a frog serenade

Last night as I did the bedtime rounds, closing curtains and checking for the proper number of cats I flinched when I opened the back door, startled by the din. An army of frogs has returned to its base camp: the neighbor's pond and our lowlands. Apparently they had gotten into the grog because the singing was wild -- vigorous, sometimes a little off-key, most distinctly provocative, and to my ears, very very welcome.

When the frogs return in the spring, I begin to believe. Every year I harbor a secret fear that we -- like the beleaguered Narnians -- are stuck in a perpetual winter. The arrival of primroses helps a bit, but the return of the frogs is the bit that really lifts my spirits.

What do they sound like, you may ask? Think of any frog sound you've ever heard in a Hollywood movie. Those are our frogs. Pacific Treefrogs get all the Hollywood speaking parts for frogs, even when the movie is shot in non-treefrog settings. But we don't have to sit through a tiresome movie, we get to hear them off the back deck, with the moonlight and the goats for company.




spring