Saratoga News

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Stereopticon

Steam locomotive, croaking frogs, quail gone forever

By Willys Peck

The sights of Saratoga, past and present, can be worked into subject matter for this and any number of other columns. At this point, though, I'd like to put in a plug for some sounds of Saratoga--at least those heard in my segment of the town--and expound on why they are of interest. As it happens, I haven't heard any of these particular sounds for a good number of years, and I probably never will again, at least in this setting.

The sounds are the blast of a steam locomotive whistle, the croaking of frogs in the creek and the call of the valley quail.

Since I've been addicted to trains since earliest childhood, the sounds of railroads have always attracted me. I'll admit a lot of the charm was lost with the advent of diesel power in 1957, but I'm still a train buff. The steam whistle blast I'm referring to was that of the Southern Pacific morning commuter train as it approached Congress Junction, where the tracks crossed Saratoga Avenue. Now the rails are on part of the Highway 85 Saratoga Avenue overpass.

This whole rail network had an interesting history. Originally, this was part of the line that went from Santa Cruz, through the Santa Cruz Mountains to Los Gatos and on to San Jose. In 1908 the branch known variously as the Mayfield or Vasona cutoff was built. It took off from the main line between Los Gatos and Campbell, went northward through Saratoga, Monta Vista, Los Altos, Mayfield (south Palo Alto) and joined the main SP line at California Avenue in Palo Alto.

The small handful of Saratogans who took the train to their jobs in San Francisco or up the Peninsula had to get up pretty early to catch the train at Congress Junction, or at Azule, where the tracks crossed (and still do) Saratoga-Sunnyvale Road. Anyway, the sound of that whistle was a pleasant way to wake up. Incidentally, that passenger service ended in January 1964.

The second on my list is the sound that was produced by a chorus of frogs as they did their nocturnal concertizing by or in Saratoga Creek. That stream bisects our property a short distance below our house. The intriguing thing about this frog chorus was the timing. It seemed as if they were all starting together and finishing together; I don't recall any solos, or if there were, they gave way to group singing. Oops, singing? Make that group croaking. I liked to imagine one portly bullfrog standing on hind legs and waving a webbed front foot to keep the group in unison.

I don't know what's going on now with the aquatic life in that creek. Maybe there's some kind of predator that's feeding on anything that swims.

The third sound on my list is the call of the valley quail. I haven't seen a quail in or around my yard for I don't know how long. There was a time, though, when we could hear and see these beautiful birds in abundance. Crows we've got--in abundance--and it wouldn't surprise me if there were some kind of a predator-victim syndrome involved here.

Having brought up the subject of quail, I am pleased to announce that this coming Saturday, May 12, is the 75th birthday of a celebrated occupant of this house. That would be Peeper the quail, whose memory is preserved in a booklet by his adoptive mother, Mrs. Bernardine Higinbotham, and by an elegant tombstone in my front yard.

Peeper was raised literally from an egg by Mrs. Higinbotham and her husband, John U. Higinbotham, known by his newspaper-column byline J.U.H. A mother quail had hatched her 17 eggs by the front step, and when she moved the brood on, one was left behind. That was the one the Higinbothams rescued and nurtured, naming it Peeper because he "peeped or chattered when he is awake, most of the time, expressing his likes and dislikes," according to his biographer.

Raised by humans, Peeper was more oriented toward them than his fellow birds. He shared his owners' food, traveled with them and literally was one of the family. I can remember Peeper as a grammar school visitor and how he hopped from one outstretched hand to another during an assembly program.

I don't know that much about birds, so I don't know if his death in November 1940 was because of old age. Eight-and-a-half years does seem like a considerable life span for a quail, and Peeper's life was nothing but good.