The Frogs’ Song

Did you know frogs have their own stories to tell?

Neither did I, but one night I heard their song like plain English!

This was a long time ago, before internets and WiFi’s and cellphones, so for my entertainment I could either stay inside and read schoolbooks or go outside and do ranch work. Given that choice, ranch work felt more like playing around than chores.

I’d do all sorts of things. Fix corral posts, toss hay for the horses, clean stalls, break coal, but my favorite thing was checking fence.

Now checking fence is exactly what it sounds like: you ride along miles of fence and make sure that there are no broken spots or gaps. It’s vital on a cattle ranch, you see, because a broken fence means your cattle could get out, and if the cattle get out, they could go get mixed up with the neighbor’s cattle, and if that happens, they make fast friends and it getting them separated gets complicated fast.

Usually, things were fine. A loose wire here, a missing nail there, which meant me and my horse, Roma, could spend the afternoon on a lazy ride. But that day, the cattle had found a low wire and turned it into a gate.

Ooo boy was a nervous at first. I’d been riding about an hour, so I figured I’d have to ride all the way back to get help and come back with the truck.

But then I saw the neighbor, Vern, sitting on his horse staring at the mess.

I “hullood” as I approached ( if you don’t know, it’s important to ‘Hulloo’ when approaching someone if you’re out on the range lest they’re armed and get startled).

Duly announced, we exchanged pleasantries and neighborly exasperation at the antics of livestock, then debated whether it would be worth going back to get more hands. A small fact about country logistics pre-cellphone: the more you tried to simplify a situation, the more complicated it would become.

Which meant, we decided we’d best just figure it out ourselves. I won’t bore you with the details of the process, but I will tell you this: sorting cattle is where young cowboys learn all sorts of colorful words.

It was dusk when we finished getting the cows sorted and fence fixed.

Vern offered me a ride, but, tired as I was, I declined. Knowing Vern, going to get his trailer would take longer than just riding back an hour! I did, however, ask him to call my folks when he got home and let them know I’d be riding along the county road back to the house.

It was quite dark by time I got home, and my father sat on the deck sippin a whiskey.

I hulloo’d as I passed the house so he’d know I was back, but rode past so I could put Roma away.

It is important to take care of your critters. They may not have human language, but they got more sense than most people combined. I gave her a good brushing and plenty of hay, then made sure the barn gate was open so she could tool around the horse pasture. She took a hearty roll in the dirt as soon as the halter was off, then idled into the barn to eat her dinner.

I was ready for dinner myself, but as I stood there by the barn I couldn’t help but look out over the draw. You see, a seasonal pond formed just below the barn where all the spring runoff would gather.

It happened to have been a wet spring, so the draw was exceptionally full and the frogs had taken good advantage of the surplus.

It’s hard to describe the sensation, but I’ll try: it was a clear, summer night. The kind of night with warm air and a cool sky. The slight scent of sagebrush and water hung in the air; a bit like water on fresh cut grass but with a little more earth to it. And the sky, oh the sky out there was so vast and full of stars, dark yet resplendent with the million little lights.

It was there, that I noticed the chirping croaks of the frogs over the dim harmony of Roma munching hay. I noticed them, and I listened, and wouldn’t you know they were singing how they came to croak!

I don’t recall exactly right, but it was something like this:

Ga-ri-garo ‘ ga-ri, ga-ri-garo ‘ ga-ri

We’ve heard of tales ‘ fables, of hearing of ‘ strange tales

That Humans tell ‘ by fires, in warming light ‘ of fires

We wish that they ‘could hear, the fables that ‘ we hear

We’re telling here ‘ in water, on starlit nights ‘ in water

I’ll tell you one ga-ri-garo

Do tell us one, garo-ga-ri

Do tell us two

Do well do tell

ga-ri-garo

do tell

The Frog of old ‘ father frog, father frog ‘ did hop

Did hop?

Did hop?

Did hop?

From waters dark ‘ father frog, from waters dark ‘ did hop

His hop it pulled ‘ his hop, it marshy pulled ‘ the mud

He spread the mud ‘ rested on, the marshy mud ‘ he sat

He rested on ‘ the world, the marshy world ‘ he’d made

Marshy mud

The Marshy world

Mushy mushy marsh

And resting there ‘ he looked, from there he looked ‘ and saw

Sweet mother moon ‘ pale bright, so beautiful ‘ and bright

And mother moon ‘ still young , Lit fair father’s heart’ the moon

So beautiful ‘ the moon, old father frog ‘ did swoon

His hearty swoon

His art

Old frogther

And frogther frog ‘ father fair, fair father frog ‘ he sang

He sang his song ‘ Sweet song he sang, and let his heart ‘ his heart

Ring out upon ‘ the marsh, to mother moon ‘ above

The marsh below

Marshy marsh

In March? Garo

But mother moon ‘ no words she gave, she wordless shone ‘ fair moon

So nightly sang ‘ father frog, sonorous sang ‘ a failing song

And mother moon ‘ sad silent moon, waned and went ‘ away

Now moonless night ‘ star speckled night, fair father sat ‘ and wept

He wept

We wept

He cried

A week alone ‘ he sadly sang, weak and alone ‘ sadly sang

He wore his voice ‘ to match the marsh, and ate the rocks ‘ from on the marsh

When moon returned ‘ he barely spoke, and for the tears ’ of joy he choked

His heart rejoiced ‘ fool father frog, he tuned his voice ‘ fool father frog

Father frog

Frogther fool

Fooly fool

and when he sang ‘ of joy he choked, he didn’t sing ‘ but gave a croak!

a croak!

A croak

Croaky croak

Ga-ri-Ga-ro a croak!

*****

This short story is an improved version of an earlier work “Frog Songs”, and is the by product of my entry into the Self-Editing Epiphany challenge.