On an evening stroll behind the house last month I had the pleasure of hearing the nasal peenting call of an American woodcock in my gradually developing pine savanna. Also known as “timberdoodles,” these well-camouflaged pullet-sized birds are easier heard than seen.
I commute for a total of three hours a day and often both leave and arrive home in the dark, leaving no time or light for gardening. One of my most satisfying pleasures in life however is stepping out of my truck after a hard day and listening to the comforting sounds of nature. No matter how stressful the day has been, the moment I hear the first familiar call of the evening, I feel peace and love.
I’ve always believed that the sights and smells of the countryside are important, but it’s the sounds that truly define a place. Nature’s band plays a tune every evening, marking the seasons and reminding me that I am exactly where I belong.
One of the most iconic voices of my evenings comes from the barred owl. Their unmistakable “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?” call drifts through the woods, bouncing from forest to forest. Some nights, I hear just one calling in the distance; other nights, a pair will trade calls back and forth like old friends catching up. Occasionally, one waits on the stop sign at the road for me.
Barred Owl
Barred owls aren’t just vocal in the evening; they also call deep into the night. Sometimes, their usual hoots turn into raucous, eerie caterwauling between territorial males. Their monkey-like calls add a mysterious, almost jungle quality to the nighttime woods.
In late spring and early summer, another bird joins the twilight chorus—the chuck-will’s-widow. These secretive nightjars are rarely seen, but their rhythmic “chuck-will’s-widow” call is a defining sound of the warm months. Unlike barred owls, which call in bursts, chuck-will’s-widows repeat their song tirelessly, sometimes for hours.
On especially humid nights, their voices carry far and wide, creating an almost hypnotic effect. Some might find the repetitive nature of their song annoying, but to me, it’s as comforting as an old clock ticking on the wall. It means summer has arrived, and all is right with the world.
One of the most distinctive evening sounds I hear comes from female wood ducks flying to roost. Unlike other ducks, wood ducks prefer wooded swamps, creeks, and ponds, often perching in trees before nightfall. Just as the last light fades, I often hear their sharp, high-pitched “oo-eek! oo-eek!” as thy jet overhead in pairs or small flocks. Their calls are often accompanied by the distinct whistling of their wings, making them even easier to recognize.
Wood Ducks
The twirling and twittering of chimney swifts as they pour into my chimney for the night is also soothing despite Mrs. G’s uneasiness with things that go bump in the night being literally invited into our home. One year, one even nested in an outbuilding on the property.
Chimney Swifts
One of the most nostalgic sounds of the changing seasons is the overhead honking of migrating geese. These calls, drifting from the dark sky above, signal a shift in the year’s rhythm. Whether it’s the crispness of fall or the promise of spring, their voices bring a sense of transition.
I often scan the sky, hoping for a glimpse of their V-shaped formations gliding against the moonlight. But more often than not, I can only hear them, their calls fading in and out as they navigate their ancient flyways.
Not all of nature’s evening sounds are soft and soothing. Some remind me that the wild still thrives just beyond my own yard. The coyote chorus is a perfect example. Their eerie yips, howls, and barks often begin as a lone voice in the distance before others join in, building into a cacophony that echoes across the landscape. Sometimes, they seem close enough to be in the neighbor’s pasture, other times miles away.
Unlike coyotes, red foxes keep a lower profile, but they have their own stimulating call. A red fox’s raspy bark sounds like a cross between a dog and a scream, making it one of the most fascinating sounds of the night. While coyotes seem wild and untamed, foxes give off a ghostly presence, slipping through the dawn and dusk like wispy phantoms. Last year, some raised nearby with the young hanging out by my barn for weeks.
Red Fox
As winter fades, another set of nighttime musicians takes the stage—chorus frogs and spring peepers. Their tiny voices fill the air with an electric buzz.
The chorus frogs start first, their raspy trills rising and falling like fingers over a comb. Then come the spring peepers, with their high-pitched “peep-peep-peep” that signals the true arrival of spring.
Some nights, their combined voices become almost deafening, especially near a pond or flooded ditch. I can even hear them driving down the highway with my windows up. To me, there’s nothing more cheerful than hearing these tiny frogs announce the changing of the season.
Listening to these calls each evening reminds me that nature is always there, continuing its rhythms regardless of what’s happening in our hectic world. Each call—whether it’s the deep hoot of an owl, the odd bark of a fox, or the cheerful chirp of a spring peeper—is part of the enduring story of the outdoors. They tell me when the seasons are shifting and where the wild things are. Years ago, these sounds were only background noise to me, something I heard but didn’t fully appreciate. Now, they are my favorite part of the day. They ground me, soothe me, and remind me that we are all part of nature and should do all we can to protect and preserve what we have.
