On the beaten path

Ever seen a grown man better than six feet tall chase a frog?

I did last spring, and let me tell you what.

Relaxing in the back yard after working in the garden, I glanced over the depleted woodpile into the neighbor’s lawn to see this hulking mass bent over his haunches, knees tucked behind his ears.

One pounce, two pounce, three pounce … the ground didn’t shake, but it could have if it weren’t so soggy.

“What the heck are you doing?,” I hollered.

“I’m seeing if I can still do it,” he said, completely unabashed at the thought of the picture he made all squat-legged and belly-folds.

“Do what?” I exclaimed.

“Catch a frog,” he answered, standing up with a green spotted amphibian clutched in his hand.

“And I can.”

I guess it is part of the process to jump like a frog to catch one.

There was nothing to say except to look at the green creature, which now had to endure a sort of airlift before reaching the safety of the brook.

“Yep, that’s quite something,” I said, looking at the man, not the frog.

I’ve watched little boys perched many times with hands open, eyes fixed on the edge of a brook or pond, waiting for a precise signal to spring.

I don’t know what trigger releases the leap, but after a few years, they get quite good at it.
I can’t pretend to understand what sway the almost predictable path a frog’s hop holds over a boy’s (or a man’s) will; I’d rather catch butterflies.

But I’m convinced that if the kind of focus frog-chasing requires could be bottled and stored, it might make a good tonic for times when kids (and men) walk away from chores undone.

“Pretend it’s a frog,” I might say next time the lawn needs mowed.