There were a number of interesting things about the bullfrog who made our local newspaper the other day. Primarily, of course, that it was turquoise. But also that it was presiding over the pond of someone I actually know. Someone who occasionally comments on this blog, in fact. Victor Berthelsdorf is the son of a distinguished gentleman who used to live on my mail route. Among pater Berthelsdorf’s distinctions, postally speaking, was that his mail was delivered into a round hole on the side of a garage, facing a different street than his address. New carriers hunting for a standard mail receptacle tended to wander helplessly around the house, failing to find anything near the front door, and try the round hole, listening to the mail splat inside all echoey, and worry they’d dropped it into a garbage bin or something. (I labeled the hole so they’d feel better about themselves.)
So. Turquoise frog. We’re not in the tropics so it’s pretty unusual, but apparently a known mutation that suppresses yellow pigmentation is responsible for it. The frog is quite beautiful, but then again all amphibians are gloriously beautiful, even the ugly ones. If you had a turquoise frog in your pond, you could be forgiven for feeling special about it. People of a certain cast might even take it for a sign of something, a portent.
I’m not of that ilk. My understanding of coincidence is simply that two things happen at the same time, as well they might, and the machinations of the gods, or the alignment of the stars, isn’t really involved at all. I can’t help it—I’m just that dull of spirit, but it does not mean I am immune to wonder. Just the opposite. Way I look at it, this entire world is full of the most extraordinary things, some as flashy as turquoise frogs and some as intimate as a personal chickadee that takes a liking to you. My excursions into wonder lead me to believe that there are probably individual genius millipedes renowned in their local arthropod society, and they would blow us away in the right circumstances. Those circumstances being a willingness to plant one’s nose in the duff and observe. Wonders abound, and the person primed for delight keeps her antennae fully unfurled for them.

wrong blue frog, Pootie
Bullfrogs in general are not all that special. In fact bullfrogs around here are like Alstroemerias in my garden: they’re fine, if you don’t want to have anything else. Bullfrogs have a way of making themselves the only critter around by eating everything else the hell nearby. They will eat all the tadpoles of the native frogs. They will eat the native frogs. They will eat birds. If you’re a small nearby human, they will eyeball your shoe size and think about it hard.
And because they don’t strictly belong here, from an ancestral point of view, many environmentally-minded people are happy to kill them. Our own regional government Metro, for whom Dave and I volunteered as frog-egg counters for several years, invited us to help do them in, one pond at a time. The plan was to net their egg masses and strand them on shore to dry up, but stouter souls were willing to damage the adults to death in some way I never learned. I understand the point, but I’m not capable of that. I can barely skoosh a mosquito.
I could, however, strand me some eggs.
I just don’t feel the same way about embryos as I do about grownups. And I vote.
Still, if Mr. Berthelsdorf wants to feel special about his turquoise bullfrog, I wouldn’t blame him a bit. I’m all for it. In fact I feel a little special about almost sort-of knowing the man who has a turquoise bullfrog. I’m Special-Adjacent.
Green frogs (Lithobates clamitans) are also known to throw the odd melanistic individual, otherwise known as blue. When I was a child in the early 1960s we took a trip to the Philadelphia Zoo and visited the Reptile House annex (I remember it being in the Lion House, but could be mistaken). The Reptile House proper was being heavily reconstructed and some of the prize exhibits from the old house were in the annex.
These included Blue Moon, a rare melanistic green frog. I want to say I remember seeing him, but that might just be wishful thinking.
Around that time Blue Moon and a number of other herptile treasures were stolen. When the youthful culprits were nabbed, Blue Moon was found in a knapsack. The arresting officer assumed the frog was low on oxygen and released him into a pond in a nearby park. The Zoo considered draining the pond to find Blue Moon, but decided against it.
Years ago I was conducting surveys of several endangered tree frog species in the NJ Pine Barrens and found that a favored breeding pond had been overrun with bullfrogs. Over the course of two nights I netted 45 frogs and ate them.
Taste like chicken right?
Tastes like chicken, right?
In my experience, tastes like a chicken crossed with a fish.
No one else will comment. We’ve been outdone by Bruce.
Another great piece! Any chance of your posting a picture of said turquoise frog?
If Victor shows up in the comment section, perhaps he can direct us to one!
Stephen, see if The Oregonian lets you look at this link: https://www.oregonlive.com/environment/2024/09/photos-show-rare-turquoise-bullfrog-that-is-beautiful-but-deadly-for-oregon-wildlife.html
Okay, Bruce. That’s just, um, really something.
Seriously, I have nothing to add after Bruce’s comment. Bruce is a treasure chest of treasures.
I like Pootie’s fishing vest! I’ve never eaten frogs legs, or any other parts of a frog, but I did eat rattlesnake once. A roommate in college caught one and boiled it up for dinner. It looked like a bony sausage on the plate and tasted like fishy chicken, with too many bones. I’m sure some French cook could have enhanced the experience with a nice sauce but I’ve never been tempted to eat a reptile or amphibian again.
Here’s to candy corn and leaf piles, Murr. :O)
Aww. A little CSM wink, there.
I should perhaps add that I was raised to be an adventurous eater and not to waste anything. In the case of the bullfrogs, they were in a place they wouldn’t have been naturally and the risk to the local tree frog population was high. Relocating the bullfrogs made no sense as bullfrogs are common to begin with and putting additional frogs elsewhere would just add an ecosystem strain. Killing them and not making use of them would be wasteful. And as it turns out, they are quite tasty. A very mild taste something like scallops, but with a firmer texture.
No quibbles. It’s the volume of frogs eaten that is, well, flabbergastric.
Once you prep them and cook them, 45 frogs is a nice size for two meals, but not a crazy amount. There might have been a pound of meat.
I was surprised by how easy it was to catch them. I’ve been catching frogs since I was a kid and it seemed more often to be a missed catch rather than success.
The key in this case was hunting at night, wading in the pond along the shore with my net held vertically and at a slight angle. I waved a flashlight along the bank and the frogs jumped into the net.
Well, now that I know all this, I feel much better about frog legs being on the menu in some restaurants. We have a local Cajun place that has them as a special sometimes. I may actually order them the next time they do! Thanks for the info!
It is their reported deliciousness that has led to them being all over the place, instead of just in the eastern U.S. as intended.
Mim, they’re usually served breaded and fried. My dad got them once just broiled. They arrived on a plate with the skin and feet still on. He couldn’t deal with it.
I skinned them and reduced them to bodies with just muscle on the bones, broiled them in white wine with garlic, butter, basil and salt until the muscles just dropped off the bones. Then ate the muscles in the sauce over spaghetti. Very tasty.
Two bizarre things happened during prep. I chopped the heads off to kill them and while I was skinning and gutting them, I noticed the lineup of heads looked rather alert. It was then that I discovered that the hearts in frogs are basically in the throat and the hearts were still pumping. Frogs respire through their skins, so the heads were still alive. That freaked me out so I threw them out onto the compost heap. I looked later and something had eaten them.
The other bizarre thing happened when I sprinkled salt on the bodies before putting them in the oven. The salt triggered galvanic response and the bodies leapt out of the pan!
Oh, jeeze! Still, I am adamant about at least trying them. At Cajun Kate’s, I will not have to deal with all that. Hopefully.
I was an adventurous eater even as a child. For one thing, my family did not prepare separate food for children. You eat what I’m making, MOFO!
When we went out to dinner on occasion, I would always order something I had never had before. One of my favs was snapper soup w/sherry. Also, Welsh Rarebit. I consider my omnicurious taste buds a real plus in my life. As a former server, I always inwardly 🙄at people who would not order something because they had never tried it before. I figure, the worst that can happen is that you don’t like it. So what?
Anyway, thank you for opening my mind to frog legs. I definitely will try them.
Why is the phrase “and a nice Chianti” going through my head?
https://www.viewbug.com/member/muddyvalley#/muddyvalley/gallery?sort=new
If you move lower in the photos, there is one of her covered in algae taken last year.
Victor! Our proud froggy host!
Those are some nice photos, my friend.
Bruce, if you had your own blog, I would definitely subscribe.
I recall a single-frame cartoon — maybe “The Far Side” — in which a frog is shouting at her husband, who is stumped by a situation that I can’t recall, “My god, you look like you’ve been pithed!”
I’m with you, Jeremy. This might be the finest comment section I’ve seen in a while.
Hi Jeremy: I’ve thought about writing a blog from time to time. Nice to know there would be interested readers.
Decades ago I took a physiology class in college. One of the labs involved pithing frogs and then doing some sort of experiment on them, but I forget that part. I thought I remembered how to pith a frog when it came time to kill the frogs I’d harvested, but apparently not.
The other experiment we did for that course involved castrating rats, weighing them before the procedure and then some days later. The results were predictable. The poor guys had drowned their sorrows in the food dish. I didn’t think it required castration to figure out what the results would be.
I ordered frog legs once at a French restaurant when I was in college. There was sufficient garlic and butter involved that I still couldn’t tell you what frog legs actually taste like. I liked the dish I ordered though!
Could you have done it if it showed up skin-on, feet-on?
This is Bruce Mohn’s blog. I just write the introductory remarks.
When I was a kid , we occasionally went to dinner at a buffet that had frog legs on Saturday nights. They were fried and therefore good.
Years later, I asked a coworker that used to gig frogs how he cooked them.
He said you prep them by cutting around the torso then holding their feet and pulling their pants off!
Despite that description I still like fried frog legs.
I’m sad that I’ve been so busy working early voting at the polls that I missed this fine as frog hair column and comments. Here late! Better than never!