The Cold Blooded News

The Newsletter of the Colorado Herpetological Society

Volume 28, Number 10; October, 2001

For the Love of Frogs

by Russell Studebaker

Reprinted from Notes from NOAH, the Newsletter of the Northern Ohio Association of Herpetologists, Vol.28, No.10, July 2001.
Originally published in Horticulture, June 2001.

My mother, I have realized in later years, was very wise. Every spring her kitchen counter became home to my fruit jars of wriggling tadpoles. She accepted her fate uncomplainingly, knowing that their development would be over in a few weeks. The counter would be hers again, at least until my next living project. Secretly, I'm sure that she thought this would just be a stage that I, like the pollywogs, would outgrow. I never did. This May my brother called to tell me that biblical numbers of tree frog tadpoles had hatched on his pool cover and that he was draining it, one way or the other, before Memorial Day. Excited as ever, I took the whole multitude.

As old as the Jurassic, aquatic frogs and terrestrial toads contribute to our many myths and beloved stories. Is it their metamorphosis from egg to tadpole to froglet that has spawned our tales of the unfortunate, befriended frog turning into a stunning prince? From Aesop's many fables to Shakespeare's witches' brew in Macbeth ("eye of newt and toe of frog"), our literature is rich in frogs.

Undoubtedly, a jar of tadpoles is as American as baseball; any child can collect a jar's worth and, in a few weeks, watch as hind legs, then front legs emerge, and finally tails are absorbed on the trip from tadpole to frog. These amphibians, whose lives bridge two worlds, the aquatic and the terrestrial, have a great impact in our gardens and environment. It's said that yearly a frog or toad is worth $30 of insecticides, not to mention the time saved in their mixing and spraying. In addition to eating insects, frogs and toads may also have a taste for slugs. My toads, unfortunately, have not seemed to have developed an interest in them.

Worldwide, frog and toad populations serve as readings of our environment's well being. They are, in fact, the aboveground equivalent of the canary in the coal mine. Recent declines have scientists worried.

Frogs and toads are canaries in another way too - their songs are keys to the upcoming seasons. My adult tree frogs may not be prized for their loud evening sonatas of "wroks," but they are endearing with their seemingly smiling faces, approachable demeanor, and their Houdini acts of attachment. By day, they return to the same shaded spots after a busy night of insect stuffing near my porchlight. One, in fact, made his summer daytime residence in the opening of my wren house.

Garden suppliers, realizing the value of toads, are now offering "toad houses," whimsical clay shelters providing cool, dark, and protected daytime abodes. Wise gardeners are also providing ramps from steep pool and pond edges to aid the exit of exhausted toads, who need help returning to land after spawning.

After pool graduation, my rescued frogs had no trouble leaving the pond. They disappeared into the foliage, with the exception of the ones that a mockingbird chose for frog legs. Kermit said it best: "It's not easy being green."

As we leapfrog into the 21st century, where pollution still threatens, our amphibians may not always be around. The phenomenon of "raining frogs and toads" may become a bygone mystery. And in the 19th century, essayist Charles Dudley Warner's words, "the toad without which no garden is complete," may well harbinger the future health of our planet.

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