A few years ago, when Pappy was still a teenager living at home, DH came up to me and said, “I’d like to have a pond.” Thinking like the type-C (cautious) personality I am, I responded, “Why would you want a pond?” (I’m thinking, SNAKES!!!)
That summer, Pappy and a friend of his built this amazing water garden for us. It was back-breaking, hot, sweaty work, and when it was done, it was glorious. Now I have a sweet-smelling climbing rose that wraps around it, and in springtime, the patio is a slice of heaven. In our mild climate, we are able to enjoy the pond all year.
One night, not long after they’d built the pond, I was in bed, almost asleep, when I heard this noise. What was that—quacking? Beeping? A tiny horn belonging to a tiny car? I wandered out to the den where DH and Pappy were watching a loud action movie. They turned it down for a second, and I asked, “Do we have a duck?”
We didn’t figure it out that night, but what we had was our first frog. It took a little while to get used to the frogs, but now we love them. The little ones sound like crickets on steroids—I don’t like those as much as the bigger ones, who have deeper, more soothing voices. I’ll walk out onto the patio some evenings, and see a startled frog take a swan dive—or a frog dive—into the pond.
Sometimes the frogs wander off and fall into our swimming pool, and we rescue them and bring them back to the pond, or if they’re loud little ones we take them out back and release them away from the pond.
In the late spring we have to be careful not to step on the baby frogs. But so far, we’ve had no snakes