Remember Christine? My 70 year old, judgmental, border-line racist Tandem Partner? No? Refresh yourself here.
Well, she is still around! I’ve learned a lot through our 2.5 years together: I’ve learned to swiftly change the subject when she doesn’t approve of my personal choices, I’ve mastered the art of the awkward silence when she shares her opinions on race, and I’ve learned to turn away when she decides to change from pants to a skirt in the middle of a public place (without even doing the pull-the-skirt-on-first-and-then-remove-the-pants move).
To be totally fair, Christine seems to be a really awesome grandmother. She picks her grandson up from school every Friday for “Omatag” (Grandma Day). There is always something interesting planned: bonfire and ghost stories in the Black Forest, scavenger hunts with buried treasures at the end, making forts out of old cardboard boxes rummaged from the grocery store, for example. I know all this because I ask about “Omatag” all the time. It keeps her rolling on a safe topic for quite a while!
So, every year Christine and her grandson go into the Black Forest to “save frogs”. There is a large pond, which the frogs come to when they are ready to spawn. However, a small problem exists: between their normal habitat and the pond there is a road that must be crossed…twice! A fence along both sides of the road prevents (some of) the frogs from becoming road kill during their journey. After dark, people go into the forest and either carry the frogs across the street to the pond, or back to their forest home.
This year Christine invited me to help her and her grandson “save” some frogs! When I arrived at the house, all ready to go, it was announced that the grandson wasn’t going to accompany us because he didn’t finish his homework. Ironically, the homework was about tadpoles. I’m not even kidding. I saw the homework myself because I made the mistake of answering in the affirmative when the mom asked me if I was good in biology. After a few very awkward moments when I couldn’t figure out what the german word for ‘tadpole’ was, the grandson finally said (in German with a typical 10-year old “ummm….duuhhh” tone), “You know, frog babies!”
So, Christine and I headed out alone to see what kind of croakers we could save. It is actually a really cool system. Before starting the search for amphibian damsels in despair, you have to stop at an old farmhouse where you pick up buckets, reflective vests, and data sheets. Data is recorded every night regarding the number, gender, and direction of travel of each frog.
This is the instructional sign at the farm house, which I love because it is so “german”:
Dear Amphibian Collectors
Here we go!
Pond where all the “action” takes place!
Frog-fences on both sides of the road.
There were about half a dozen other Germans searching for frogs tonight. They were all a buzz about the night prior, during which they were hard at work from dusk until after midnight. An entire day of rain had resulted in 988 frogs being saved last night! I’m not even exaggerating here…I saw the data sheets to prove it! Unfortunately, there was also evidence all over the street of the unfortunate ones who were too impatient to wait for safe travel via bucket.
Honestly, I don’t even know how I got into this. I don’t even like frogs. Actually, I know exactly how: Christine never takes no for an answer.
Here was our first find:
This guy was a bit ornery and quite chatty:
After pacing the fence-line four times, we decided to walk our slimy friends to safety and release them to live another day. I hope Christine’s grandson was more successful with his homework than we were as Amphibian Collectors!
Total number of frogs saved: 3
I prefer to think of the evening in a more optimistic light.
Total number of tadpoles saved: 42,573
