News read. 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.
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?”