Spring Fever: The Tale of the Mutant Frog

This past weekend was the first warm bout of weather we've had after a seemingly endless winter in upstate New York. My daughters, along with a small cadre of other children, armed with buckets and nets spent both days capturing and releasing bullfrogs, leopard frogs, assorted tadpoles, painted turtles and blandings turtles. At one point, after hearing frantic shrieking, I made a mad dash to the pond to release a snapping turtle that had been inadvertently netted.

Unlike most of the nearby moms, I love watching the kids knee-deep in muck. No doubt my love of nature was inherited from my father and nurtured by growing up in a rural area and watching Hodge Podge Lodge on PBS until I was bleary-eyed.

Known to my immediate neighbors as "The Environmentalist", I am the mom who will pick up a snake, wade in the creek to catch crayfish, compare and contrast the characteristics of toads and frogs, and will explain to the children that the giant bird they spotted by the edge of the creek was a great blue heron, not a crane.

Needless to say, when I heard cries of "mutant frog" coming from the creek I was concerned. If there were frogs in the creek displaying genetic mutations I wanted to know about it for obvious reasons. Bordering on hysteria, the children ran up to me speaking over one another about the frog they'd seen with two heads. Urging me to hurry, they grabbed my hand eager to show me the spot where the beast had last been seen.

On our way a mom called out to ask me if the kids were showing me the mutated frog. She shuddered as she described a frog with a head that appeared to have grown another head above it. With growing horror I began to wonder what toxins the kids had been exposed to during their explorations of the creek and adjacent pond. I began to mentally review the list of authorities who would need to be contacted in order to determine how contaminated our previously pristine creek water had become.

We quickly reached the spot and the children pointed at a large rock inhabited by what appeared to be a two-headed toad, not frog. Jumping across the creek boulders, I knelt to examine the creature. It appeared that rather than having two heads, it was as if two toads had been melded together. As I picked it up the children gave shouts of horrified disgust. I turned the toad over and began gently moving its legs. Sure enough, I found small feet tightly gripping underneath the leg joints of the bottom toad. I smiled and carefully placed the breeding pair back onto their boulder. After assuring the kids that the toads were not mutated but were instead making baby toads, I began to walk home.

On the way back I passed by the mom I'd seen a few minutes earlier. She called out to ask if I'd seen the mutated monstrosity. "Yep", I answered. " My guess is that it was caused by spring fever. It'll be just fine if it gets a bottle of wine, a bit of privacy, and a heart-shaped bed in the Poconos."



Ethel