Tag Archive | frog pond

Walk for Peace

Feb9
Sandra shared this illustration that someone sent her, knowing I would appreciate it.

Today the monks walked along US Rt. 1 from Woodbridge, VA to Alexandria. I watched some of it live on Facebook, and wept most of the time. Just before they stopped for lunch they walked past the apartment complex where I lived while I was helping my mother die, and shortly after that past the Home where my parents lived. After lunch at a Buddhist temple I never knew existed (and may not have back then) they walked past the fenced and multi-gated Fort Belvoir where my father worked at one point, and where I’ve spent time occasionally through the years since my childhood. People lined the road for miles, offering flowers, fruit, prayers, and other symbols of heartfelt thanks. Amy chanced to drive near there and reported “Traffic is insane. Police everywhere blocking off roads. People are leaving their cars and walking to get close to them. It’s very festive!”

The tears I shed were tears of pure emotion, mostly joy. Tomorrow they walk through a very dense part of Northern Virginia from Alexandria to Arlington, normally perhaps a twenty minute drive. And on Tuesday, they cross the Potomac River into the belly of the beast. Their full schedule for DC is here, and includes an interfaith ceremony at Washington National Cathedral, followed by a Unity Walk along Embassy Row. I encourage everyone to watch live as much as possible of their walk into our nation’s troubled capital: This needs to be witnessed. I have some anxiety about the official welcome they’ll receive.

Wednesday morning they’ll walk to the Peace Monument (after my time?) and Capitol Hill. After lunch they’ll walk to the Lincoln Memorial for a peace gathering and concluding ceremony, and from 4:30–7:30 PM ET they’ll lead a global peace meditation which will be live-streamed on their Facebook page. You can be sure I’ll be tuned in for that. Thursday they’ll cross into Maryland, speak at the Maryland State Capitol, and leave early afternoon to return home to Fort Worth, TX. What an astonishing thing they have done!

In between watching the monks and spending the afternoon and evening with televised sports spectacles like a regular American, Wren and I did a little spring cleaning at the pond. I was very careful not to disturb the frog that Wren didn’t notice, while she enthusiastically sought to disturb as much as she could. I didn’t see any other signs of life besides the one frog, but she may have. I used the marvelous SunJoe hedge clippers to cut back some of the rushes and grasses, but this is a before picture. Then we rested up with the Super Bowl sandwiched between Olympics. I tuned into football largely for the commercials (which weren’t that great imho) and for the marvelous halftime show, but also enjoyed watching the Seahawks trounce the Patriots. Maybe because I haven’t watched a Super Bowl in years, maybe because Bad Bunny put on a spectacular and moving show, maybe because everyone at the Olympics seemed happy (until Lindsey Vonn crashed) I surrendered all my “should dos” and worries, whipped up some onion dip, and thoroughly enjoyed escaping for the whole day into the illusion that everything is just fine. Tomorrow, it’s back to work strenuously cultivating inner peace and saving democracy.

More Froglets!

Aug11

I’m grateful that there were plenty of windows of opportunity to visit the pond over the weekend. A massive wildfire northwest of here about eighty crow miles covers much of the state in smoke depending on which way the wind blows. When it blows from the south these days, we have good air; when it blows from the north, as it’s been doing the past several nights, the air quality shoots up over 110 and many of us have to stay inside. I’m grateful it’s not worse: friends from Chicago to Syracuse have been experiencing the worst air in the world on occasion over the past couple of weeks, due to even more massive wildfires in Canada. So when I get a window of clean air I make the most of it, and visit the pond.

Despite jaw and tooth pain as my mouth settles around new crowns and attendant complications, I’ve “gotta eat sometimes,” as the dentist kindly reminded me. So I’ve enjoyed eating homemade brown sugar-cinnamon poptarts for breakfast the past few days. Amy recommended the recipe and since that was always my favorite flavor poptart growing up I had to try it. Pretty good for a first effort, and not that hard to make. Not perfect, either, so I’ll have to make them again.

After breakfast, or sometimes before, I visit the pond, where fewer and fewer tadpoles swim and more and more froglets crowd the edges. They’re in the rushes, on the lily pads, among the flagstones, under the flagstones, out in the grasses. This evening I took a quick look and had to step very carefully to avoid stepping on some: little froglets everywhere! They’re so tiny they get a little tangled in the grass stems when they startle and try to hop to the pond for safety. Wren could catch and eat them easier than she does the grasshoppers, but she’s been very responsive to my admonishments to leave it.

Above, four froglets cluster at the edge, and a nearly-turned tadpole rests in the warm shallow just above the tiny snail on the brick. In the detail below you can see a fifth froglet’s leg peeking out below the brick, underwater.

At the slow north end, where algae has collected, I couldn’t count the gathered froglets, and kept getting closer, and closer.

I hadn’t thought about what the soles of a froglet’s feet look like and it kind of surprised me to see the little bumps. I think these are the toes beginning to develop, but that’s just an educated guess. After seeing how far they’ve ventured from the pond already and how fragile and vulnerable they are, I may need to use my next window to lay out some branches and build a few rock piles; I certainly won’t be mowing again this year.

After a weekend of adventures and work and smoke and play, Wren and I both rest.

Perspective

Aug1

It’s been such a joyful journey to watch these little creatures grow. I’ve felt like I had a pretty good handle on their development, checking on them a couple of times a day, noticing the first tiny hind legs developing, and then seeing the forelegs on a few yesterday. I sent a picture to Dr. Amphibian, and he asked if any were coming out of the water onto land yet. Well I think not, I thought, If I’m just now seeing the forelegs, but I didn’t say so. I’m learning.

As I was leaving pondwatch last evening, there was a flicker in the rushes, a hint of a hop, and it was gone before I could be sure, but I thought I saw a froglet! A baby garter snake also escaped my camera; thinner than a pencil and quick it slithered off the flagstone and swam across the pond to disappear into the rushes.

Pondering what my friend had asked me, I came down to the pond this morning with fresh eyes, a shift in perspective. I looked more closely into the marshy ground with an open mind. These curly rushes over the years have grown roots to the bottom of the pond and created their own little land masses. When I noticed a baby frog right away, I had to laugh at my hubris, to think that in my couple of superficial visits a day I was keeping up with their development!

I knew the tadpoles had been clustering around the edges of the rushes for a week or two, but I hadn’t thought to inspect the rushes themselves for froglets. I only saw the tadpoles who swam away from the edges when Wren or I came close enough to disturb them.

There are still five or six adult frogs hanging around, some as big as the palm of my hand.

But the froglets, they’re only the size of one thumb joint—and yet perfectly formed complete miniatures of their parents! I only saw half a dozen, but now I know how well they hide I’m sure there are far more than I counted. The habitat is perfect for them: the rushes are partially submerged, providing a lattice over pockets of warm shallow water. As they make their metabolic transition from herbivores to carnivores, they can find the exact niche they need in any moment somewhere in the spongy rush islands, and when they’re completely transformed into froglets they can climb all the way out.

Seeing one perching on a lily pad was absolutely the best part of my day.

The pond is rich in other lives as well. Dragonflies, damselflies, water bugs, spiders, and apparently enough tiny animals to feed a thousand froglets. I’m profoundly grateful for the way each day enhances my perspective.

Wetland Creatures

Jun22

The wetland that grew around the pond over the past decade is buzzing with life. Gaillardia is blooming, drawing native bees and butterflies, like this field crescent (Phyciodes) sharing a feast with a striped sweat bee (Agapostemon).

The developing tadpoles are fascinating. They’re gaining shape and color, splashing around at the surface, and when I zoomed in on this picture they look translucent. And they seem to be sipping air – look at that little tadpole mouth!

I wish Wren had shown more caution creeping up on the garter snake; it’s perfectly harmless, but her curiosity could be dangerous with some other species.

And I wish I could end tonight’s post right there, with the simple joy of wetland creatures on a hot summer day. As I sat there this morning I remembered the phrase “all’s right with the world” with sadness. It wasn’t this morning, and it most assuredly is not this night. The madness out there just keeps escalating, accelerating. But down at the pond, absorbed in the pace of nature, there is respite for minutes at a time.

Little Thrills

May17

I slept late and lingered in a sweet dream where my mother, my grandmother, and Auntie Rita were all waiting for me in a hotel lobby. It was wonderful to hug them each again, and then gather them all into a loving group hug. The rosebuds I’ve been watching unfurl in super slow motion for two weeks had burst open by the time I checked around ten this morning. It’s the first cultivated rose I’ve had in twenty-five years since my rose bonsai met its demise with a housesitter’s neglect. I picked this Sheila’s Perfume cultivar from the rose tent at Afton’s largely for its extraordinary aroma; a big bonus was the colors.

The next thrill arrived down at the pond where equally suddenly a huge ball of frogs’ eggs showed up this morning. I’m pretty sure they weren’t there yesterday. A mama frog in the rushes right above the nest may have just finished laying them.

The potato leaves have been working their way up through the soil for a week now, but it’s still a thrill to see how much they’ve grown. I also spotted a tattered Mourning Cloak butterfly and a Western Tiger Swallowtail in the fading lilacs, through the kitchen window.

We went back down to check on the frogs’ eggs this evening and mama was nowhere near them. I must have seen frogs’ eggs before but I don’t remember it; I don’t think I’ve ever seen them here. My curiosity piqued, I looked up the life cycle so I’d know when to expect tadpoles. Nine days is the average, according to one article, so I know how I’ll be spending my Memorial Day. I’m grateful for all the little thrills this Saturday offered.

At One with Nature

Sep13

It’s been a couple of years since the water lilies have blossomed. I’m grateful to see the effort to clear the pond has yielded this gorgeous bloom. While I’ve continued to enjoy sitting by the pond, I haven’t gotten in the water for more than a week; most of the work is done, the air’s been cooler, and I’ve been focusing on other things. Today after working all I could manage inside, I tried to lie down but it hurt too much to lie flat. At first I felt sorry for myself, then I breathed compassion into the pain. And then I began to think about how good it felt to be immersed in the cool water in the pond. It was mid-afternoon, about 75℉ air temp, and I knew it would be at least ten degrees less in the water, so, chilly. I talked myself out of it, until I talked myself into it.

The bud that had promised for two days had opened wide.
Wren spotted one of her frog friends.
Wren spooked her frog friend who swam under the lily pad (behind the blossom). You can see her head to the left of it and her legs stretched out to the right.

She swam for safety and tucked in. I soaked in the hydrostatic pressure and felt my tired body revitalize. How marvelous to settle in the water, let the thinking mind rest, and be at one with nature. Maybe I’ll get another moment in the pond before surgery, or maybe I won’t get another chance until spring. Either way, I savored this afternoon’s moment, thinking neither about the future nor the past, just this, just here, just now: this body in this body of water, in the midst of all the simple life going on all around me.

Wren knew she was close, but camouflaged frog stayed still and escaped her notice… this time.

Who did not escape her notice yesterday was the kind young man from Hartman Brothers who delivered and set up the hospital bed in front of the living room window. As is her wont, Wren investigated and supervised, making sure he got everything just right. Like Goldilocks, she tried it out as soon as he finished. She approved.

I’m grateful for so much today. For Wren and the other animal companions, from Topaz and Biko and the Scrub Jays to the Special Goldfinches and the Flicker; for the ease and good cheer with which a hospital bed was delivered; for the patience and skill of Kia from Apple during our two-hour online chat yesterday morning to unfreeze my phone, and for my own patience and good cheer in surrendering to that critical process despite having so much else to do; for Natalie who detailed the car so beautifully the other day; for all the prayers and good wishes coming my way for a successful operation. More than anything, I’m grateful today for a hopeful trend as a beloved cousin seems to be coming incrementally back to life after a catastrophic health crash.

September Sunsets

Sep2

I’m grateful that the new covid booster is now available, and I got mine on Saturday. Only a sore arm for a couple of days and a little extra fatigue the first 24 hours, with no lingering effects. Except, I hope, protection from the virus as I head into surgery and more contact with people than I’ve had in a long time. I’m grateful for the exceptional courtesy I’ve received recently over the phone from the pharmacy clerk, whom I was delighted to thank in person and admire her bling nails and skeletal tattoo. And I’m grateful for the kindness and gentle good cheer of the woman who gave a nearly painless shot and a cool bandaid.

More fun with frogs…

I’m grateful for more beautiful days. And for accomplishing some arduous and/or challenging tasks, and for a cheerful friend who helped get me motivated and made cleaning the patio fun. Two weeks to go, and only two chores ticked off my list. Oh well. And I’m grateful for mindfulness practice, which allows me to lie still with my restless thoughts at bedtime as they spin around and round: with “awareness still like a mountain,” the thoughts can spin without too much agitation, and eventually I fall asleep without trying.

I’m grateful for tomato toast and a hearty salad for lunch today, from the gifts of the weekend. And I’m ironically grateful for my corn harvest: there are around a dozen ears, which might have grown full and sweet but for the grasshoppers who ate their silks down as fast as they could grow. I’ll still steam this one and see what happens, maybe it will be a tasty treat. If not, it’s Biko’s lucky day!

It would be hard not to be grateful for the evening skies these past few days. The peach color comes not from smoke, or at least not from any overt or nearby smoke, but from the long, low light of September sunsets. Both ends of a tall rainbow dropped out of the clouds along with the virga last night.

The Rest of the Peaches

Aug30

The peaches are small but bursting with flavor. One bite and the juice drips down your arm. The sweet fruit falls away from the pit. They smell delicious. I didn’t weigh the two baskets I picked but they were full. This afternoon I shared some with a few neighbors and instead of getting rid of things I came home with one bag of tomatoes, one bag of cat treats, one large bag of lettuce and basil, two small tarragon plants and two small willow trees. How’d that happen? I’m grateful for great neighbors.

I froze a few, plan to give another few away, and will enjoy the rest of the peaches one way or another. One way is peeled and sliced atop vanilla ice cream, with just a splash of maple syrup…

One more garden success was the few beets I planted on New Year’s Day. It only took them eight months to mature! Their greens succumbed to grasshoppers early after I opened the heat tunnel, but then recovered when I put the screen tunnel over them. I was delighted to harvest a few decent beetroots, with another half dozen still growing now that the grasshopper plague is fading.

In pond gratitude, Wren continues to make new friends (a young garter snake) as I continue to excavate the proper outlet channel. The hard work is done. The net and muck shovel have arrived, and we’ll see how those work for clearing the pond bottom.

Wren enjoyed showing her little friend our pond project the other day while we were puppy sitting.
And Topaz enjoys supervising Wren’s work while I enjoy morning coffee.

In Cheese Sandwich gratitude, I continue to innovate. Above, fromage fort on toast, with avocado and smoked kippers. I’m thankful for my friend who suggested herring as an affordable alternative to salmon, and to my personal shopper for making the effort to find some in the big city. I enjoyed them in a salad also, and just ordered half a dozen tins online. Below, avocado toast with Brie and homemade bread&butter pickles. So simple, so delicious!

Resting in Uncertainty

Aug23
I’m grateful for the rains and the rainbows, and also that the ferocious lightning storm the other evening didn’t start any out of control wildfires.

I guess grief gives me writers’ block. This is what happened after the Summer of Loss in 2020. Not as many beloveds died this past summer… but enough for me to withdraw inward. I appreciate understanding this about how I grieve, and having learned to allow me to grieve in whatever way it shows up, whenever and however. My grief is a slow burn. I have always handled things pretty well in the moment, generally rising to the occasion to provide whatever is called for: presence, calm, comfort, strength, courage, bandages… and then collapsing into myself for awhile.

I’m grateful for Zoom Cooking with Amy last weekend. We made chicken cordon bleu. It was fun to make, but we were both a little disappointed for different reasons in our results. Next time, plain fried chicken! And then a chicken ranch cheese sandwich with the leftovers.

When I was a child, my father had a wood shop in the basement. Several kinds of electric saws, shelves of tools. He built things, including a lot of frames for my mother’s and my brother’s paintings; and a beautiful little pine coffin for Mittens, my cat who died of an early diagnosed case of feline leukemia when I was eleven. A couple of times he cut himself pretty badly. The first time, he came up the stairs and called into the living room where I was watching TV with mom, “Pooh, can you help me with something for a minute?” I was daddy’s little helper in so many ways. When he needed extra hands in the shop, when he shopped for groceries, when his glasses needed cleaning, when he needed another bourbon and water and didn’t want to get up from his recliner. So no one (i.e. mom) thought twice when he asked me to help him for a minute.

I followed him down the hall into the master bedroom and into the bathroom, where he asked me to get the bandaids and removed the wadded paper towels from his finger, sliced open and bleeding hard. I rose to that occasion, and helped staunch the bleeding with pressure, then doctored with tincture of benzoin and bandaged with gauze and adhesive tape. It was way too much for a bandaid. “Don’t tell your mother,” he said. After he was tidied up and settled down with his bourbon, I curled up in a still ball on the couch beside my mother, and never said a word. The second time either.

I’m grateful for coffee and biscotti by the pond on a sunny, cool morning, with all my little friends.

When people died in 2020 I was strong. When people died this summer I was strong for those closer to the dying. Strong enough afterward even to say that I was struggling. I’m done struggling now. I’ve settled into loss the way that I do, with a lot of curling up still and breathing. But maybe the curling up still and breathing is also the way I handle apprehension. Big change is coming to my little world next month with major surgery and months of recovery. Also, breathing is harder and my oxygen level is consistently considerably lower than optimal. More and more, I ponder the likelihood that I will have to leave my beloved home, the trees I so dearly love, and move to a lower elevation. All this is great practice in letting go of attachment: to people and to place.

I’m grateful the garden wasn’t a total bust by the grasshoppers. They did some damage to the pickling cukes, but I kept them covered long enough that when I opened them to pollinators the grasshoppers had mostly eaten their fill. I’m grateful that now, though there are still plague numbers, they are mostly mating and dying, and not eating so much.
Three cucumbers is no great success, but there’s still time…
Though they demolished the potato tops so that I’ll only be harvesting baby potatoes this year, this was the haul from one prematurely dead plant, and enough for two tasty meals. Seven more meager batches to harvest over the next month or two.
Boiled, with butter and salt: baby potatoes don’t get much better than this.
I’m grateful for the two giant tomatoes that keep on giving. Still got half of one left. This is ‘tomato toast,’ a thing I didn’t know had a name until Amy shared an instagram post suggesting to grate cheddar cheese into the mayonnaise for the “best tomato toast.” I mixed fromage fort with mayo. Yum. But plain mayo would have been just as good. Often, simpler is better.

So while I am curling up and breathing, I am also resting in uncertainty, in mortality, in gratitude for this precious human life that has offered me so much adventure and beauty, joy and love and opportunity to grow. I’m doing my best to allow myself to appreciate the full range of human experience, without wishing for anything beyond my control to be different than it is: practicing accepting life on its own terms, and death too. Right now that involves a lot of curling up still and breathing, simply being, when I’m not doing something else.

Living inside the kaleidoscope…

How Many Frogs?

Aug17
Almost finished!

Wren and I have had so much fun the past couple of days. Yesterday the end was in sight. This morning I almost finished cutting back the rushes, but left a little more in the middle clump than I intended, because everywhere I turned there was another frog.

After the morning’s work was done, I rested with the frogs and watched dragonflies zip around hunting and mating.

I’ve ordered a net to skim the surface and a special shovel to scoop the sludge from the bottom. We’ve got just under a month to get the pond shipshape, including rerouting drainage and shoring up a soggy corner, and then everything will be ready to rest through winter and keep up maintenance starting in spring. I’m so grateful I finally tackled this massive project, and am having so much fun doing it. All it took was a simple shift in perspective, from “too much” to “why not?”

Find this frog in the video below, and enjoy…