Published April 23, 2006 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
By Aaron J. Brown
In spring, the ground makes a squishy noise and winds bring smiles instead of grimaces. Spring also welcomes many summer residents back to our neighborhood. It’s always nice to see our human friends return from warm winter climates; but I rather enjoy the return of the animals. Ducks normally don’t clog up city streets during the afternoon and frogs never vote “no” on school bond referenda.
I kid my snowbird friends. Pardon my smugness, but I think six months of heavy parkas allows us year-rounders some liberties in this area.
I moved out to the country last fall, so I’m attempting to become more in tune with my natural surroundings. My favorite thing about where I live is the sound of frogs.
I grew up on a salvage yard in Zim. To hide the merchandise from the view of high-minded tourists and county officials my family built a large mound that sealed the perimeter of the junkyard. These hills created what we kids considered a picturesque lake system and what environmentalists might have labeled a semi-toxic sludge basin. Regardless of labels, hundreds of frogs emerged from these waterways. And these were but a handful of survivors from the thousands of tadpoles who battled dry weather, birds and the Darwinian meddling of me and my sisters.
Junked cars and trucks fascinated friends who visited the junkyard, but the frogs interested me more. I can still picture a ball of tadpoles clinging to life in an evaporating July puddle as the birds circled. With so many frogs around, my sisters and I provided accommodations for some, especially those down on their luck.
The artificial nature of the frog pond meant that it occasionally dried out completely and at other times a thin layer of oil ran off from the junkyard, covering the brown water. When the frog refugees poured out of the pond, we’d keep them in a plastic toddler swimming pool outside the back door of the trailer.
One year, the frost came early and we found about a half dozen frogs floating motionless underneath a thin sheet of ice in the pool. We decided that the frogs needed to be warmed, and warmed fast. In a clear piece of my mom’s Tupperware, we drew water about as hot as one would like a winter bath, and dropped in the frogs. At that moment, three things occurred: the frogs – in shock from the temperature change – sprung to life and vomited most of their internal organs, my dad entered the kitchen to start the morning coffee, and everyone involved (except the frogs) screamed.
We learned the difference between cold and warm-blooded animals that day, and we learned that a frog’s place was outside. It didn’t seem fair. The home our junkyard had carelessly created for them was so unstable. I imagine some frogs made it to better places, but the driveway was littered with those who didn’t.
Perhaps it’s a bit like the song “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult. “History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of men.” I’m reminded of that this spring as thousands of frogs have sprung to life after a long winter of sleeping under ice and snow. Spring is a gentle thaw, part of a cycle. There’s no quick fix to a frozen frog.
From the frogs, to the bugs, to the wide array of migratory birds that have passed by our place, we are reminded that we are part of a cycle. You can’t fight the cycle so you may as well enjoy the ride, and the sound of frogs conducting their froggy business.
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.