Tiny frog invasion
Frogs, hare prints, a meerkat that is definitely judging you
Thursday. It is raining, a drizzly pause in between proper satisfying downpours, and I am performing a strange Monty Pythonesque walk, an irregular hopping tiptoe that is without rhythm, for green astroturf path seems to shift and sway, desperately fleeing my footfall, until I squat down and see the path is, in fact, a seething mass of tiny frogs, and thier fallen comrades. I have found myself amidst a tiny frog exodus, when they leave their natal pond (the lake) and go wherever it is that tiny frogs go in the summer. In my human ignorance, I feel that the safest place for small frogs is inside the water, but they have other ideas, and they must traverse the treacherous path to greet the great world beyond for amphibious reasons unknown to me.
It seems not all the golfers and dog walkers have been as observant as myself; or maybe they just don’t care about frogs much. Sometimes I imagine a really big being, not a god, just a regular being that shares this universe with us and thinks about the Earth the way we think about an apple or a really nice stone, a small thing with smaller things on it, and how we’d be at the mercy of the whims of such a being. I try not to squash small things and wash insects off down the drain in the hope that this giant will care similarly for lives smaller than its own and not crush me on a whim. I walk slowly, and allow little frogs to flee the shadows that announce my feet. Some anglers glance over, not doubt judging me a lunatic, which, to be fair, has been confirmed by a scientifically valid number of medical professionals.
The next day it has stopped raining, and there is little evidence there have been any frogs at all; the crushed ones have been cleaned away by invisible forces, only occasional dark stains that could’ve been anything. Very close inspection reveals one stationary frog, sitting out on the path, so still. He does not move. He does not glisten. I prod him; he has quite dried out. The rain didn’t last long enough.
This is why I think the tiny frogs should stay in the water, I think to myself. He has not been stepped on, or eaten, but he still hasn’t made it. They are dangerous times, these transition stages, the between times, creeping between being a frog and a tadpole, hatching out of an egg, giving birth. People often glorify the butterfly emerging from a chrysalis- don’t worry if you’re a caterpillar, your time will come, and you will blossom and emerge glorious! But caterpillars are nature’s sausages, and most of them will be eaten by something or other. I wouldn’t like to be a cabbage white, because the majority of them are parasitised by a wasp grub with will consume them from the inside out. And even if they do manage to survive turning themselves into goo and reconstruction into a butterfly, the emergence is a hard battle rewarded by a dangerous few hours of being soft and delicious and unable to fly. What inspiration are you trying to convey with this metaphor? That great things can be achieved by a tiny fraction of very, very lucky people? and even then there’s a risk you’ll triumph only to find out that you are one of those butterflies that have no mouthparts and have to breed in the 3 days before you starve. Seems rubbish to me, and very bad odds. It would better to say ‘at least you’re not a caterpillar. The outcomes for nearly all caterpillars seem absolutely terrible’
I think people should be more careful with metaphors, and I think frogs should take more care about going out into the sun. A friend of mine found a dried out frog and kept it in the airing cupboard in a shoe box until a pipe burst, which both rehydrated it (it was still dead) and washed it into the hall so he’d no idea why there was suddenly a dead frog in his flat. There’s no point to this tale, other than put your specimens in labeled and watertight containers, and stay out of the sun if you’re an amphibian.
Workings
You probably think that I have been quiet because I have not being doing anything, which has been my theme thus far. Instead I have actually been quite busy working on this, which is unusual in the holidays. Sadly I have made a terrible error and forgotten to put drier in my ink. I have one more layer before it is complete and it is very humid so I will have to wait days, to finish this, which is upsetting.
Am I gonna show you a close up static shot? No, you’ll have to wait till next week (or check Instagram or notes I guess)
Findings
It’s been my birthday and it’s been half term, so I went to the zoo. I wanted to go to monkey world, which only has rescued primates, and less associated guilt, but that’s a long way away now, so I enjoyed Cotswold wildlife park, which is close and much cheaper than other similar places. I still worry whether it is right to keep certain animals enclosed; friends tell me it’s good for conservation but there are probably warmer countries to keep rhinos, and they could use all that space to make bigger better monkey enclosures. These are my favourites:
I like the moustache and I like their pocket sized nature. I felt their enclosure was too small. They are called emperor tamarins, because of the sage like moustache I guess, but I have always called them beer monkeys; I feel you could train them to fetch a can for you. Beer monkeys is also what I call small relatives of about 3 years old (same reason).
They also have a bat house at the cotwold wildlife park, which to be fair, monkey world doesn’t (clues in the name). This is exciting because I have the ability to be obsessed with more than one type of animal. I liked the bat house a lot, but apparently it’s more obvious that I am not at all normal when in the presence of bats. In my defence I didn’t say anything when a man came in and claimed bats don’t have eyes, then explained echolocation really, really badly to his small child. It just hurt me on a deep level. It didn’t help that they were fruit bats, which don’t, as a general rule, echolocate. Because they don’t eat insects (clue is in the name).
There is a sign there explaining that the bats have eyes and can see, so I presume there are more out there that .. have never looked at a picture of a bat. Or an actual bat, like the ones that the guy was literally looking at when he said they didn’t have eyes. It was quite dark, but there are lots of pictures on the internet and the walls of the bat house and the eyes are quite visible. Anyway. Enough pointless rantings from me. Hopefully I’ll have some work on sale next week x