We were right in the middle of a news report about how Trump is sharing a sauna with Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un, and Viktor Orbán and preparing to wipe his butt with the flag of the United Nations, when that bleating emergency broadcast thingy came on. It’s an odd sound, a cross between the old dial-up modem noise and a nauseated goat. It’s quite alarming, which is the point. I seized up. Should I pull the curtains? Did Trump finally send the military after us libs? Will we be bombed with paper towels? No.
Thunderstorm.
Followed, fifteen minutes later, by a tornado watch. In Oregon. Now they’re being ridiculous.
I grew up with thunderstorms and love them a lot, but they’re scarce in western Oregon, and early on I was inclined to make fun of how hysterical people here get about them.
That was before I witnessed one roaring up the Willamette Valley making entire forests of 100-foot tall trees wave like a stand of wheat. Storm-wise, this place makes up in quality what it lacks in quantity. I’ve seen thunderstorms here that make me wonder where, structurally speaking, is the safest place in the house to hunker. I never thought about that in Virginia.
And in the house is where I would be, except that I’m on the night shift for our frog shuttle. It’s been a great year for our red-legged frogs. The big pink bloopers are shattering records. And our group has been ferrying them in buckets across a four-lane highway for going on ten years now. What if we hadn’t? Are we helping the species in general or only the individuals we bucket? Who are not, it should be noted, demonstratively grateful for the assist.
They’re flat-out annoyed.
Somebody will study that, poring over our data, but now I have more immediate questions. A thunderstorm. I hit the internet. If lightning strikes our wetland, what happens to the frogs? It’s not good. Lightning spreads out over the water. Water conducts it easily but just on the surface, so fish usually do just fine, unless one is rising for a bug at the exact wrong moment. But frogs hang out with their handsome mugs just topside, their nethers below, especially in mating season. I don’t like this. I do not care to imagine our carefully transported ungrateful frogs in flagrante delicto in their chosen swamp and suddenly fried up en masse like a mess-hall breakfast.
And that’s just what I worry about when I’m at home thinking about our froggies. But tonight I will be manhandling froggies. What are you supposed to do? You’re supposed to stay away from high ground—good, by definition our frogs will be in low land, because that’s where the water gangs up—and avoid open areas and isolated objects.
Is a massive parked railway train made of highly conductive metal a bad thing to be standing next to? Because we’ll be standing next to one. We’ll be in an open space bordered by a body of water and a big ol’ railway train.
Yes! Says the internet. Don’t touch the train. Don’t stand in the water.
But we will be standing on a very wet pavement, which sort of counts as water. If it weren’t wet, we wouldn’t be there. Because the frogs wouldn’t be there. Frog catching is a damp activity.
So: what about the frogs themselves? We think we have a lot of water in us—frogs are that much moister. They’re basically water in a frog suit. If we happen to have our hands on a frog when our hairs stand up, should we hoist it high, or should we launch it into space?
There is no specific recommendation on the internet about frog-hoisting during an electrical storm.
There is a recommendation to crouch low to the ground with your head between your knees.
Which will make it much easier to shit your pants.
“flat-out annoyed” ☹
Oh yass. You can read it on their faces.
I can’t give you any advice on the subject. I am after all the guy who was struck by lightning in 1983 and the next year was in a plane that was struck by lightning. The first is rare, but the second is supposed to be relatively common.
Okay, I can give you advice, but staying at home rather than ferrying frogs is probably not the advice you’re looking for.
I grew up in NJ and was used to thunderstorms (had even witnessed trees being split in half and one falling over during a thunderstorm) before we moved to Poulsbo, Washington and witnessed the craziness that afflicts the natives when thunderstorms make a very rare appearance. My sister reported that her elementary school teacher had the entire class, herself included sheltering under desks when a thunderstorm rolled through.
Frogs love unusual rain fall events and make a habit of breeding in ephemeral pools brought on by sudden storms. Apparently females of some species are in a more or less permanently gravid state, ready to hop off to the trenches and meet up with the males who are already there, singing their lungs out.
I’ve found spadefoots breeding after a freak storm in February filled a hollow and heard about a similar breeding event taking place at a construction site after a thunderstorm. Gray tree frogs, which are normally April to May breeders will also breed in August if the situation allows.
So what does this have to do with the risks of becoming frog flambé? Life is full of risks. Just weigh the merits of saving animals (and future generations of same) which live 3-5 years over getting toasted yourself.
Our female red-leggeds are ready to go any time from November through March. That’s a long time to be hauling eggs around. I wonder if they’re actually interested in “the act” as much as the males clearly are, or if they’re just looking for someone to squish the eggs out so they can get their figures back.
Back when I was doing frog research it wasn’t unusual to find a female who hadn’t gotten her eggs out and died or a female who’d gotten her eggs squeezed out too vigorously. Males really latch on hard.
Re — Frogs in buckets: years ago, we built a small fishpond in our yard for our grandson. We already had a lovely pond, which was landscaped with plants and flowers. Grandson loved playing in and around it, and the flowers often got crushed. So we came up with the idea of giving him his own pond. And he wanted frogs.
My father had too many frogs in his garden pond, which he complained of fairly often as the pond was right outside his bedroom window and their croaking woke him up at night. So he offered Grandson $1 for every frog he could catch and remove.
Nineteen. That’s how many frogs fill a 5 gallon bucket about half-way.
I’ll never forget the rather horrifying sight of that many frogs being poured out into Grandson’s pond, and the total delight on his face. The $20 bill in his pocket went for snacks and candy. (He got a $1 tip.)
I know someone who murdered a frog for croaking outside his window at night. I can imagine no aural scenario involving frogs outside my bedroom window that wouldn’t delight me and send me to dreamland.
I camped near a pond full of bullfrogs last night. I could have cheerfully murdered them all if I’d known what I knew later.
Well bullfrogs are fair game.
I now have an image in my mind’s eye of Murr standing on a mountaintop holding a frog aloft while lightning streaks down from heaven, like a red-legged frog oracle. I may never be the same.
Now that sounds downright heroic. I do believe that means I can start a cult.
I was going to offer to illustrate that, but Murr’s already got that capability covered.
And the Lord spake unto Murr, “Take two froglets…”
Oddly enough, although I remember lots of electrical storms when I was a kid, we haven’t had very many here in Delaware in a long while. Oh, they PREDICT them. And usually we’ll get a rumble or two. And downpours. And heavy wind. But Lightning? not so much. The high winds especially scare me, for reasons that will become apparent.
I hate when the emergency broadcast test comes on on NPR stations. They don’t warn you that it’s a test until that whine has gone on for a while. Then they’re all like, this is only a test. Yeah, well, if you were testing the movement of my bowels, congratulations. You succeeded.
There’s a warning klaxon on a pole just a couple blocks from me. In the summer of 2011, it went off. Loudly. Tornado warning. One was spotted in the area. Paul and I grabbed our parrots, stuffed them into their pet carriers, and went down to the basement with them. When the all clear sounded, we brought them back up again. But it was too much for one of our birds. Kai, an African Grey, did not make it. He went into shock and died. Paul was trying to use CPR on him, although that does not work on birds. I had to get Kai out of there, because Paul was so upset and crying. So I took Kai’s body to the emergency vet, even though it was too late. I had trouble getting there, because, as it turns out, THAT was in the area where the tornado went through. I just asked for his body to be cremated and returned to us. When I came home, Paul had was on the phone calling out of working that evening, crying the whole time.
So I dread all these weather anomalies that are happening now. I think about all the possible worst case scenarios. I think that it’s way too late to do anything about reversing climate change now, and they know this. But they don’t tell us, because there would be panic. I’m way ahead of you, as I like to avoid the rush… I panic early and often. I just deal with it differently. Not by cowering in my home all the time, or “prepping” stuff in the basement for the Apocalypse. I deal with it by buying, cooking, and eating delicious food, buying nice wines to accompany the meals, and inviting friends over a couple times a week to share meals with me. If this IS the end, then I want to go out with a bang, not a whimper. (Although I do my fair share of whimpering at times. Not much banging, though. 😞)
As soon as you start banging again, let us know, okay?
It would be awful to lose an African gray.
A few days after the ice goes out in the ponds and ditches of the upper Midwest, Spring Peepers, Pseudacris crucifer (sounds satanic, doesn’t it?) start their all night chorus. It takes them a couple of days to thaw out, but they wake up singing. Unless you get close to them for a look. Then they shut up. Stage fright I guess, but it sure is a pleasant part of the seasonal change. Lucky for them they don’t need to cross a road looking for a date.
Peepers used to be common here. There was an ephemeral pond down the street from me where it was possible with very little effort to see thousands of them on a spring evening.
The chytrid fungus nailed them hard and now they are locally rare if not altogether missing. I’ve had to refine my frog locating techniques.
It helps if you can stand still for long periods of time and also if you can either imitate their calls or broadcast their calls from your phone. Once upon a time I could whistle the call, but my lips aren’t what they used to be back when I played the trumpet. The tuba requires a completely different embrasure.
The next step is employed when you’re reasonably close. Tilt your head from side to side slowly until you feel the hairs in your ears vibrate to the peeper’s call. I find that it’s easiest to spot them in the dark with a flashlight by the movement of their inflated moist skin.
I was a trombone player when I was young, but switched to guitar. It doesn’t do much for my lips and it feels funny to play with my teeth like Hendrix did. Unfortunately, I’m no Jimi.
Would the tuba require a bullfrog embouchure?
We have a perfectly lovely Pacific tree frog chorus going on in the same wetland we take the red-leggeds but even though they’re related to peepers, they’re not quite as deafening. And if I’m going to lose my hearing, I want to lose it to the peepers.
Full body rubber wetsuits with rubber gloves? Add extra protection with knee high rubber boots? For yourselves, I don’t think they make them in frog sizes.
OMG a frog in chest waders though…too adorable.
This piece has all the vocabulary and imagery for the Christian Science Monitor you often submit articles….,for rejection…..but you already knew that—-croak!
I have in fact written about our frog shuttle TWICE for them! I don’t think I dare send a third.
“Storm-wise, this place makes up in quality what it lacks in quantity. ” exactly!
About 15 yrs ago I was driving thru Cedar Swamp north of Milwaukee, WI at night when I heard this horrible sound- I slowly pulled over and got out of the car to determine what was wrong with the car… only to discover that the peepers were so loud it overwhelmed the car sounds and blasting radio music. Those frogs like to sing in unison at top volume
If the frogs are into Heavy Metal, as well as being inherently moist, they have no hope in an electrical storm. (Right now I am picturing a frog with a long wig, an electric guitar, holding his forefeet in the heavy metal sign.)
If my smoke alarms sounded like spring peepers I wouldn’t be quite so irritated at them. And they’d be just as effective.
Good on ya Murr for helping our froggie friends!
I’ve done little helping for a while but we must have something close to a hundred volunteers!