mowing the lawn

A couple of days I was mowing the lawn. It is tiring work -- we have a lot of lawn, and my husband really needs to sharpen the blade on our mower. The astounding number of dandelions we have manage to 'cultivate' on our property doesn't help, either.

I was in the zone, concentrating on finishing before my energy ran out.

--It occurred to me that living here has inured me to many things: uneven lawns, molehills and molepotholes, many random twigs and even branches that pop up. Some things I don't think I'll ever get used to: yesterday as my husband and I were outside just enjoying the sunshine a deer scared us nearly to death as it came crashing through the forest.

Something else that will take a long time to get used to is mowing over 4" long slugs. I am used to seeing the slimy creatures everywhere, but it's just uncomfy to run them over. It's always on accident, but it makes my heart squirm a little bit. --

Then my husband tapped me on the shoulder. He surprised me into releasing the mower, which was his intention. He had something in his hand, but as he reached toward me, whatever it was fell out of his hand. I thought maybe he had caught me a bug, which my younger son does for me all the time, but I admit I have never really liked the "bug catching" thing. Seeing the bugs without catching, yes. But captive bugs, no.

I wondered what had fallen. I bent down, and saw one of the cutest little things I had ever seen: a baby pacific tree frog. It was beautiful. It was copper on the back and dull, almost toady green on its sides, but brilliant in its iridescence. It would fit on the knuckle of my thumb -- my quilters' eye tells me he was between 1/2" and 3/4" long.  And I really wish I had had a camera so I could have taken a picture of it -- but I really enjoyed watching it. Its heart was racing, its breathing fast. Its toes were so tiny -- thinner than a sewing pin, and nearly translucent.

One of my favorite poems as a kid has a line:

the three-toed tree toad
sings his sweet ode
to the moon

I checked. It had three toes. I felt unreasonably gratified that this small, quick creature fit my mental image. I was so glad that I got to see this little three-toed tree toad. He wasn't singing his sweet ode to the moon, but my husband was singing a sweet ode to me. He knows I am curiouser and curiouser, and that I love living things and new experiences. He brought the little guy (he found him in the grass) to see me because he wants to share beautiful things with me. I felt like by bringing the tree toad to me, he was telling me so sweetly that he loved me, that he is interested in me, and that he, too, likes to feel the wonder of brand new things -- in this case, a tiny little beautiful tree frog.

I have included a picture of what the little guy will look like when he gets older. He is not so green now, and has more copper on his back that is brighter and more liquid looking -- not so many froggy bumps. Still super cute, though!