The Frog Chorus
We discovered the frogs the last time we were at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens, in 2024. Several were visible in the Slater Forest Pond, and we spent some time observing them as they called to one another and basked on rocks.
Paul was especially entranced. So I knew we had to find them again when we went back to the gardens the other day.
We could hear the frogs singing as soon as we crossed the bridge from the visitors’ center. And from the second bridge.
But there were none to be seen.
The frogs were vocal in the children’s garden too. We spotted some tadpoles, which was exciting, but no frogs.
The little forest pond was quiet. There were many dragonflies, but no frogs.
“Let’s try the vernal pool walk,” I suggested. Alas. Though there were plenty of mosquitoes, there were no frogs.
We had a few minutes before we wanted to head to lunch, so we went back to the bridge. Paul insisted he didn’t have to see any frogs, but I thought he did.
The frogs were doing a loud call and response. But could we see them? No.
It was time to take out my monocular for its maiden voyage.
Paul gave me the eyepiece earlier in the week as a 70th birthday present. I was eager to use it. I had figured I would mostly use it for birding, but surely it would also help me locate frogs.
I took it out and aimed it at the pond below. I could hear the frogs’ metallic tones so loudly—they had to be right below me, in a thicket of brush in a corner formed by a lip of land and the end of the bridge.
Twang! Twang! Twang!
I perceived, in my peripheral vision, a couple approaching me. “She’s looking for it,” the man said in a quiet, almost reverential tone.
They peered over the bridge. They whispered to each other. I felt quite important, but I still wasn’t seeing a thing.
“There he is!” The man was pointing triumphantly. “Next to the boulder!”
I lowered the monocular. Yes, there he was, a handsome green frog. Oh, well, so much for gadgetry. No, wait a minute. I raised the monocular again and was delighted to see the frog’s tiny fingers in detail.
A mother and toddler now approached. The little lad fastened himself to the bridge railing. “I see it!” He said.
No he didn’t. Mother called for him to come and he moseyed forward a few feet. He grasped the railing again. “I see it!”
She cajoled him away, but he was undaunted. “I see it!”
I waved at the two. “It’s over here. You can see the frog from over here.”
I stepped aside. Mother took her son to the spot. Paul and I stood farther down, enjoying the sun, scanning the pond.
They stayed for several minutes, watching the plump amphibian and discussing it intently before they moved off, probably to visit the nearby giant troll, Rosvka.
Paul and I took one last look at the green frog glistening in the sun. I declared “mission accomplished, with the help of a small village.
It was time for lunch.
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