The Pond

The most wonderful part of the property I live on is not the view of Mt. Hood, although that is spectacular indeed. Nor is it the wealth of wildlife that trapse through on a weekly basis depending on the season and the weather. Nope – it is my utterly beloved bullfrogs. For some reason, last Summer was miserable. Try as I might no frogs made their presence known. I gave up getting sympathy from anyone, as I knew they were thinking as they shook their heads “how stupid is she?”

The summer before my husband passed away, we hosted an antique glass collector’s convention. A wonderful time it was, and on the first night as we barbequed on the deck, I spoke about my frogs. There was much “sure” and “uh huh” and “Connie is losing it.” To my great joy a friend from Mason City, Iowa said, “okay, let’s hear the frogs.” So, I responded and said, in the direction of the pond, “Hey froggers! Let’s hear what you think!” Well, it was for about five minutes deafening. My much-loved frogs let loose with a symphony. Everyone laughed and clapped while I just grinned from ear to ear.

Last Summer was a frog of a different color so to speak. I spoke to an alarmingly silent pond. The only population seemed to be a very few goldfish. I grew sad but kept it to myself as the kids and friends quickly grew tired of my lamenting! Now, since I am widowed, I need to be somewhat responsible for the tremendous yard and surrounding wild areas. Late winter brought a few mergansers, the diving ducks. I allowed them a set time each day before scaring them into flight for fear they were eating other occupants of the pond. To my great joy the blue heron did not make an appearance.

My love of the species began with the arrival of the bullfrog that started it all. My best friend when we moved here years ago was Mary Bunce, wife of Oregon’s famous artist Louie Bunce. He was, before he died, Oregon’s claim to fame in the area of modern art. Mary’s son patrolled the Willamette river and one day he brought her a large bullfrog in a bucket. Well, Mary already had her guest bathtub full of orphaned ducklings. Knowing my fondness for frogs she brought him to me in a bucket. As the story goes, that wonderful creature was soon joined by another. Before I knew it, pale green packets of eggs floated on top of the pond. Of course, I was the picture of joy and kept a strong watch out for predators.

That was years ago and all too soon I found myself at Mary’s bedside telling her goodbye as she passed away. I lost, that night, a woman I admired above all others, my dearest friend ever. There are few who really understand us in our lifetimes. Mary Bunce was that person for me.

So, when I perused the pond about three weeks ago and saw my goldfish swimming among gelatinous green egg cases, I began to hope. Last summer had been miserably silent. So, on this sunny April day, I took a cup of coffee out to get some sun. As I sat on the deck I said loudly “Froggers dear, are you out there? You know how much I love you.” The response astounded me. At least three beloved creatures responded. I spoke more and each time there was an answer.

In a way that few will understand, the joy and comfort that filled my heart was immeasurable. I hope my special readers will enjoy this column and find their own glorious Summer surprises.