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Frogs
and Turtles
When
we moved out to “the Lake” in 1956, I was a seven-year-old
boy. Imagine, if
you will, the wonderland I found here.
What
an adventure! With
my trusty cap pistol belted tightly around my skinny hips, and
my sage mentors Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone looking over my
shoulder, I explored my new ‘frontier’ home with great
zeal.
The
gigantic trees provided great cover for raging gun battles
with outlaws and renegade Indians.
The rocky outcroppings became excellent foundations for
secure hideaway stick forts where I could while away the hours
with comic books and whittling with my treasured new
pocket-knife… sometimes not even cutting myself. |
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The
lake was an alluring backdrop to my new domain.
The water was crystal-clear and believe it or not,
drinking-water quality. (Which
is a good thing, since we hadn’t yet dug our well!). The
sandy beach was a tabula rasa for countless castles, roads,
and rocket launch pads, as well as freshly-dug and admittedly
poorly engineered pond-prisons for captured frogs,
turtles,
and even the occasional garter snake.
In case you’re wondering, only the smallest and most
passive of these creatures were ever willing to spend any
appreciable time in captivity.
(That is, until I commandeered an old wash tub to serve
as my critter-haven.)
I
remember the melodic evening chirrups of the tiny green tree
frogs that hid in the outside corners of our log cabin’s
front porch. My
folks recognized how special those little frogs were, and as
such made them off-limits for my critter-collecting.
I recently saw an article saying that frogs are a
sensitive indicator species for the health of an ecosystem.
I haven’t seen a tree frog in years.
Come to think of it, I seldom hear the rumbling calls
of bullfrogs either, on those warm summer days.
It makes me wonder how much longer we’ll even see the
pond turtles sunning themselves on shoreline logs or rocks.
It appears we have or work cut out for us to be good
stewards of this place we hold so dear.
D J Hill
February 2009 |