Last night I fell asleep to the sound of the spring peepers. There must be dozens, even hundreds, of them in the pond next to my house, and they come out for springtime year after year, as if they're emerging from hibernation. As long as I can remember, I've been able to tell when summer has finally arrived by the sound of them. This is what I love about summer nights in the country -- falling asleep in my big room in our 1840s farmhouse with its steeply sloped ceiling, the floorlength windows thrown open to the cool darkness. I love hearing the shrill melody of the tiny chorus frogs, accompanied by the occasional throaty note of a fat bullfrog, like a bass or a trombone randomly thrown in with an orchestra of violins or piccolos. (I read once that in Martha's Vineyard spring peepers are called "pinkletinks" -- I've remembered because this is almost exactly the sound that they make.) There is also the soft fluttering noise of moths against the windowscreen, and the occasional cricket or katydid perched on my windowsill, keeping me awake. By the time they are silent, the lonely call of an owl echoes in the forest, or a pack of coyotes celebrates a successful hunt on the field next to the pond or on the hill by Thunder Lake. When I'm awake to hear this, I feel a slight thrill at the eeriness of their sound, and think about the freedom of their lives, and am again reminded why I love living in the country. Around 4 or 5 in the morning the birds start to wake up, hesitant at first as if they're trying to sing the sleep out of their minds. Their song is a hushed for awhile, as if they're self conscious about waking up before the sun. Or maybe because I'm still half-asleep they just seem quieter while my mind blocks out their sound. But by the time the sun has fully risen, their volume has been turned up completely, and I am entirely awake. I don't mind getting up then, when the whole world seems awake and they seem to be singing about a day that has already begun. It makes life seem like something I don't want to miss out on.

I am going to miss living in the country. In the summer, I'm not sure how I'm going to live without it. And I have so little time left ... I don't know how I am going to let go.