Monthly Archives: August 2020

Speaking of toads

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This large toad was sitting right under our garage door Saturday night.

Toads have been almost nightly visitors since we moved into the new house. I think they find the driveway in front of the garage good hunting grounds because we almost always leave a light on all night. The light attracts bugs, and bugs suit toads’ appetite quite well. They are ambush hunters, so they just sit and wait. This one was pretty fat, so it must have ambushed quite a few bugs. And that’s OK with us.

I call it a toad, although frog would be equally accurate. All toads are frogs, but not all frogs are toads. Frogs tend to have slimy skin and they seldom venture too far from water. Toads have dry, warty-looking skin (sorry, fella), and can stand dry conditions longer than frogs. We have almost no water around our driveway, so even without the characteristic dry skin, it would almost have to be a toad rather than a frog.

Toads are mostly nocturnal. I don’t remember ever seeing one during the day. You might wonder where a toad goes to sleep during the day. I know: shoes. At least sometimes.

Leah and I leave some shoes in the garage close to the door into the kitchen. Leah has one pair and I have four, each with its specific use. When I go out, I take off my slippers right outside the kitchen door and slip on one of my shoes. Once when I did that, I found that something was already using it. It was a toad about the size of this one. I figured out pretty quickly that my foot wouldn’t fit with the toad. The toad jumped out and disappeared into the clutter in our garage.

A few days ago I went out and put on my dog-walking shoes. I was getting ready to lace them up, but stopped because there seemed to be something in the shoe. I almost ignored it, because sometimes it’s just my sock acting up. This time I took the shoe back off and a little froggie jumped out. I can’t believe I didn’t crush it, but it hopped away, disappearing into the clutter just like the bigger frog. I can imagine their conversation. The little toad told about the monster that tried to crush him, and the big toad said, “I told you so!”

Our toads are probably the common Bufo [Anaxyrus] americanus. Here’s what the University of Georgia has to say:

Encountered infrequently during the summer, American toads are inactive during hot, dry periods and from late fall until breeding begins early in the year. They are most active at night, spending the day hiding in burrows or underneath logs, forest ground litter, or rocks. These toads show hiding spot fidelity, sometimes returning to the same location every day. During the non-breeding season, individuals have a home range of several hundred square feet, but adults may travel more than half a mile during the breeding period. Adult American toads eat a variety of small insects including ants, beetles, moths, and earthworms.

A little later on, the article mentions that fact that these toads produce a poison in their parotoid glands and skin, which means, don’t lick toads!

The cats have never shown even the slightest interest in the toads. Sam seems to ignore them, but Zoe wants to investigate. Fortunately, all she does is sniff them. I’m not sure whether something in the odor warns her off, or she just isn’t interested because their most usual defense from predators is to just sit still and let their poison protect them.

Mushrooms

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For the first time since we moved in here, we have large mushrooms growing in the front yard. They struggled to form a fairy ring, but couldn’t quite manage it.

They’re really big.

I don’t know if a toad could use it for a stool, but it might be handy as a parasol.

Georgia has a lot of mushrooms. A few are edible. Most are inedible. Some are poisonous. I would never pick a mushroom in the wild to eat. I just don’t know enough about them, and they aren’t really my favorite food anyway. Based on my limited research, these do not look like the edible mushrooms of Georgia.

I posted a photo of a turtle eating a mushroom. It looked somewhat like these, but I wouldn’t make a bet on it. I also wouldn’t eat a mushroom just because a turtle said it was safe.

Tuesday, opposite the sunset

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We can’t see the sunset from our front porch, or, really, from any place on the mountain. But the eastern sky, opposite the sunset, is often nice enough.

This was Tuesday afternoon. It had been sunny all day, but started to get cloudy later in the afternoon.

It has been dry right here on our little spot on the mountain, although areas around us are getting rain. Leah had a doctor’s appointment last Wednesday. On the way home the rain was so heavy it was hard to see the road. Then, about three miles from our house, it ended. We drove out of heavy rain onto dry pavement. The only consolation is that the nearby rain will help maintain our well. At least I hope so.

In other news, Leah is suffering from nerve pain in her leg. I think it’s sciatica, but her doctor hasn’t actually named it. She does agree that it’s a never, however. The bad thing about nerve pain is that normal pain relievers don’t seem to work all that well. Leah is supposed to have an MRI on Friday. We both hope it shows a path to some kind of resolution.

Last Friday on my regular morning dog walk, we went down into the valley. At the first sharp curve on the way down, someone had dumped a pickup-truck load of renovation debris. It was mainly carpet padding, along with some wood trim and wallpaper. I posted a picture and description on Leah’s Facebook page. A lot of people commented; one gave the number for the county police department officers who handle that kind of thing. I called to report it on Tuesday. Maybe they can figure out who did it. For a first offense the police give them a choice: clean it up or get a ticket. I have heard that the ticket also depends on the guilty party’s attitude.

I found out from one of the Facebook commenters that the curve where the trash was dumped is the Horse Shoe. It’s a very sharp curve, if not a really sharp name. The next sharp curve down is the Water Holler, named after the small perennial creek that flows in the narrow valley there. I like that name.

I have never figured out how the creek continues to run in even the driest days. It’s not that far from the top of the mountain, and it doesn’t seem to drain a huge area. Another unanswered question about ground water.

And finally, even though I am happily retired and do not miss work even in the slightest, it looks like I will be doing some. Fortunately, I will be able to work from home, and the hours are very flexible. I asked my former boss how many hours that would mean, and she said anywhere from five to forty hours a week. I suppose I can handle that.

A beautiful visitor

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This beauty stayed long enough for a few good shots on Monday.

As far as I can tell, it’s an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, but I’m no expert. It was perched on the flowers of one of our crape myrtles.

Many of the butterflies of Georgia have names that are appropriately charming. A sampling of names: the Baltimore Checkerspot, Banded Hairstreak, Common Buckeye (a real beauty I have never seen), Coral Hairstreak, Diana Fritillary, Dreamy Duskywing, Falcate Orangetip, Fiery Skipper, Great Spangled Fritillary, Hackberry Emperor, Mourning Cloak, Pearl Crescent, Red-Spotted Purple Admiral, Sleepy Orange Sulfur, Zabulon Skipper, Zebra Longwing, and not the least, the Monarch.

Check here for photos.

“Fritillary” is a Eurasian plant of the lily family, with hanging bell-like flowers, or a butterfly with orange wings checkered with black. The word originates from the Latin for dice box. The flower and butterfly names apparently come from the checkered pattern, but I’m not sure I get the reference. “Falcate” means curved like a sickle, from the Latin for a sickle.

With the names of the butterflies being so appealing, the name for their study seems unfortunate: Lepidopterology, from the Greek “scale” and “wing.”

103

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Today, August 2, is the 103rd anniversary of my father’s birth.

A lot of things have happened since he died back in 2000. I finished the first house Leah and I lived in. He told me the night he died that he was afraid wouldn’t be able to help me work on it. He never got to see it finished.

For years after he died, when I completed some little bit of work on the house, I had the urge to show it to him.

He met Leah before he died, but he had been dead five years before we got married.

My mother died 13 years after he died. I don’t think my father could have handled having her die before him.

We built another house. He never got to walk out onto our front porch and see the view. I wasn’t able to show him the trim I put around the arch on our front living room window.

He never got to see the various RV’s we have had over the years. He and my mother loved traveling with their trailers and in their motorhomes

I couldn’t show him my bright, red truck.

He never got to meet Zeke the dog. Or Sam the dog. Or Zoe the dog. I come from a long line of dog lovers. He would have loved them all.

He never got a chance to walk down Fouche Gap Road with the dogs. He could have named all the birds and all the plants.

He never got to see the foxes that lived around our old house. Or the owl that flew into our garage in our new house.

He didn’t get to see his grandson get married.

Every once in a while I hear a song that I think he would have liked.

My brother died, 18 years after him. That and my mother’s death are two of the few things I’m glad he missed.

I understand why people want to believe in an afterlife, where you can meet your loved ones again. There are a lot of things I would like to talk to my father about.