No, I heard them around here in childhood though...not many frogs left either, although we still hear a few in the springtime.
What I will leave for you, Ghosting one0one, is this poem from Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)...prolly one of the poems I love best all-time:
Farther in summer than the birds,
Pathetic from the grass,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass.
No ordinance is seen,
So gradual the grace,
A pensive custom it becomes,
Enlarging loneliness.
Antiquest felt at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth this spectral canticle,
Repose to typify.
Remit as yet no grace,
No furrow on the glow,
Yet a druidic difference
Enhances nature now.