Hi, friends — I hope you are enjoying some relief coming out of hibernation. This is issue #23 of my newsletter about animal encounters, a week for the peepers (Pseudacris crucifer). As always, you can add your stories to the comments, or simply reply to this email. Thanks! — Amy Jean
The toads come with the weeds. I found a pinkish one under a burst of black-eyed-Susan foliage last week. I think it was actually a spring peeper—a little frog that has been making a ruckus over the last month or so. The name suits, though it’s much more than a peep. They overwhelm early spring with their shockingly loud, high-pitched song. I find their chorus to be maddening but reassuring—a siren, not an alarm—a sign that spring proceeds as before.
I picked up the pink frog and made a house with my hands (they always manage to find a window), and then moved it gently out of the way. I’ve been picking up frogs since I was a kid, and their familiarity tends to mask how wonderfully strange they are. I’ve never seen a peeper so close to home, though I can hear them clearly from their tiny pond down the road. Apparently they are out and about, radiating outward from their mating pool.
Spring peepers hibernate under leaf litter and basically freeze over winter. Their bodies produce a kind of antifreeze that protects essential organs, but everything else, up to 60% of their little froggy bodies, is frozen. Their heart stops pumping and they seem all but dead—until the temperature rises. No one knows exactly how their heart begins again, but, somehow, it does.
Once thawed, these frogs are ready to mate. They make their way to waterways of all kinds. One of the loudest choruses I’ve heard came from a ditch by the side of the road. The males are the maestros, singing to attract a mate. I think of their bubble throats as tiny bagpipes, the mechanism they use to push air across their vocal cords. Hundreds of frogs gather with their pipes, sometimes coordinating in duets and trios (no wonder it sounds like an insane, wild party).
Females choose a mate who piggybacks and fertilizes her eggs as she releases hundreds of them into the water. Tadpoles typically hatch within a few days, slowly outgrowing their underwater life over the course of two to three months. After mating, the frogs head back to the comfort of the forest, to the leaf piles and new growth, to the canopy of black-eyed-Susan foliage under my hands.
Now when I listen to them, I am grateful for their bagpipes and frozen hearts, beating again. Spring proceeds as before, a siren, not an alarm—at least for now.
Not chickens! Spring peepers in force, plus some wood frogs clucking, March 22, 2021
Spring peeper links—
Five known species of North American frogs are freeze-tolerant, including the peepers and the wood frog—here’s a crazy 4-min. video where you can watch a wood frog freeze and then thaw. [Smithsonian via YouTube]
I love love love this short video of an American toad singing next to a spring peeper [via YouTube]
All toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads; here’s an easy primer on the two [reconnectwithnature.org]
This time of year, Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring is always in mind, a reminder that sometimes the alarm is stretched thin and silent. The peepers may be stable in my neighborhood, but 43% of the world’s amphibians are in decline.
Animal encounters in recent comments—
Snake friends and snapping turtles and Larry and Not Larry—thank you for these small tales!
Also—
I saw two bumblebees wrestling in the air this afternoon and so next time: the mighty bumblebee.
My spring peeper drawing is for sale; please let me know if you’re interested. Part of the proceeds will go to The Amphibian Foundation.
Wild Life #23 / This newsletter is a small (biweekly for now) adventure about the life around us. Please share with friends and family who would enjoy. Peep and subscribe here:
"Once thawed, these frogs are ready to mate." this resonates with me
No freezer burn either! Amazing.