Barefoot Memories of a Hillbilly - Jeepers Creepers...Where'd You Get Those Peepers

Jeepers Creepers…

Where’d You Get Those Peepers

Hereabouts in the hills during the quiet of peaceful winter’s evening there’s a sound that is easily recognized by us hillbillies. It usually starts in February, and will be heard off and on up until late Spring. Once February’s temperatures start dancing from one end of the thermometer to the other, when the days are mild and the nights are calm, along the low marshy places and small farm ponds can be heard a cacophony of tiny bleats pelting the air with nerve twanging intensity…”spring peepers” or peeper frogs. There’s something melancholic about hearing their symphony of nature, and in all honesty, this nostalgic chorus can also drive you crazy after a short time.

Peeper frogs are no respecters of people, and even less respectful of one’s ear drums. Their squelching rhythms are incessant, and can build up to quite a healthy volume. Yet there’s something kind of comforting to pass by one of their domains and catch just enough of their chorus to prod you into remembering many temperate evenings spent on the front porch of the farmhouse being serenaded by their chorale gatherings. They don’t care if you are wealthy enough to have your name appear on the list of top 500 richest in the world or if you are a simple dirt farm just managing to eke out an existence. They sing the same for one and all. The don’t care if you make the laws or break the laws. The don’t care if you are the most learned or as simple as the day you were born, their tune doesn’t alter.

As I’ve indicated before, Pap couldn’t hear it thunder. But in his times of remembering past adventures of fox hunting or rambling over and about the great outdoors, he would occasionally mention moments where the peepers played a role. But, he reached a point when his hearing failed him that he could no longer sit on the porch and hear the frogs. He could only reminisce about the swampy concerts.  It came about in his later years he was able to get some less expensive hearing devices. He would use them for simple conversations with individuals or small groupings. However, when his youngens gathered, he preferred not to use them, saying we were too loud and rambunctious, so much so, that it hurt his ears and his head. So too he discovered, that he was equally as affected by the peeper frogs. Like his kids, the frogs would get loud, continue for extended periods, could be “shushed” for small periods, but quickly worked back up to a crescendo until shushed again.

Our memories are strange about which things are triggers which bring us back to moments from our past days. Certainly there are many pieces patched together to make up that homespun quilt that represents our life’s. Simple things like peeper frogs, a crocus peeping thru the grasses still limp within their winter slumber. The stirring of red headed wood hens, fat groundhogs, and robins returning to their springtime stomping grounds ready to pull plump red worms from the ground…each a place holder in our minds.

I wear shoes now, but sometimes I have barefoot memories.