If you have never sat quietly in the presence of a toad you are missing out on one of the finest experience that life holds. When I was growing up, I used to visit my friend on South Main St., and her dad was a doctor. We would spend most of our time crawling around his waiting room pretending we were horses. When things got a little busy, we would get shooed outside which turned out to be a good thing because her yard was a mecca for toads. It was a puddly and damp piece of property with bricks and cellar holes where we could search for toads. We could not resist picking them up and admiring their bumpy skin and gentle eyes. Most of them did not like this, and they peed on our hands as a parting gift. We would put them on some mossy patch, they would hop away lazily, and we would head off to find the next toad.
Decades later, my affection for toads only grew. We had a resident grandpa toad that lived in our barn and patrolled our piece of property for insects. In the warm weather before turning in for the night, we would head out to the barn to check the horses and to see what the toad was up to. If he happened to be out on some pilgrimage, we lay awake at night worrying about him. And more often than not, there he would be the next evening. Everything was right in the world.
But I am not so sure everything is right in the world for toads or us these days. Toads and other amphibians have an especially tough time coping with environmental changes. Their moist skin absorbs water and chemicals from the environment so they are very vulnerable, and their numbers are declining. For us bipeds, these times are making many of us feel unsure and yes, vulnerable, too.
For solace we often head out to the Suffield Land Conservancy properties in town. We are drawn to one in particular, full of pin oaks overlooking a meandering brook. Last spring we posted up over a wetland near that brook. We were poised with binoculars, hoping to see some warblers. The warblers made an appearance, but one day we were lucky enough to be serenaded by toads. They had returned from the woods and fields to the water, where they had started their lives. So, in that shallow marshy area, the males were trilling like mad, announcing their presence. It was a beautiful sound and went on for some time as long as we did not move a muscle. Those melodious trills foreshadowed what was to come, and we noticed some gentle ripples in the shallows. These ripples were timely since the Grateful Dead’s “Ripple” was on repeat in my head. Jerry Garcia put it so well singing that “there is a road, no simple highway between the dawn and the dark of night. And if you go, no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone.” So, our path took us by these amorous amphibians, and before our delicate eyes we were able to witness quite a ruckus in the water as male toads clutched the females, overcome.
On another visit we noticed that their hook-ups were fruitful when we saw strings of toad eggs in this small pool of water. These would turn into toad tadpoles. They would sprout legs and take to the land for most of their days completing the cycle. They would nobly go about the business of being a toad, quiet and calm. The surface of the water that gave them life would be still again. Would my thoughts be able to follow suit? Doubtful. I toddled the Kent Memorial Library after finishing this piece in an attempt to quiet my mind. There I found a new Anne Lamott book on the shelves and smack dab in the center of that book are several paragraphs on her favorite song which just so happens to be “Ripple”. So, there you go. Looks like I will never get it out of my head, but I have some pretty good company!