Photo by Heiko Stein

Living Madly: Night of the Treefrogs

By Emilie-Noelle Provost

The other night, I heard a chorus of gray treefrogs coming from the oak trees in my backyard. Native to the Northeast, these small frogs normally begin their mating calls in May after hibernating all winter. But because environmental conditions in late summer and early fall are similar to those in the spring, gray tree frogs often start calling again on rainy nights in early September. Unlike in the spring, the frogs’ late summer calls mix with the chirping of crickets, adding to the verdant buzz that makes this time of year feel magical.

Adult gray treefrogs range from just 1.25 inches to 2 inches long. Their skin resembles the bark of the trees where they live, helping them stay safe from predators. Because they are nocturnal, tree frogs are rarely seen by people. But like many wild things, they seem to know better than we do when the seasons have shifted, even in spite of our sophisticated software and computer models.

The late summer calls of treefrogs signal that the season’s hot, humid days are finally over, that life can resume its normal rhythm. The lovely, cool days of fall are on their way. I can cook in the house again, hike in the mountains without sweating out half of my body weight, wear sweaters, drink tea. I can write or crochet or read a book without being sidelined by 98-degree temperatures combined with 90 percent humidity. The air conditioners can return to their rightful place in the attic.

Many people like the summer, and I understand why. It can be nice not to have to wear a coat. Hanging out at the beach, camping, swimming, barbecues—all these things can be difficult to do the rest of the year, especially in New England. But summer always finds me out of sorts. I often have trouble concentrating on any sort of task. Days go by where I’m unable to do anything except survive the heat. I hate air conditioning. From late June through mid-August, I often feel like I’m living in an alternate reality, my days consumed by irritability and laundry and endless varieties of salad.

With the shortening days of September, I begin to feel alive again. Waking up to the cool morning air, I’m enthusiastic about the day. I find optimism and comfort in the return of routines, the school buses rumbling by the house as I drink my morning coffee. It’s the season of the harvest and cozy firesides, the time of year when light and darkness are equal, making life feel balanced and full of abundance.

This year especially, when our country and the world are mired in such turmoil, the turning of summer into fall feels like a blessing, like the return of an old friend. Autumn is the season of gratitude, of reunions, and of Thanksgiving. It doesn’t arrive sadly, mourning the end of summer. It comes with joy in a colorful blaze, inviting us to gather ourselves up and settle in comfortably together in the glow of its golden light.

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Emilie-Noelle Provost (she/her) – Author of The River Is Everywhere, a National Indie Excellence Award, American Fiction Award, and American Legacy Award finalist, and The Blue Bottle, a middle-grade adventure with sea monsters. Visit her at emilienoelleprovost.com.