“The earth does not belong to us. We belong to the earth.” ~ Chief Seattle.

I have no idea when I met my first frog.  I do remember learning about the amazing life cycle, the eggs looking like a blob with the weird name: frog spawn.  The transformation into little wriggling things with tails and then the emergence of the croaking, hopping, tailless frog.  In my early years in an English city, I suppose the only encounters I had with such creatures would be as a part of terrarium, an indoor microcosm of the outdoors.  One of our frequent ‘puddings’ (dessert) would be rice pudding, one version of which was made from tapioca (is that a type of rice?), which would resemble frog spawn, and once a sibling had pointed that out, it was almost impossible to eat it!

I definitely remember meeting frogs in abundance when we moved to the heart of Jamaica, to a country town.  Our first encounter was more aural than visual.  We were awakened every night by a loud snoring noise.  And since we had no idea what was the origin of the sound, my father would go out into the rural dark, armed with a torch (flashlight) to find out which large animal had decided to sleep under our house (which was built on the side of a hill, so there was a large open area under the side verandah).

Night after night he would go out.  Was it a donkey? A cow? It had to be a large creature, since the noise was so loud.  Eventually he asked Deacon Jackson, the one in charge of the upkeep of the land and the house.  He was puzzled for a while, until his twinkling eyes laughed at us.  A tree toad! he declared.  It was a tiny toad with an oversized croak.  We never spotted it, but we had to learn to sleep with it.

That was not the only maker of noises in that peaceful neck of the woods.  We soon learned to appreciate the night life which arrived early as it does in the tropics: the crickets, coqui frogs (named for the sound they make) and the silent but brightly blinking fireflies (peeny wally, in Jamaican terms).  Down the hill from the house, the evenings would sometimes throb to the beat of the ‘pocomania’ drums, the singing, the offbeat clapping; the chanting rhythms that seemed to resonate in your chest, stirring the blood with mystical mysterious thrums.  Religious yet foreign; sounding as if they were worshiping in a whole different way than we were used to, perhaps a whole different god than we were used to.  And when Revival came to the church down below, you could count on a whole week of disturbed sleep as lost ones were dragged back to the straight and narrow; souls were saved and washed in the blood; those backsliders were admonished and shamed into standing before the church and testifying.  So much I could imagine from the safety of my bed.

We won’t even mention the array, the diversity, the variety of lizards that abounded.  From tiny ‘polly’ lizards with their see-through red tails which could be shed at the slightest threat, to the ugly, ‘crawny’, goosebump inducing, ghost-like ‘croakn’ (croaking) lizards which could challenge the tree toads to a snoring contest.  Huge moths would swarm to the lights on the verandah, along with the tiny ones. There were those known as ‘duppy’ moths, as they were thought to represent the ghost of a family member.  So many interesting creatures, fascinating to one who was brave enough to study them.

This week I listened to a part of an article about frogs, which is what sent me down memory lane.  Apparently, there is research going on in Australia, trying to count the species of frogs.  Like birds, frogs are a good indicator of the health of the planet.  Frogs are thin-skinned (who knew?), their skin is permeable, allowing it to maintain homeostasis by balancing out the fluids and electrolytes and more.  This makes it susceptible to environmental damage and pollution, thereby leading to the demise of the population.  The ingenious scientists in Australia have recruited everyday citizens to be part of their research team, by asking them to record the sounds of the frogs, and through an app, send them to the scientists for identification and logging.  Even a seven-year-old kid was going out to the marshes with his father, in the dusk, to ‘catch’ the sounds of the frogs, and contribute to the scientific endeavor.

Isn’t it ironic (again) that in one part of the world we have people caring enough about the health of our planet, and the future of frogs to hang out with insects in swamps, while in another corner we have people indiscriminately destroying the lives, livelihoods and habitats of homo sapiens?  Meanwhile, around the world today and tomorrow there will be remembrance services, parades, honor guards commemorating November 11^th, Remembrance, Armistice, Poppy Day.  The day, the hour the moment that was to end all wars, only to be repeated less than thirty years later.  And a hundred years later here we are.

War is very ugly, and the mind cannot take in the enormity of loss that war causes.  For those men in World War I, the survivors often came back ‘shell-shocked’ – I suppose that is what we call PTSD today.  One wrote poems, haunting lines, memorializing the horror of war. Wilfred Owens most popular poem describes the sound of a man dying, and writes that if you knew that sound, you would not be able to tell ‘The old lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori’ (It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country).

On this Friday morning I mourn for relatives I never met, who were killed in other men’s wars.  I mourn also for the loss of legions of creatures that warn us of the health of our planet.  So long as men think they own the land, a country and have the right to kill and destroy to demonstrate that ownership, we continue to leave the world in a worse state than we found it, leaving our children and grandchildren a smoldering ruined environment.  How can we continue to destroy instead of restore?

But this Friday morning I also celebrate those beacons of hope, those people who continue to fight for change, for the health of our planet, for the lives of all people.  If you can, find yourself in nature, and marvel at those creatures that survive despite us.  Listen to the nightlife, notice the busy world of bees and butterflies, who seem oblivious to our concerns and struggles.  And have faith that good will conquer evil, for if it doesn’t, we won’t be here to worry about it!

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.