May 1: Beltane

Venus shining

for a few more hours

spring peeper chorus

May 14: In Freedom

We were fortunate enough to eat out tonight at The Lost Kitchen, in a restored mill in Freedom. The historic, countryside setting, alongside the mill falls, enhanced a wonderful, locally sourced, creative spring dining experience. We left three-and-a-half hours later, sated, under a hazy, waxing moon in conjunction with Jupiter, the voices of frogs mingling with the sound of rushing water.

 

an exquisite meal

choruses of spring peepers

escort our drive home

Posted with Blogsy

May 6: Signs of spring

After getting ice cream cones

we crack car windows

to hear the peepers.

Posted with Blogsy

April 16: Spring night

At the end of a long drive:

chorus of peepers,

stars bright as flowers.

Posted with Blogsy

September 9: River nocturne

Dusk on the river--

goldfinches finish chatting

--was that a peeper?

Posted with Blogsy

May 1: Frog pond

My husband and I are spending the weekend at the Schoodic Institute, part of Acadia National Park in Down East Maine. This afternoon before dinner we walked through spruce woods to a small pond filled with singing frogs. They quieted when we showed up but eventually started up again, enveloping us in a music so loud we could feel the sound vibrate in our jaw bones. Our ears hurt by the time we left. Overhead, a raven chortled, used to it all.

 

Old frog pond--

we wait long enough

for the chorus to resume.

Posted with Blogsy

April 19: Peepers

Even at one a.m.

we drive out of our way

to hear spring's first frogs.

Posted with Blogsy

April 20: Waiting for woodcocks at Lily Pond

At dusk, hoping to catch the woodcock aerial mating display. We hear turkeys gobbling, geese and ducks, peepers, robins, blackbirds, and cardinals, and catch a glimpse of an eagle chasing an osprey, but no woodcocks on this chilly night.

 

All at once, frogs switch on,

and one by one

Mars, Jupiter, stars appear.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

June 20: Evening chorus

Tonight after an event at Cellardoor Winery out in the Lincolnville countryside, the moon was waxing fat and frogs sang just as loudly as two months ago.

Spring peepers singing,
still just as needy for love.
Midsummer's Eve.

April 12: A little spring snow

It happens every year, and we always express shock; you'd think we didn't know better. It always snows at least once in April. Even after the crocus have bloomed, peepers chorus among the cattails, and robins chortle in our back yards again, even after teenagers have been running around town in shorts for a week and someone has been considering swimming in the lake two days after official Ice Out, even after all that full-on spring-y stuff... the potential for snowfall has not diminished. And sure enough, today: ice pellets interspersed with rain and big wet flakes.

Full-blown flurries
while we watch the Masters,
envy its azaleas, lush greens.

September 14: Phoebe

While there's an autumn nip in the air, the photo period right now is similar to that in spring. And indeed, I've noticed a few things that have made me think of spring. Spring peepers, for example, were peeping away on Fernalds Neck a few days ago. Dandelions have made a tentative reappearance in my front yard. And today, the phoebe was back outside my window after a long absence, chirping repeatedly in the bayberry bush the same way it does when it first returns in March.

Phoebe returns. But
lush green canopy reminds
me it's summer's end.

April 17: What I saw on my run

Megunticook River running low, baring lots of rocks; my first yellow-bellied sapsucker of the spring pecking on a pine tree; small pink magnolia bush in full bloom; a lawn full of daffodils; flock of waxwings in an apple tree; several brush piles waiting to be burned; one other runner, moving much more easily than I; a very nicely renovated back porch; fat robins hopping on the green grass; hikers climbing on the exposed rocks on Mount Battie; black cat hanging out on a log above a stream in the woods; crow flying with something large and orange in its bill; a rhododendron just starting to bud; alder wetland full of singing peepers; flock of maybe a dozen free-range chickens scattered all over a front yard; a guy smashing something on his ATV really loudly; truck for sale: 1998 but only 62K miles, runs great; a bank of forsythia bushes in full neon-yellow bloom; and this, on the pocket-sized lawn of our neighbor's trailer, nestled between two bushy pine trees:

Four white plastic chairs,
hibachi in the middle,
two tiki torches.

Some people have the gift of being able to make a party anywhere.

March 22: Suddenly

I swear they weren't there this morning. Of course, I was distracted because I thought I'd heard my first phoebe of spring, so maybe I missed them. They definitely weren't there yesterday. But this afternoon I suddenly noticed that the coltsfoot was blooming under the white pine outside our office--our first wildflower of the season. Perhaps the day's freakish 80-degree weather enticed the multitudes of yellow blossoms up through the pine needles in record time.

Later, I ran sluggishly across town, my asthmatic lungs unaccustomed to the heat. As I neared my destination, however, my pace picked up. I could hear a loud chorus of peepers in Lily Pond, behind the Y. They weren't there a couple of nights ago. We drove home the long way, through Aldermere Farm, with windows down so we could hear them in full force. A hot pink sunset was settling over the pond as we drove past, and a flock of geese grazed in the pasture. If the songs of frogs can make our spirits soar so easily, imagine how the female tree frogs must feel.

Light, warmth, and hormones--
simple recipe to thrill
hearts of frogs, and us.

April 3: Ice Cream and Frogs

We were in the Freeport area today, so we checked out the hawk watch for a few hours at Bradbury Mountain State Park in Pownal. On the short hike up, brown creepers, juncos, and phoebes sang. From the summit we--along with about ten other birders--watched kestrels zip past overhead, red tails shining in the sun. Sharp-shinned hawks flapped and glided in circles around us. In the distance, red-tailed hawks, an eagle, ospreys, turkey vultures, and a goshawk were picked out one by one by the official observers (and eventually us), each bird recognized by its silhouette and flight pattern. A pileated woodpecker called in the forest below us. Tree swallows darted past, the first I'd seen this year. A golden-crowned kinglet hopped in the branches of a nearby tree, crown flared. It was the kind of birding experience that gets my heart racing, and I had all intentions of writing a poem about it. However, as exciting as it was to see those raptors soaring by on their primeval quest to get north, and to see and/or hear other first-of-year birds, different signs of spring gave me today's "haiku moment."

First cone at Round Top:
two scoops with jimmies. Later,
first peeper chorus!

Friend and fellow poet Carl Little has a great spring poem called "Zones of Peeper," about driving around this time of year with the car window cracked open, passing through literal zones of frog song as you go past each vernal pool or wetland. For a moment, the sound pours over you, your heart thrills to it, and then it's gone. We only passed through one zone this evening, but the first one of the season is always the most exciting. Especially if you do so while finishing off an excellent almond joy and Indian pudding ice cream cone.