For years, decades, even, I’ve told myself that I was finally going to take the time at dusk to hunt down a peeper and take it’s picture. For various reasons – tired, lazy, busy, short season… I didn’t. Until this weekend. While I was at Mom’s little farm they were singing their hearts out, and I had the time, the camera, and the inclination.
It wasn’t that easy, of course. Dark was falling, and although I could hear the little guys, I couldn’t see them. Mom’s fields are old pasture, with tussocks of thick, tangled grass around her little pond. I figured out from the sounds that was where they were, but it took some time before I caught the glint of a tiny eyeball.
Peepers are, it turns out, different colors in different regions. Mom remembers the tree frogs of her youth in the Pacific Northwest as green. This little guy was brown, with crosshatching of darker brown.
He thought if he sat really still, I might not see him. He was wrong, but he didn’t move until I gave him a gentle poke.
As a result, I got some nice shots of him from all angles. Poor lil’ guy, I had to use my flash as it was so dark (and I hadn’t packed my ring light, which is softer light). I felt like he was probably quite upset with me by the time his impromptu photoshoot was over.
Mom’s hunter cat, Blue, came down to visit me at the pond while I was sitting very still waiting for the frogs to sing. I made a video to capture the sounds, which are shockingly loud when you’re that close! Every spring I wait to hear the high voices of the frogs winsomely serenading their lovers, and now I can put a face to the song.