Tag: frogs

Family Life in the Wild

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Late last night, just before midnight, I took the dog for one more walk. Actually, I think I was taking myself for one more walk. I’m finding that after the severity of this past winter, I’m loving being outdoors at all times of the new spring days. With nearly no moon-light to interfere, the stars shone brightly, the Big Dipper, clear as can be, directly overhead.

I’ve been hearing the peepers for a few weeks now. But, last night their constant sound was drowned out by a loud trill. At first, I thought it was a car in mechanical failure. But, as it never let up and, as it seemed to emanate from the pond, I concluded it must be frogs. Since I had yet to see any, I thought I might be wrong in this guess. But, today, I saw many frogs at the pond and the sound continues, though less loud. Also, it stops if I approach the edge of the pond from which it is coming. (The frog sits in muck close to the center of the photo above. Click on photos to enlarge.)

Can someone tell me – where have the frogs been all winter? And, the fish for that matter? I just can’t fathom that they survive the frigid winter. And, where have the frogs been for the past few weeks? Or, have I not been observant? I have looked for them. Perhaps their peering eyes are not the first sign of their resurfacing. What did I miss? – because today, I saw at least three, plain as day.

As the frogs warbled their (mating?) call, the fish showed the first signs of settling over their nests. This is one of my favorite sights at the pond – it’s so homey. Momma fish hang in suspension over a round dug-out, which they periodically tidy-up, pushing debris aside. (I say ‘Momma’ fish, but they could be ‘Daddy’ fish for all I know. A visit to my post about ‘craters’ will tell you that I learn as I go in my observations. I had originally thought the nests were craters formed by natural springs on the floor of the pond. Observe and learn – and listen to lessons of the occasional fisherman at the pond – is my scientific method!)

Reflections in the Ice

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During the winter months, I had less access to the pond. After a snowfall, it might be a while before the path was cleared by a sidewalk plow or tromped upon by snowshoe or boot. But, there were days I could traverse whatever the terrain winter availed to me. I found that on these walks there were some things specific and some things vague that conjured memories from my childhood.

One thing specific sat frozen in the ice one day. Standing out in the dreary white, gray, and black of its surroundings, a bright orange skate guard lay on its side, frozen on the pond surface. I stopped and stared, as its image caused a flood of recollections from my youth.

I grew up not 300 yards from a small pond, and in my earliest years, I stepped into the rhythms of activity between my siblings and ‘the pond.’ As we learned to walk, so we learned to skate. In winter there was a well worn trail to the banks of the pond. We spent hours shoveling and skating, making pathways and snow angels, under sunny sky and moonlit sky. Great amounts of energy went toward the clearing of the ice for the pleasure of skating upon it, which we did, forever, in a day.

We’d return to the house and over hot chocolate chatter about the nuances of our play – whose slap-shot was killer, who cried, who careened into whom, whose lace broke, who got hit by a puck and where, who got the worst of the whip. (The whip: Locking hands, we’d form a line and, with a strong skater in the lead, we’d pull each other along at an ever increasing rate of speed. Like a whip, the tail end of our train would snap around, eventually breaking off as hands could no longer hold together. The velocity of the piece broken off, which could be one person or more, would propel it into danger such as open water along a strip of shore, or harm, like a branch, icy snowbank, or lone skater. To youngsters, this was thrilling!)

The warmer seasons were about tadpoles and frogs, worms and fishing, and who ‘fell in.’ The day I fell in came in early spring, when an ‘iceberg’ was still afloat, running nearly the length of the pond (about a hundred feet). My next older brother and I wondered if we could move the ice. Getting long thick branches from the surrounding woods, we leaned upon them with full might at one end, while the other end pushed upon the ice. The ice moved, ever so slowly. In our enthusiasm, my pushing pole broke under my strain, and in I went to the frigid water, which lay between the shore and the iceberg. I remember splashing in, and being stunned by the cold as my head submerged and I instinctively suppressed a gasp. Next thing I knew, I was grabbing at the mud and dead growth along the shore, with my brother on his belly, reaching to pull me out.

Throughout my childhood, the pond was an ever present thread through the fabric of our daily lives. The image of the skate guard brought to mind, not just memories, but the patterned actions that were automatic motions of those years. For those who have ever used a spring controlled skate guard, the dexterous technique to attach the guard to the blade of a skate, remains in the cache of neuropathway blueprints that include, how to ride a bike, how to swim, and how to throw a ball.