Musings From The Aft Deck: Frogs

An often non-nautical bit of relaxed musing, from the aft deck.

A recent comment posted on meteorologist Cliff Mass' Weather Blog brought back memories. The writer, who evidently lives in our village of Kingston, wrote, "The frogs have been out despite the cold weather. One hears their chirping late into the evening."

A hundred years ago (well, say 45 years ago) we lived in what's called the Eastern Townships in la Province de Quebec, Canada, university student living in the midst of rolling, hilly, farmlands.My youngest, Christopher, was born there.  Winters were cold - - the Sherbrook River frozen four feet thick. Farm activity pretty well at a stand-still, roads of packed snow and plowed drifts five or six feet high at times. Winters lasted.

Then, sometime in April, you'd be woken up with a mighty chorus of frogs chirping and croaking and ribbitt-ing coming from the now thawing mud ponds. Hibernation had ended.

And as the morning grew, from the farms activity started. Horse drawn sleds pilled high with wood and cans would start to silently slide up the snow-packed roads and into the woods, the horses puffing great clouds of steamy breath, sleds chased by gleeful kids hanging on and then tumbling off in a great game.

Later in the day trails of smoke could be seen rising from the woods, even as far away as Vermont and New Hampshire, as stoves were started.

The maple sap was starting to run, responding to the frogs' call.

Spring had come, and later in the season we'd hear the thunderous and powerful crashing of the river ice breaking and piling and crunching as the water slowly starts to flow.

On Seattle's Lake Union our harbinger of Spring was the sudden absence of the winter water fowl.

This year I'll settle for any sign.