Unidentified Froggie-like Objects are the UFOs referenced here, of course. Every Dusk I slip outside to the Frog Mitigation Area, where dozens of local tree frogs croak vigorously and loudly near two small ponds in my side yard.
At first, they stopped singing when I was 30 feet away. I finally figured out that my shadow fell onto the pond at that point, spooking them. Ban Nock would have figured it out faster.
If I approach from the side and sit quietly, they may stop croaking but will begin again, after a pause. They probably evolved to stay silent one second longer than a heron can wait them out.
The frogs’ choruses begin with a guttural bark loud enough to make you jump. It sears the air like a Chuck Berry guitar riff.
A few frog minions immediately begin trilling the two-tone “Ribbet” sound of their mating chorus. More join in.
The minion frogs scat-sing around each other’s pitch, then several of them hit the same note as the Ribbeting rises to a pulsing crescendo and everything falls into the chorus’ rhythm; the rain drops’ patterns, the branches’ movement in the wind, your own heartbeat, all seem to pulse in concert with the frogs’ chorus.
It reminds me of the Grateful Dead or the Stones or Bruce; the strong core melody, with the drummers, backup singers, horn section, and strings pitching in, a pedal steel wailing around the edges, all from a couple dozen little frogs.���
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Sometimes the frogs, one by one, cease croaking and remain quiet for several minutes when nothing obvious has disturbed them. Maybe I blinked. I suspect sometimes the croaking stops because every one has a dance partner.
While they are quiet, I move around and take pictures of areas in the dark ponds where I saw movement. Here’s a daytime photo of the same spot as my lead photo.�
The evening before, there were frogs here splashing, seen only as a dark hump in this Diary’s first photo. This daytime photo shows the plant life; whatever’s missing was a frog.
I am watching the frogs’ mating rituals. The male tree frogs sit on water plants and croak invitations, the female frogs move into the ponds and dog-paddle on the surface towards their selected mates.
They shift around. The male rises up like a kid climbing onto a tall horse, one leg barely making it over, as he clasps onto he back. She swims them to vegetation and emits her eggs. The male ejects sperm onto the eggs.
I’ve seen coupled frogs swimming in the FMA; they splash and dart erratically before settling into vegetation. Then they move together slowly for a few seconds. Once finished, the lighter-colored, larger female swims away swiftly, underwater. The male frogs seem to topple onto their side and lay quietly, apparently victims of la petite morte.
Frog literature claims the female frog fixes the fertilized egg sac to underwater vegetation. I’d pictured a dedicated mommy frog weaving an elaborate spider web or bird nest for the egg sacs. Nope, the cold-blooded females jet away. The jelly-like egg sac tangles onto a plant branch, or sinks all the way to the bottom.
The male frogs utilize an advertising call to attract females, a two part “creek-eeck” with a ”Ribbet” on the back beat when the sound gets chaotic.
The frogs also have a higher pitched “encounter” call, warning other male frogs to back off. Male frogs also jump onto each other, to fight or to attempt mating.
The frogs’ generate their sounds with a bizarrely inflated throat sac.
I watch for these inflated throat sacs, whose movement I can see in the dark.
See that little dome glistening behind those sticks, below the photo’s center? That’s a tree frog’s inflated throat sac.
Here’s the same spot in the daylight; no bubble. since the first photo above, mating frogs have attached several walnut-sized egg sacs underwater to these sticks. Note the floating lichen; volunteer vegetation that fell from the pear tree.
The female frogs usually lurk near the ponds’ edge, evaluating the male frogs’ booty calls. Sometimes the females approach with tentative short hops, seeming to glance towards one male, then another, before choosing. Meanwhile the males jockey to block her path.
Another time a female frog flew out of the bushes, landed, jumped again without pause into the pond, and swam directly to a male waiting in the rain lily plant. She covered 4 feet in two jumps and was mating before I could exhale. That frog may have been nervous about crossing the open terrain and water.
Last night, after I added five pots of vegetation to the new pond, there were already several females nestled into those plants at dusk when the ribbeting began. The females moved leisurely in the thick vegetation. One sat near, and seemed to nuzzle her chosen male frog, prior to Amplexus.
Studies say that tree frogs can return from 300 yards away, to their birth pond. Many frogs croak within 300 yards of the FMA. I may live on these frogs’ sexy version of Bourbon Street.
These other assemblies could share populations with the Frog Mitigation Area. I do not find squished frogs in the roads around the FMA, so I doubt the frogs travel often from their gathering spots to the FMA.
The frogs favor the older of the two ponds in the FMA, because it has much more vegetation for sitting, croaking and other froggy activities. I found 40 egg sacs in the old pond and just 10 in the new pond.
Each sac contains about 20 eggs, for over 1000 eggs total. The sacs seem twice as large as those found last year; tablespoon rather than teaspoon sized.
I recently added five more plants to the newer Upper Pear Pond; I’ve pictured three of these plants below.
Forgotten name, Curly rush, and rain lily. I’ve also added two pots of wapato (not pictured). I had to work in 48 degree water to re-pot these, so I’m applying for a Gardening Martyrdom Award. The frogs immediately patronized these new plants.
Tonight at dinner, my mate Salmon Woman and I are finishing our turkey, cilantro and oat lettuce wraps. We are sipping a $9 bottle of french Chardonnay.
The frogs’ chorus volume increases; we hear it inside.
Salmon Woman smirks at me across the table.
“I’ve lost you,” she says, “to them.” She motions towards the frog chorus.
I drain my wine. I can’t argue. Every time I glance towards the FMA, my face betrays me. The weather’s warming. They’re chorusing again.
A peek at the tadpole embryos in an egg sac.
NOW IT’S YOUR TURN
What have you noted in your area or travels? As usual, please post your observations and general location in your comments. I’ll respond in between working on an endless list of flood control projects.
Be sure to peruse Meteor Blade’s valuable "Spotlight on Green News & Views,” every Saturday at 5pm Pacific Time and every Wednesday at 3:30 Pacific Time on the Daily Kos front page. Please recommend and comment in the diary.
Wednesday, Mar 22, 2017 · 3:15:24 PM +00:00
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Thanks, folks, for boosting this modest blog to Community Spotlight. Last night I tested a strong flashlight whose light penetrated to the bottom of the FMA and allowed me an accurate count of the egg sacs in the ponds. I counted 110. The smallest sac contained at least 20 embryo tadpoles, so there are over 2000 embryos a-waiting.
