Your are currently
in Tales from the Holler
Taking Back my Country...
Ghosts in the Machine
Peeping at Procrastination
King of Caulk
Ode to Charlie the Donkey
...Conspiracy of the CDC
The Law Offices of...
A Sneak Peak Behind..
The F Files
Well Well Well
Back to Tales from the
Tales from the Holler
The F Files
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Bob Dylan 1963
The snow is GONE, I mean it is gone, gone, gone. The sky has changed
from a sickly gray pallor to a brilliant Mediterranean blue (ahh
the Mediterrean, where kalamata olives and fresh feta cheese roam
free or at least at a really good bargain, I miss shopping at Trader
Joes so very very much.) Something is definitely different in the
atmosphere here; the air has a fresh almost floral fragrance that
makes absolutely no sense as there are no flowers in bloom. Yet
there are patches of what appear to be daffodil bulbs literally
springing up all over the hills, the lawn, and the banks of the
I have watched for the first time in my life bright
red cardinals and red-breasted robins twittering and flittering
on our garden fence and office window ledge. Birds I have only seen
in photos from my mother’s various magazines or her ceramic
bird collection. I am overwhelmed by my own realization that living
in the big city all of my life has led me to lead a very sheltered
one. I mean really, why do I need the skill of spotting the Transvestite
at a bar or why should I know that there are 20 ounces in a Venti
On the second day of spring Jon and I were on the
back porch discussing the various projects that lay ahead of us:
repairing the dam that broke during a heavy storm at the big pond,
green house, workshop, outdoor bread/pizza oven, and gorilla statue
with motion detector led lights hidden in the hills, a typical Seay
family conversation. While we continued our list, we watched as
song birds flew overhead, the guinea hens squawked “n”
scratched the ground for grubs and the dogs yawned while stretching
out on the grass for lazy midday siesta. Yep, it was clear there
were changes occurring.
In an instant, our serenity was interrupted by
a wall of sound far creepier than Phil Spector. The sound echoed
through the hills, bounced off the tin roof and back again. Concerned
and confused, Jon and I asked each other the same question: “What
the Hell is that???” There was something so mechanical yet
natural about it, a high pitched whirring with a metronome like
chirping. Was it a logging vehicle stuck on our property, desperate
to flee the scene of the crime? Was it the mother ship coming to
take us away to a new Celestial home? Was it a mating call of the
Yeti – Sasquatch – Big Foot rumored to be roaming around
these hills for years? Perhaps it was an injured Mothman from Salem,
WV? What ever it was, we knew we had to check it out.
“Where are the high powered flashlights?”
I exclaim as we head off to investigate…
“Why do we need flashlights?” Said
Jon in his curiously skeptical way…
“Cause you’re Mulder and I’m Scully, and the X-Files
always starts out with flashlights” I said in a matter of
“We don’t need flashlights, Annie,
since it’s the middle of the day and we’re only walking
a few hundred feet, besides I’m not David Duchovney”
“Too bad, he’s hot” I mutter
under my breath…
“And you’re no Gillian Anderson”
he mutters under his breath.
We head out towards the spillway at the broken
dam; the sound is so loud we can hardly hear each other. I stop
at the spillway; water is coming over the top and through cracks
and holes. I wonder aloud if the holes and cracks from the spillway
in combination with the heavy water flow could produce this type
of sound, like the Wave Organ in San Francisco. Jon stands next
to me, listens, and explains that the holes and cracks in the spillway
aren’t wide, deep or long enough to make a noise that loud,
moving on we climb up the hill to the big pond.
As we reached the top we are shocked by the amount
of large bubbles floating a top the water, though the sound had
softened. Standing ever so still in silence we watched and waited;
within minutes, the sound was back just as loud as ever. Looking
closer we knew, it wasn’t the Yeti or Mothman, and darn it
all if it wasn’t a UFO. Looking closer, we saw them, hundreds
of them --- frogs. Jumping and swimming, chirping and whirring,
diving under creating bubbles on the surface. Our big pond was the
Club Med for Frogs – they even had drink tickets too!
Upon further investigation and research,
it appears that these frogs, the spring peepers, were just singing
to let us know that the times they are a changin’ to spring!
Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy spring to all!
All rights reserved. ©2005
Spring Peeper Facts:
and spring peepers are roughly 3 cm long--not much more than an
little is known about these frogs. Their songs are conspicuous,
but the animals aren't; it's hard for scientists even to find
them outside the early spring breeding season.
As land is
developed, many amphibian species disappear. Chorus frogs and
spring peepers are more likely to remain than most other species,
because they use the wetland the developers can't do much with,
and they don't need a large area to survive.