Hopper Check

Ms. Frog

Breakfast. Finished.

News read. Finished.

Journal. Finished.

Cycling. Finished.

Time for a garden check.

“The rascal is gone,” I said to my self.

I had been watching a green peeper, a little frog who appeared in the garden.  I was disappointed to find today that it was not perched on the asparagus stem in the garden.  I had one good picture of the visitor and hoped to watch it again.

That’s my kind of late season gardening.  Watching. I go to the garden and just watch.  I watch the squash wilt from the underground borer.  I watch the tomatoes ripen so I can pick them just before a nosy crow finds them.  I watch the collard patch to see if there is enough left to survive until the first frost that will kill the predatory beetles and worms.  I watch the marigolds finally bloom in hopes of getting some seeds.  Late in the season I have become a great garden watcher.  I watch the resting asparagus rise higher and higher and remember the wise counsel that I am not to cut it this late in the season.

My problem today was that I could not watch the frog.  I searched the resting asparagus and found none.  So I returned to the house and opened the door to the utility room to finish another task.

I could only imagine why things happened as they did.  I was wearing my drab khaki riding shorts that day, and I imagine the color was just about right.  Even if I imagined it wrong, I know something extraordinary happened next.  I opened the door to the utility room and began to slide the laundry basket in the only available open space.  To the right of the washer and dryer I had accumulated a mass of used books to add to my existing shelf of books.  A flash of activity caught my attention.

What? No. It couldn’t be.  It was.  The frog hopped onto a stack of books and squeezed between an old pamphlet and another book.

“Got to catch it. Can’t let the thing loose.  What to do? How will I ever fetch it out of the books?  It will squeeze in there, and it will die.  Awful smell.   Awful.”

Then I saw the part of a dowel rod I had stuffed in a basket.  Gently I pulled the frog out of its hiding spot.

Hop.

Hop.

The little rascal was hopping here and there and was sticking to everything.

“Got to think.  Grab the purple t-shirt turned into a rag.  Grab the frog.  Get it.  Get it.”

The second grab brought up the frog in the rag.  Whew.  Disaster averted.

Slowly I walked back to the garden.  I shook out the rag, and the frog landed somewhere between the collard greens and the asparagus.

“Let that be a lesson to you.”  Who was I talking to?

As I walked away I wondered, “Who was checkin’ out who?”

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2 thoughts on “Hopper Check

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