The vernal equinox, Vermont edition.

Spring came early to Middlebury this year, not that anyone was complaining.

The first weekend of April, the mercury hit 80 degrees. That Saturday, a meet was held on Dragone Track and a women’s lacrosse game took place on Peter Kohn Field; where normally a few hardened April fans would stand amid giant piles of snow, short-sleeved spectators gathered by the bunch, sporting sunglasses and hats to protect their winterized skin from the sun’s rays.

It will get cold again, I know. We might even have more snow. But spring has sprung. I received final confirmation the other night when a host of full-throated neighbors announced their arrival through our kitchen’s screen door.

“Peepers!”

I had startled my son.

He stared at the door, wide-eyed, expecting, well, whatever a three-year-old’s imagination had conjured up.

I chuckled. “Those are frogs. They’re called Peepers,” which sent us down the rabbit hole of questions that we often descend. Insufficiently equipped with Spring Peeper knowledge, I grabbed my laptop and called up the blog written by Tim Parsons.

The landscape horticulturist at the College, Parsons maintains a blog called the Middlebury Landscape. I subscribe to his feed through my RSS reader, and earlier that day I had seen the headline “Peepers!!!”

Now, Tim is a Vermont certified horticulturist and arborist, and a vast majority of his blog concerns trees and, well, the Middlebury landscape. But he has a curious mind and is prone to random thoughts—and posts. (The Middlebury Landscape even has a category for such musings.) And that day, he—like my son and me—was curious about Peepers.

“Spring Peepers are a variety of  ‘chorus frog,’” Parsons wrote. “I always reach for the Latin names, and this one doesn’t disappoint. Pseudacris crucifer crucifer is the Northern Spring Peeper. Pseudes (false) and akris (locust) for the sound, similar to a real locust insect. Crucifer meaning cross bearer, named for the cross-like markings on the underside.

“Peepers hibernate near ponds, and the males start making noise early in the spring, seeking mates. Smaller than one inch, they are nocturnal, so hard to find, and although equipped with large toe pads for tree climbing, are more comfortable on the ground, hiding in the grass. I’ve learned they can tolerate freezing of some of their body fluids, so that explains their ability to have such an early life cycle in the spring.”

I relayed all this information to my son, and he silently took it all in.

Then he asked, “Are they going to come inside?” They sounded like they were on our doorstep, after all.

“No.” I smiled. “They like it better outside.”

“Good,” he replied, “ ’cause those peepers would be far too loud for our house.”

Yes, yes they would.

Spring has come to Middlebury.