Buster come home

Do you ever find that sometimes stuff happens out of sync with how you pictured it? Recent months have kept me on the move, away from home—yet being home and settled is exactly what I’m after. I’m missing the timeof- year moments: for instance, picking apples or gathering the Concord grapes in the corner of my yard or stacking firewood. All of it is gut comforting, as is working the kitchen making apple sauce or grape jelly.

I’d be lying if I said I had culinary skills, but it seems with a little luck on side, there is success time to time. I guess in reality the kitchen for me is more like creating a world of sensory memory; like a stew in a slow cooker or a chicken-in-the-oven Sunday warm-up for the soul. That’s an easy one, as long as I don’t get distracted and decide on a bike ride while things are cooking.

Even out of sync, once an idea has fermented, I’m one to keep a process going no matter what: never let timing or logic get in the way I say. My notion of a water garden is a good one.

I take pleasure in a still-water pond and aqua-plants. While I can go up to the old rail bridge along the Millennium trail and take in the creek surrounds, I’ve been figuring that having something watery right at hand would be a bonus. Like literally next to the porch and the comforts a kitchen can offer as I contemplate the lily pads. It’s an idea that hatched before the frost was outta the ground this past spring and I’m bound to make it a reality before the—oops, its back already: the frost that is.

I came across a gem of a cattle watering trough a few weeks back: helps that it takes the work out of digging a pond. I mention lily pads because now I have the thing in place and filled to the brim and surrounded by native grasses, the picture is getting brighter. A trip to the nursery was next on the list to fetch aqua life. The helpful attendant pointed me in the direction of pond plants and reminded me to get pond soil to go with them for nutrients. “And don’t forget to put the plants in plastic bags which are next to…” My noisy cart was headed down the aisle with me tagging behind it.

I found taro and arrowheads and later came back with some duckweed and elephant ears: “plants oxygenate the water,” the nursery attendant explained. Back home, with some help, I placed the dirt in patches at the bottom of the pond and anchored the nursery stock into it. Sooner than later I had a small swatch of the French painter Monet’s pond to enjoy while in the evening light I oxygenated with a glass of local hard cider. The practical stuff like how to keep the plants alive over winter could wait.

Next morning, coffee in hand I’m checking out the marvel of my effort. I notice a water surface ripple. I’m intrigued, but it’s hard to see through the murk of settling pond earth. It appears that something has quickly adopted a home.

It was at least a half-a-cup later and with careful study that I spot amongst the weeds, the head of a bullfrog. How it knew the pond was there? Then again the blind leap to sail over the two-foot edge to get in while hoping it was full of water takes guts. My kind of bullfrog I’ll say.

Being an animal lover and not able to take on the care of a pet at the moment, I’m figurin’ that the universe has provided a solution. I mean, not being up to speed with frog gender identification there he/she was, a Kermit or Jeremiah lookalike. We saw eye to eye in search of a name—Buster seemed a fit.

I was onto it. Buster would need bugs, so I’ll canvas the neighbours to save all bugs, dead or alive. He’ll also need a way to get out and over the edge. A halfsubmerged log did the trick. A mere two hours later, he was taking full advantage of the installation and was half up the log, taking in the sun. My good fortune. A maintenance-free pet: no cat litter, dog walking, bird or hamster cage to tend to.

Yet, having a free-range frog as a pet does require research; additional plants and pond clay seemed appropriate, which turns into another trip back to the nursery. Then back again for a circulating water pump as I study frog care in more detail. Then comes the part where I read about the hibernation process of a frog. For my setup to survive the winter, plants and frog will need a pond heater, as apparently a pond needs an opening in the ice to allow the bio gas to escape— otherwise everything will be ‘tout fini’ by spring. Yep, the pond heaters are on sale at the County Farm Centre, if you really want to know.

Needless to say I was chagrined when shortly before I had to leave the County on one more jaunt, Buster was nowhere to be seen: like for days I mean. Maybe he headed to the nearby creek? Perhaps wintering in the Carolinas had more appeal? I tried not to take it personally: maybe it was the pump noise or the colour of the heater or selection of water plants that didn’t quite suit. So, I left town with Buster on my mind.

Hard for some to imagine an attachment folks can acquire with a little critter like a frog. So I kept my experience under wraps. Didn’t need consolation, and besides, the bug collection could easily go somewhere else. I did wish for a happy ending though. And lo and behold, the day after returning home there he was, bottle green and sitting on a log. And you know, between you and me, I think the ol’ bullfrog missed me.

P.S. Don’t be shy to come around and meet Buster before he digs himself into storebought pond clay for the winter. Please bring bugs.