By David Moskowitz

As winter begins to fade and the days become longer, there are many signs that spring is just around the corner: the first red-winged blackbird, pussy willows and skunk cabbage flowering, the reddish tint of swelling tree buds. But none announce that spring has arrived quite like the first chorus of spring peepers calling from some marshy area on a mild rainy day in March. In the Northeast, the call of the spring peeper is quite simply synonymous with spring.

The spring peeper is one of the easiest of our northeastern frog species to identify, at least by voice. Its name is onomatopoeic, simply reflecting the loud “peep, peep, peep” that the males utter during the breeding season in the spring. Other local common names are equally descriptive and include pink-wink, pee-wink, pinkle-tink, and tinky. But describing the call simply as a “peep” or similar derivation just doesn’t do the frog justice. The spring peeper is only about an inch long, but a chorus of singing males can be deafening. I have stood in the midst of a spring chorus right next to other people and have been barely able to hear anything they were saying.

Oddly, finding a spring peeper, despite their incredibly loud call, is not an easy task, and most people will likely have to enjoy their calls as a joyous consolation prize. I particularly enjoy the description of this frustration by the renowned biologist Mary Dickerson from The Frog Book she published in 1906: “After we have heard the chorus every spring for years, the Peeper is still merely a voice to us…We search among the leaves and moss. No amount of looking reveals the shelter of this atom of a frog so eager for spring. The Peeper is still but a voice…The combination of sounds is almost ear-splitting…But where are the frogs? The voices are all about us. There is one particularly loud one at our very feet. We look; we scrutinize every leaf and stick and bit of grass. It is maddening that we cannot see the singer. With our slightest movement the sound ceases. And so again and again. We finally retreat, with the Peeper still a mysterious voice.”

The scientific name of the spring peeper is as wonderfully descriptive as its common name. This diminutive frog has a name longer than the frog itself: Pseudoacris crucifer. But this name, derived from both Greek and Latin fits perfectly. Pseudoacris translates to “false locust” and describes the insect-like sound of the spring peeper’s spring chorus.

Crucifer means “cross-bearing” and reflects the “x” that this little frog bears on its back and that is often the key field mark for its identification. The color of the spring peeper is variable; it may be greenish, brownish, or even grayish. The spring peeper has a

wide range that extends throughout the eastern half of the United States and Canada. The habitat of the spring peeper includes just about any kind of wetland from wooded swamps and vernal pools to open marshes and even wet fields where there is standing water throughout the spring. In the Northeast, breeding begins in March and typically continues through May, when the choruses begin to taper off.

The spring peeper is one of the earliest frogs to emerge from hibernation and often sings when the air temperature is at or even a bit below 50°F. Occasionally, on warm winter days, a lone peeper or two will be heard calling, taking a chance at being the first to advertise his intentions. But returning colder temperatures will cause them to hide for a bit longer in a sheltered place until warmer spells occur. The quality of the call is important as females select males based on the call, so apparently it pays to advertise. Spring choruses often occur during the day during wet weather, but the loudest are during the evening as the breeding season progresses and nighttime temperatures remain mild. In April the tiny eggs are laid singly and the equally tiny tadpoles hatch about a week or two later. The tadpoles mature into adults in about three months and then leave the breeding pools for the surrounding woodlands and fields. The diet of the spring peeper is as diverse as their wetland habitats, and includes any small insects that come across their path.

Fortunately, at least for now, this frog has not declined as significantly as other species with more specialized habitats. Nonetheless, every wetland loss can create a gap of silence in the woods and swamps as the habitat of the spring peeper is eliminated. And to make matters worse, frogs are facing pressures worldwide. Many species are disappearing for as yet unknown or poorly defined reasons, even when the habitat remains suitable. It’s almost impossible to imagine how impoverished the woods would be in the spring without the loud, wonderful, piercing choruses of the spring peeper letting us know that winter is over. As I write this from the vantage point of mid-January with temperatures in the 20s, I know that it won’t be long until I hear that first spring chorus of peepers, and it makes me smile.