Really, there is
nothing all that special about my
yard. Okay, so it’s bigger than a postage stamp (just under two acres if you
don’t count the driveway) and there isn’t a lawn to speak of—and what remnants
of grass are left don’t get mown. Ditto
for most of the lot bordering my southern side (for now—fingers crossed).
There’s Green Space to the east that houses some horses but the rest is
“natural” and the Farmland Trust acreage to the north is still under
agriculture of a sort… Then there’s the little pond just behind the tree line
and the ditches in the old hedgerow that hold enough water to classify as
wetlands. Western neighbors mow; hopefully that at least keeps the woodcock
happy since my tangle is getting rather too thick for their ideal enjoyment.
But native
vegetation? Sweet gum trees—lots of sweet gum trees (it’s an early successional
species, so they’re to be expected on farm-returning-to-natural land). The
American Holly is trying to re-establish itself, as is the bayberry. A few oaks
and maples, a persimmon and a young sycamore; haven’t noticed a sassafras in
awhile, though. Plenty of red cedar (juniper)—around here one might not be
blamed for thinking seriously about calling it a weed. But the Japanese honeysuckle
and multiflora rose and that lovely thick grass along the drive (which is
apparently taking over a good bit of the county open space) and the list of
invasive non-natives goes on—compromise a fair portion of the vegetative mass …
Flowers? Hah. Can you say “increasing deer population”? All my wood violets are
in pots and even they have been
grazed.
So why Gray
Treefrogs (of the Northern persuasion) love my property is beyond me. I’m
convinced it is solely because of my treefrog gray colored house and sheds.
I heard the
first-of-the-year treefrogs half-heartedly calling last week. I’ve spent the
recent too-warm-for-April-but-after-this-winter-I’ll-take-it days puttering
around my decks, cleaning up last year’s accumulated mess.
I nearly cleaned up
this little one thinking a dead leaf had fallen on the pot since the last time
I’d looked.
A bit later, I
noticed another.
(View from inside my front door.)
Heard two more close
by but couldn’t track them down.
As much as I’m at a
loss to explain why I have such cute little neighbors who make somewhat
frequent appearances, I’m not complaining. I loved having the green treefrogs
all around when I lived in Florida. At least their gray cousins have (so far)
kept out of window tracks and away from that
horrible inadvertent death. Of course with so many grays around already this
year I’m starting to get a bit paranoid about where I step and what I move
around… (I once incautiously moved a cardboard box that had been sitting long
enough on the deck to turn into a nice damp skink habitat—I really didn’t need
to know firsthand what happens when a wee lizard loses its tail. Eww…
Fascinating, yes—no blood? How can you break off a tail and not have a raw wound???—but
definitely gruesome.)
The frogs spent hours
baking in the sun—apparently these wee ones can form a clear coat over their
skin to protect them presumably from moisture loss and perhaps it acts as a
sunscreen as well? They actually went from dull-skinned to shiny-skinned as
they sat in the sun (you’d think it would be the other way ‘round) and I
actually watched the one on the pipe trellis rubbing off a clear, thin membrane
as the sun shifted to shade—then they moved. The one on the pot rim had tucked
itself down under the moss inside and the one on the trellis moved to a lower level.
And probably called—a very loud treefrog “song” just outside my front door is
what drew me back outside to see where they had gone a couple of hours after I
first photographed them.
I am happy to report
that at least one skink is out and about as well. Life goes on after a harsh
winter—for the little cold-blooded critters as well as the winged things. (That
blasted carrion beetle was back again!)
SPOKE TOO SOON. I simply
must learn to keep my mouth shut. The flowerpot full of moss and little gray
tree frog 36 hours later:
That’s a thick layer
of very large sleet pellets from the “April shower” that accompanied an
overnight low of 29°F. (The good news is I didn't see the frog when the pot thawed.)
Ah, April... You misbegotten month! *grrrr*
