I think of nights as being quiet, still, and cool. That's true in the cold weather months, especially when there is snow on the ground. But in warmer weather, the nights become progressively noisier. It starts with spring peepers, sometimes as early as late February. Then by April robins then woodthrushes start singing just before daybreak. That's how I know spring is here.
By June, a crescendo of night sounds builds which peaks in August. Like now. I stepped outside just after dark the other night with the dogs. They did their usual scan of the perimeter for trespassing deer, rabbits, or squirrels. I was struck by the cacophony which greeted us - the shrill din of an August night. Unsilent night. A solitary rumble of thunder rose up behind the wildlife orchestra.
If you listen carefully, you can sort out crickets, tree frogs, and katydids. Each has a distinct sound. Crickets are the continuous whirring. It is almost extra-terrestrial. Tree frogs start up in late July each year. They chatter in staccato ack-ack, ack-ack, ack-ack sounds.
I'm not sure which breed of frog they are. If you can tell from the video, let me know. Several of them chirping simultaneously create an echo effect. Katydids start up in late August. I just heard the first signature ch-ch-ch-ch-ch (say it as fast as you can) chirp last night.
Tree frog calling
I recall the first time I paid attention to the summer night sounds. We had a swimming pool at our prior home, so we were often outside on warm evenings. I became aware of the really close by loud exotic chirping of a tree frog. Suz asked what it was. I didn't know and walked over to the back corner of the yard where a thicket of ferns grew. On the pool deck was a small dark object. I turned on the flood lights and saw the frog. It was small - would fit entirely into the palm of my hand -and shiny. And loud. But it stopped as I approached and stooped down for a closer look. I thought of tree frogs as residents of distant rain forests. But here one was on a midwestern suburban pool deck. Cool.
My next recollection of noisy nights was on a backpacking trip to the Red River Gorge area of Kentucky. It was late August. We were camped near a muddy stream. It was humid, still, buggy. Too warm for the sleeping bag, too noisy to sleep. Deciphering the sounds was easy in this resonant stream valley. Each sound seemed sharp and distinct, like seeing the stars in a bright western sky. I became restless at all of the noise and from the itching of chigger bites acquired in an afternoon bushwack adventure when the trail disappeared. Eventually, the long day's slog took its toll, and I dozed off. When I awoke the next morning, there was only muffled snoring from a nearby tent and gentle cricket buzzing in the background.
For me, these night sounds are comforting, reassuring sounds. They bring back pleasant memories, and I marvel at the diversity of wildlife in Bittersweet Woods. I take it all in, knowing that soon enough it will be quiet and cold as winter sets in once again.
Night sounds in August
