Day 226
If I were a southern girl I’d say something like, “Well, shut my mouth.” or “Land sakes and mercy me.” … but I’m not. I hale from the midwest and have come full circle and for the life of me I can’t think of what someone (from this area) says when they find something out and it’s surprising. Probably something astute like, “Wow.” or even better … “Huh.”
You know those critchy, creepy bugs I’ve been talking about … the ones that are STILL making noises well into September (unlike, knock on wood … the cicadas which, I dare to say, have not been heard in TWO DAYS!) … those icky, nasty noisy bugs that are turning me slowly insane?
Rumor has it they might not be bugs.
They might be … FROGS!
Wow.
Huh.
And, that my friends, changes the whole story. I LIKE frogs. I’ve always liked frogs. If they can be sweet (except the poison dart ones that will kill you) … they are sweet. And I don’t mean as in tasty (tastes just like chicken!) … I mean in demeanor. I think they’re nice. What’s not to love?
When I was little my brother was a frog-boy. And unlike the actual Frog-Man (Peeping Tom) that was in the area, he didn’t peep or have webbed feet or anything but he loved frogs. He had tanks and buckets and pools of tadpoles in our backyard with every stage of froglet/frog imaginable …. full tadpoles to froglets with one arm or leg to actual frogs. It was frog paradise in our yard and great fun to watch their transformations.
When my own kids were little we got a pair of tadpoles. Porcy and Minnie. By the time we released them – some 2 or 3 years later – we were on our 18th set of tadpoles (unbeknownst to the kids). I just kept telling them that our frog babies were slow sprouters and eventually their little legs would pop out and they’d turn into frogs.
And eventually they did. Well, almost did. They were almost full frogs when one beautiful day we decided to have a Born Free moment and let the froggies go in the creek across the street. The only problem was that it was the day after a torrential rain and the creek was running really high and wickedly fast. But – that didn’t stop us (nor did a modicum of common sense on my part) … the kids dumped the almost-frogs into the raging water and their little brown-green bodies catapulted downstream like they’d been shot out of a cannon! I wondered if they died instantly or if they suffered while having their little bodies battered against the rocks? What was I thinking? It was awful. And, of course, I was feeling absolutely terrible on our way home and the kids were all excited about their good deed and especially about releasing the frogs in such an exciting way … like they’d just given them a ride on a frog version of Space Mountain!
In any case … I like frogs. Even if they are critching and driving me nuts. Mobes and I were going to scope this out earlier this evening by taking a walk through the cemetery … but by the time I heard the critching it was almost dark and a walk by ourselves through a creepy cemetery in the gathering dusk no longer sounded like a good option. I like frogs but I’m not crazy!