while d.w. and the zygote sleep...

Last night the zygote was especially ruthless with poor d.w., and while I slumbered away peacefully, they proceeded with their daily (and nightly) struggle over nutrients. So I didn't feel bad when, upon waking and seeing the brilliant sunshine streaming in through the bedroom window, I decided to play a little hooky and let the two of them sleep just a little longer. Just don't tell my major professor. I owe him some revisions on my thesis.

Anyway, since I feel like kind of a dick stealing other people's photos all the time (except yesterday; the one of the nasty little "wetland" was all me, baby), I figured I might as well pay a little penance and take the ol' picture-taker with me.

 

So my first thought was, "You know, I should probably stick around in case d.w. wakes up and needs me to make her something. That's what a thoughtful husband would do. Maybe I'll start in on the garden." Then I realized that it is only April, and in all likelihood we will have a blizzard next week, especially if I stick anything in the ground. Besides, we're going to put some chickens in the back corner that doesn't get much light, so I'll let them do the weeding for me.

 

So then I thought I might take the kayak (a.k.a. "Finnegan's Wake") out for an inaugural spring run...

 

...but I remembered that I'm waiting on student loans to come in to pay for a couple of parts for the ZygoteCube's roof rack (Note naked ZygoteCube, above).

 

And then it hits me: a perfect morning to spend with my friends Peterson and Conant! The sunshine, the seventy ridiculously amazing degrees, the lack of wind (an eerie anomaly here in treeless Corn Land): now the only question was where, oh where on this magical day would I go? The freedom of it all!

 

Then I remember: I ain't in Cali no more.

 

So I say "To Hell with it! I'm a-findin' me a trail, some trees, and a marsh full of frogs!" This, of course, requires a bit of driving. And I think to myself, "At least I have Terry Gross to keep me company on the drive."

But alas, I forgot it's pledge week! Oh God!

I realize you need six more callers before you stop laying a serious guilt trip on us NPR-philes, but seriously, do you need to gush on about how wonderful the farm report is? Sorry, but I really don't give a crap about boxed beef cutouts. I don't care about barrow and gilt trends. I don't even know what a barrow or a gilt is, but I think hog castration comes into it. And I can only imagine what a boxed beef cutout might be. Oh, and if you mention Asian soybean rust one more time...

 

And so I find it, our little 1,200-acre reminder that yes, trees do exist somewhere, even in Iowa (although they still don't have any leaves on them).

 

I made it! There is nothing like the first frog cacophony of spring after a long, bleak winter. Really lifts the heart, you know? Sure wish d.w. and the zygote were here. After all, she's a lot better at finding frogs than I am.

What's that? Something about foot-in-mouth disease, you say...

 

At last I have found my quarry (either Rana pipiens or Rana blairi; they look the same and I heard both today). Water's a little cold for a soak in my opinion, but frogs have brains the size of a pea.

 

Cover your eyes, children!

 

Ok, ok, insert lame frog prince joke here. I'm from San Francisco. I can handle it.

So at this point, I'm thinking, "Am I really such a hopelessly dorky human being that this is what I do when I play hooky? Yikes. Maybe I should be off home to see if d.w. is puking yet."

Comments

[the weirdgirl]

One of our early apartments was across from San Jose Muni golf course. We faced the back nine and they had tiny ponds scattered across the course. In spring you could always hear the frogs mating. I loved it. I even wrote a poem for my writing course featuring the frog lovesong. I think everyone thought I was weird, but it is a beautiful sound.