Wood frogs are bedding down in our backyard. Other small creatures, too, but wood frogs are the ones I think about most.
At first, I thought they were toads. This was back in August when they were everywhere, especially on the hill in the backyard, which is covered with low shrubs and dead leaves and seemed, before discovering the frogs, like a landscaping problem.
I assumed they were toads because, as far as I knew, toads lived on land while frogs lived in water, and the nearest permanent pond is about a half-mile away (.3 miles as the frog hops). But when I went online to identify them, it was clear from their smooth skin and sleek bodies that were that they were actually frogs. Our yard had at least two kinds: pickerel frogs, bolder with striking markings, and wood frogs, more elusive and distinguishable by their black masks.
I was excited, perhaps because I subscribe to the Frog Trouble Times, where I’ve learned interesting things about frogs. It’s where I read that they technically brumate rather than hibernate and how warmer winters can disturb this process. I wondered where our backyard frogs came from and where they were going.
It was an unusually wet summer, which may have been why the pickerel frogs ventured so far from their pond. After some unseasonably hot September days, most of them disappeared--I hope back to the water.
But wood frogs are more terrestrial than other frogs, with a greater range of movement. They live in forests and breed in vernal pools or ephemeral ponds, which form in the springtime from rain and melted snow. Most notably, they hibernate on land, under dead leaves, while other frogs hibernate at the bottom of ponds in above-freezing temperatures. Wood frogs spend their winters frozen solid, a biological miracle. Ice coats their cells and internal organs, and their hearts stop beating until some unknown process gets them going again in early spring, when they thaw from the inside out.
We hadn’t seen any wood frogs for a while, but I was hopeful they were still out there. Then a couple weeks ago, Joe was digging out a space for a second compost bin on the back hill (got to love a man who loves to compost) and found what appeared to be a large grub. Then he looked closer and realized it had “arms and legs”—a wood frog! He gently examined it to make sure it wasn’t hurt then buried it a few feet away exactly as he’d found it, in an inch of soil under a pile of leaves. Hopefully it got comfortable again, since the temperature has been dropping.
All this has made me hate leaf blowers even more than I did before. They’re very prolific here; you can usually hear at least one blasting away in the background. Joe tells me some of them are battery operated, so not necessarily spewing more emissions than a truck drive from Texas to Alaska. But they still offend me in using maximum force against an adversary as unformidable as dead leaves.
Joe and I agreed to leave the backyard leaves for the wood frogs. But we’ve gone back and forth about what to do with the oak leaves blanketing the front yard. I suggested leaving them, too, since I like how they look and am lazy, but Joe felt a suburban obligation to contain them somehow. I saw his point, too, come Halloween, when it felt necessary to clear the sidewalks and driveway lest a trick-or-treater slip and break something.
After hours of raking, we’ve now contained the leaves to the bottom third-ish of the yard, which is something. Joe did most of it, although I did enough for my Fitbit to register a swim of “29 lengths.” Raking is a little bit like swimming, with the repetitive arm strokes. And I like writing in my head while I do both.
There’s a Little Free Library at the end of our block. I’m still a city walker in that I like to have a destination and walk fast, which can make walking with small children frustrating. The little library is a good walking destination because Jojo can usually make it there and back on her own, and if I do have to carry her it’s not far enough to be excruciating.
A few months ago, we found a Northern Woodlands seasonal calendar in the little library. There were actually two, and I’ll confess I took both because I had both girls, and each insists on taking something from the little library each time we go, which is why we don’t go more. I try to put in more books than we take out, but this often requires sleights of hand so they don’t see I’m giving away, for example, an extremely thorough edition of Old McDonald Had a Farm.
It felt serendipitous to find two seasonal calendars in the little library, but all libraries are serendipitous. I used to request specific picture books from our public library because I have this thing where I need to read every beautiful picture book in existence to my children before they outgrow them. But now I just bring them to the kids’ section and let them pull books off the shelf at random, since they always find seem to find something perfect this way.
Anyway, the seasonal calendar is very educational and sometimes sassy, like the day it just said, “Geese, geese, and more geese,” which was indeed the case. My favorite entry so far was October 7th: “Trees aren’t losing their leaves. They are draining them of nutrients and then throwing them away. It’s an active process.”
There’s a good kids’ book about a tree that refuses to drop its leaves called Little Tree. All the other trees drop their leaves each year and grow taller, but little tree continues clinging, unable to trust the process. I get it. It still seems incredible to me that seasons change at all. Despite all evidence, I’m not sure I totally believe it.
Recommendation: 72 Microseasons, beautiful Substack about the Kurashi no Koyomi, Japan’s seasonal calendar
ICYMI: Remarks from Rashida Tlaib after Congress censured her for being one of its few members to speak out against the extreme, relentless super violence our government is funding and perpetuating, despite the majority of Americans wanting a ceasefire. Have you contacted your reps?