a taste of The Jefferson Frog Tale

frog eggsMy life began in a small stock pond on a conservation farm in Central Texas.   It took me about twenty-one days to hatch into a lively Tadpole.  I remember those days as very happy swimming around with all the other tadpoles.  My life was very carefree with lots of little bugs to eat.  Plus the people came every day to feed the fish and all of us tadpoles would get to eat as well.  There were tall grasses growing at one end of the pond that allowed my friends and me to hide in from the fishes, birds and snakes that could get hungry too.

Toward the end of the first three weeks of my life the spring rains began.  At first I was not worried.  I had never seen rain before so it was exciting.  Every day it would rain and the water in the pond was rise more.  The people who took care of the pond came in their truck one day and began to haul out buckets, tubes and big nets.  They waded into the pond and began scooping up the other tadpoles and putting them into the big buckets.  The huge nets scared me and I scurried way into the back of the tall grasses as the people continued to wade around the pond catching all the tadpoles they could see.Frog tadpoles

“Hey Jane”, the tall dark haired man hollard over the heavy rain hitting the pond water.  “I think we have got as many of these tadpoles as we can get! The water is going to breach the top of pond by noon which is just a couple of hours away.”

“I know”, Jane, a tall, thin woman, responded sadly pushing her sodded long red hair out of her eyes.  “I just wish the rain would let up.  I know that we needed rain, but a solid week is just too much.  We are going to lose fish as well if we don’t catch them.”

Jim, pushing the hat of his dull green poncho back as he stood back up replied, “OK – lets switch to the trout then.  They are worth more than the tadpoles anyway.”

With that the couple switched to netting the small trout and putting them in buckets as well.  Within an hour they wadded up out of the pond and up the muddy bank.  They loaded the buckets and tubs into the back of their Ford pick-up and slowly rolled away with pond water sloshing out of the containers and into the bed of the blue truck.  Before long the noise of the pick-up faded into a barely heard echo and then there was just the sound of the rain hitting the pond.  The water was still rising. The top of the pond was getting closer and closer to running over.  It was then that I began to realize that maybe I had made a bad choice in hiding from the people.   Just then a small tree toppled into the pond, with its roots in the air, the ripples of the splash pushing me up and over the lip of the pond.  With the water washing me away down the drainage ditch, I watched my home, my world, disappear.  I realized that I was helpless to save myself.  When would this flooding end and where would I be when this wild ride was over?

About eve culley

Children's Author, micro-farmer in the great state of Texas
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