This all started with a single frog. She laid her eggs in a small rain puddle in the middle of my driveway. It wasn’t a smart move, and upon discovery, we knew that the frog eggs wouldn’t survive without a little assistance. Being the mother of two babies myself, I was sympathetic to the momma frog’s predicament. I knew I’d spend the next few weeks helping out a fellow mother.
My family and I watered the puddle on hot days. (When we were out of town, we enlisted cousins to keep the puddle wet.) We set up cones to keep the FedEx guy from running the pollywogs over. We kept toddler feet out of the splash-worthy puddle. And in time, the eggs grew to tadpoles. The tadpoles grew larger limbs. And eventually, on a hot summer night under a full moon, hundreds of minuscule little frogs happily hopped around our driveway while momma watched.
I was so moved by the “The Great Frog Hatch” that I posted pictures to Facebook. I spoke ad nauseum to friends about my pollywog encounters. And every day, before getting in the car, I’d walk around the yard, marveling at the tiny froglets.
I thought it was the end of our nature story. But in the circle of life, there is no end.
Before I continue, let me share that I have a fear of snakes. Spiders are no big deal. Bears are my friends. But snakes — small, large or Amazonian — are my worst nightmare. I’ve had snake encounters at home in Norwich. I’ve never seen anything but a small garter snake, typically nestled in the rocks near the side of my house. I never liked these sightings, but after letting out a scream, I’d go my way, the snake would go its way, and I wouldn’t cross paths with another for weeks at a time.
But this summer was different. After The Great Frog Hatch, I couldn’t leave my house without a garter snake sighting. There was one on the patio. There was one near the lilac bush. There was one under my garbage can. And they were getting bigger. They were leaving skins behind. They were frightening the heck out of me.
I know garter snakes aren’t harmful. I know they eat rodents and bugs. I know that I shouldn’t have been afraid. But when my landscaper commented on how many snakes he’d seen in my yard, I knew I wasn’t spending time outdoors until I had a little assistance.
I made the call to a local exterminator with a fondness for serpents. He told me that snakes are protected by the state of Vermont (unless they’re infringing on one’s well-being). He spent some time searching for snakes, setting a “living snake trap” and putting down snake repellent. He inspected my house for ways for snakes to enter. Thankfully, my house was fairly snake-proof. And after some time, he determined my problem wasn’t quite as bad as I’d figured. He’d found only one snake on my lawn and one nestled deep into my wood pile.
But as I spoke with neighbors and friends, they speculated that my snake issue was causal. Those froglets I had nurtured all summer were food for garter snakes. The hundreds, possibly thousands, of frogs that hopped along my lawn at dusk probably attracted attention from more than just my family.
We’ll never know if the frogs caused my snake problem. We’ll never know if my snake problem was the reason I heard a few more owl calls in the night. We’ll never know what happens among the species in my backyard. But what I do know is that after the frog puddle dried out and the froglets were gone, I went days without a snake sighting.
Perhaps the snake repellent did its job. Perhaps my garter snakes have wiggled deep into woods, looking for their next prey. Perhaps they’ll be back next season if a mother frog decides to choose a puddle rather than a bog to raise her offspring.
All I know is that the circle of life is powerful. Nature is amazing. Our yards have systems too complex for us ever to fully understand.
And I’ll never, ever, have an affinity for limbless reptiles.
Becky Sabky lives in Norwich.