Friday, June 22, 2012

June 22, 2012 is the third day of summer, leaving 91 days to get your summer on. It is the bullfrog day, as sundown in the marsh shall reveal.

Females have eardrums (tympana) the same size as their eyes. The males' eardrums are larger.
 
The Wikipedia is a constant source of found poetry. I could not write a better line than this.
 
As a child and a young angler, I was a great catcher of frogs. I learned technique from my neighbor, a farmer, who had a knack for catching largemouth bass. If one approaches a frog slowly from the rear and sweeps in ones hands from extreme left and right, a frog will be captured in those hands , leaping too late. The frog will be captured in leap. Bullfrogs are too big for bait, but a live leopard frog swimming in a harness has brought a bass to the hook every time. Bass love to inhabit weedy tunnels at the drop off into the deep, and rush out when a swimming frog is encountered. I still fish for bass and pike, using a spoon or a Rapala minnow. For the most part, I release what I catch. I have given up using frogs as live bait. I have begun to think of frogs as sentient beings, an effect of spending too much time in the National Amphibian Conservation Center of the Detroit Zoo. It's fun to watch frogs of all kinds hopping away in Amphibiville, looking for their lost cracker, no doubt. In my mind, there's little difference between a Buddha and a bullfrog.
 
I have taken to sitting up my second floor deck, which commands a view of the marsh known as Hidden Cove. I crack open a Pabst Blue Ribbon and drink its coldness down before it warms in the can. Hidden Cove of Mona Lake is a real hidden Hidden Cove. The water level of Mona Lake has sunken permanently. Last night, as the sun began to fail, I heard a chorus of six bullfrogs, two bass profundos, three tenors and one alto. I hoped that alto finds a partner who likes alto bullfrogs. I tried to set off the chorus with a bullfrog imitation, but I should stick to Richard Nixon impressions. Only one seemed to answer. The chorus of the bullfrogs didn't sing very long, making music for about ten minutes. Then the Mallard families took over the bayou, now flocked with lily pads.
 

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