound as crickets, but the spring peepers are abroad much earlier than those insect fiddlers.

Unlike the month-long performance of the spring peeper, other amphibian species call for but a week or two. In the wooded swamps and vernal pools, you may happen upon the song of a masked bandit that not only hides its face but also disguises its voice. This trickster, the wood frog, is the second frog to call in our region. Listen for him in March. Wood frogs are lovely, with rich brown hues and dark brown masks on their faces, but their voices are unappealing. The males make a quarreling, quacking sound designed to spark the inter-est of females, but also sparking the laughter of young children as their notion of frogs saying “ribbit” and ducks saying “quack” is put to the test.

The mating season of the American toad is so brief—about a week or two in April—as to be easily missed. My family finds the American toad’s tones the most magical of all calls. Inflating sacks beneath their chins, these toads trill. When a large group of males gather, the trilling rises and falls in waves. Un-like the shy wood frog and the hidden spring peeper, toads en route to breeding ponds and toads in full song seem oblivious to their surroundings and are very eas-ily observed by children. From only a few feet away, we have watched the males call, the males and females


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in amplexus, and females lay long necklaces of eggs, a rare treat in wildlife watching.

The gray treefrogs take up the chorus in April. These remarkably camouflaged frogs are rarely seen, but when presented with a few individuals you may wonder if you are looking at several different species. Gray treefrogs are able to change color to match the grays of lichen and bark or the greens of leaves. Their song is very of-ten confused with that of a bird, and I have had people insist they could not be frogs. The sound is a birdlike trill, and males may be heard throughout the afternoon and evenings calling from the trees from April through September. During breeding season in May, the male gray treefrogs sing from the shrubs surrounding ponds. The chorus can be deafening but is not of the high pitch of the spring peepers.

We located a very active pond by driving by it late one night. The sound penetrated the closed car win-dows. Of course we rolled down the windows and pulled over in a safe spot to appreciate the tree frogs’ efforts. I highly recommend country drives as one method of locating places where gray tree frogs, spring peepers, and American toads congregate in the spring.

Hear someone snoring at the pond? Think one of your hiking party fell asleep in the cattails? Those snores coming from the banks of the pond are not Uncle Dave catching a few Zs; they are the unlikely sounds of pickerel frogs vocalizing. These medium-sized, attrac-

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tive frogs have a background of light brown decorated with square dark brown patches along the back and legs. Their cousins, the leopard frogs, also make a kind of snore. You are less likely to find leopard frogs near the pond as they prefer wet meadows. The rounded spots of the leopard frog will also help you distinguish the two. Pickerel frogs start snoring in April, and you may hear them now and again during the next several months. Use their snore to pull a little joke on the kids; everyone will be amused as you feign a nap, complete with amphibian-derived sound effects.

Give your kids a handful of polished stones, and they can easily imitate the tapping of the northern crick-et frog. It’s a sound so incongruous with our archetypal “frog” that many would never associate its origin with an amphibian, wondering perhaps if a Paleo-Indian was chipping stone spear points nearby. Despite their name, northern cricket frogs are at the northern limit of their range here in New York. My family is incredibly lucky to have a breeding population of these penny-sized per-cussionists nearby. In May, we start listening for them

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at the lake. The attractively colored brown and green males call from the shallows, and their month-long chorus will not put a strain on your ears.

Late spring through summer is the season for green frogs and bullfrogs to proclaim their territories in the ponds. These two big green-brown frogs are more eas-ily distinguished by their calls than their appearance, though the green frogs have a telltale ridge that runs be-hind each eye almost all the way down their back. The bullfrog’s sound has been compared to a mooing cow or a “jug-o-rum,” while the green frog’s banjo twang sounds like someone plucking a tightened rubber band. The male bullfrog can be distinguished from the female because the circular tympanum (eardrum) on the side of his head is usually larger than his eye, while a female’s is smaller. Green and bullfrog calls punctuate the lazy days of summer. The slow, drawn-out moo of the bull-frog reminds us of days when we can completely disre-gard the clock and picnic and play on the shores of the lily pond.

I can honestly say I was not prepared for the cater-wauling of the Fowler’s toads in June. With my love of American toad song, a croak reminiscent of a squalling baby was an unpleasant surprise. What was I doing in a cornfield in the middle of the night, when I could hear children carrying on at home? Luckily, the Fowlers fe-males do not have the same negative reaction as I, their babies being silent tadpoles and all. Fowler’s toads look much like their American cousins, the Fowler’s merely having more warts per blackish spot on their backs. I can’t say that I’d be able to distinguish the two without their radically different songs. They are also as oblivi-ous as the American toads to the presence of onlookers, which makes them good for children to study.


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The amphibian year finishes up with dwindling calls of the bullfrogs, green frogs, and gray treefrogs. By July and August, the insect songsters take center stage, with crickets, grasshoppers, cicadas, and katydids the central players. By first frost, the frogs and toads have taken refuge under logs or underground, and the waters will be quiet until spring. Only a warm spell, a January thaw, might inspire a reminiscence of spring by draw-ing a peeper or two out of torpor for a brief serenade. So before they go silent, remember to thank them for making a good portion of this year’s trip around the sun a musical one.

We humans are so visual a species that taking an oc-casional tour of the soundscape may inspire whole new ways of interacting with the natural world. Catch the voices of nature with your kids and listen to the calen-dar in stereo. Introduce your children to these seasonal performances by visiting a variety of ponds and wet-lands once a week from March through June. Record the dates and locations of amphibian calls so you will know when and where to listen for them the following year. Let the temporary nature of these performances excuse your family from everyday commitments. The seasonality of frog displays inspires celebration. Take time out for a peeper party or a toad toast (the honoring kind, not the hot buttered), and welcome a new gen-eration of amphibians to the neighborhood. You may need to do some research to find out when and where to catch the peepers and other seasonal activity in your area. Other times you may come upon a display most unexpectedly.

One such unexpected occasion occurred for us in April. Immediately after emerging from our car, we were enchanted by the beautiful trilling of the male American toads. It was dumb luck that we would have


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chosen to visit Peace Valley Nature Center during the toads’ short breeding season. We followed our ears and came upon a number of small pools. Many of the squat, brown toads were strategically placed upon last year’s flattened cattail leaves. Others were singing from the pond banks or already in the water in pursuit of mates.

The singers’ throats were inflated and vibrated under their chins. Also audible were short announcement trills and chirping release calls made by males mistaken for females. The females were releasing gelatinous ropes of eggs into the water. These resembled clear aquari-um tubing packed with spheres. These were toad eggs, black on top, white on bottom. This color pattern is called countershading and helps the eggs blend in with the pond bottom when viewed from above and with the sky when viewed from underneath. Despite the camou-flage of countershading, many of these eggs would end up in some predator’s belly.

Sebastian reached out to touch the back of a male toad with one finger. He was rewarded with a kick from its fleshy, webbed foot, causing him to jump back and laugh uproariously. The toad had mistaken him for a rival trying to unseat him from the back of a female almost twice as large.

The American toad spends the rest of the year on land, returning to the ponds during the warm days of spring. This is the best time of year to watch them, dur-ing the brief time when they congregate to ensure the

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production of yet another generation of warty sons and daughters.

Many animals become conspicuous in the spring: birds in their breeding plumage, frogs with their mating calls, male woodcocks with their aerial dance, green sunfish building nests in shallow water, and hawks and eagles on their return migration. At these times animals may be less wary of humans. While we do not want to disturb their mating, their spring advertising offers the best opportunity for human families to witness the natural behaviors of animals that normally prefer to re-main hidden.

As the calendar turns, different animals emerge, put on displays, and breed. Sometimes this is a once in a generation event and worthy of the attention of the press. In 2004, the news reports I heard made one such creature out to be a monster. The reporters called the ci-cadas a plague descending upon our region and warned that with hundreds of thousands emerging per acre, the insects would blanket our yards.

Their black bodies, red eyes, and orange wings were demonized in the press, though these creatures did not bite or sting. In fact, they didn’t even eat. They exist-ed as adults for a few brief days during the summer of 2004, discreetly mating in the treetops, laying eggs in the bark of twigs, and then, job done, dropping to their eternal rest on the forest floor.

When brood X of the periodical cicada was pre-dicted to emerge, I listened. I searched my yard for the half-inch holes left behind when cicadas dig their way up to freedom from a seventeen year stint as root-sucking larvae. Still there was no sign of them, and I began to panic.


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Despite the media fervor, there were no periodical cicadas in my neighborhood. Their populations exist in patches, and I was not lucky enough to be in their region. As the days ticked by, I knew I had to take ac-tion or my family would have to wait seventeen years to experience brood X again.

Local newspaper coverage of the event was much more helpful and much less hysterical than that of the television news. The local paper included quotes from entomologists, natural history information, and most importantly, the news that this year’s chorus could be heard at Ralph Stover Park.

Sebastian’s grandparents were visiting, making this a perfect multi-generational outing. Not having annual cicadas, much less periodical ones, in their region, they were ripe for the chase. Besides, a once-in-seventeen-year event is not to be missed when you are in your sixties.

After driving about thirty minutes north, we stopped at Dilly’s, a local favorite for ice cream. Only during a pause in the conversation did Nana pick up their sound. Silenced, we listened to something out of a B-movie, a hum not unlike that of alien ships invading earth.

Sebastian was familiar with the ear-splitting pitch of the annual cicada, the sound cycling in the treetops, the winged green adults, and the caramel color exoskel-etons they shed after their nighttime emergence. We had yet to see the ghostly bodies, soft and white as they pull out of their shell, or a scarred twig containing ci-cada eggs. The larva that hatch from these eggs fall to the ground and burrow to the tree roots so they can begin to feed.

The periodical cicada’s sound is distinct from the annual cicada, though its life cycle is similar. We


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couldn’t wait to be on our way to see the little critters up close. There was a wide river in Ralph Stover State Park where we chose to hunt our quarry. The song of the periodical cicada was loud, but the rest of the televised hysteria was easily dismissed. While we had been led to believe the air would be thick with them, there wasn’t a single one to be seen!

While the annual cicadas are quite large, almost two inches long and easily visible when flying, the pe-riodical cicadas were half their size. Craning our necks toward the sound, we finally spotted some black dots zooming from treetop to treetop fifty feet overhead.

We searched the ground around the base of these trees and came up with two appropriately small exo-skeletons. We walked some more and eventually had to call it quits for the day. The family was happy to have experienced the seldom-heard song, but disappointed to have missed the red-eyed monsters close up.

On our return home, we happened to take a wrong turn. Choosing to reverse direction at the top of a long driveway, we spotted cicadas in the shrubbery. These we could reach. Grandpa and I performed some hilari-ous acrobatics and managed to pluck two from the air. We examined them closely. Their coloring was indeed so shocking that one might think them tropical trans-plants. Before we left, I scoured the ground and found a dead adult under a small tree and several more sheds. Satisfied that we’d come to know the magic cicada, we drove off, planning to return in 2021!

Each season brings its own surprises. In the sum-mer, you hear the deep calls of the bullfrogs, fawns are born, and turtles and snakes lay eggs. If your family has collected cocoons, watch them daily from early spring onward so you don’t miss the emergence of the moths. In the fall, hawk migrations result in the spectacular


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convergence of many species that can be seen from se-lect birding locations. In the winter, great horned owls give their booming calls in wooded areas, red spotted newts lay their eggs in frigid waters, and even a hearty moth species or two may visit your porch light.

In every region, the trees and flowers bloom in pre-dictable succession. Watching for these wildflowers can be every bit as satisfying as studying the animals as they change through the seasons.

Keeping a calendar of annual natural events will help you plan outings to catch the action each year. Make the pilgrimage to one or two of these important seasonal events and give your family the enjoyment that comes from seeking out these free displays of beauty and from welcoming back your wild neighbors.

Periodical Cicada

celebrating the seasons - royal fireworks press...celebrating the seasons 55 will feel your eardrums...

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