Bob Skaggs, husband of first cousin once removed Jetty,
was talking to me at G'ma Opal's funeral. The conversation
was more or less the following:

Bob-"I haven't been back to the home place (meaning his
family's home place, not ours, tho' they are catty-corner
to one another) for a long time. There used to be a lot
of frogs in the pond there."

Me-"There still are a lot of frogs. Just ask Uncle Jim.
He calls them maniacal."

A few years ago Jim began to be bothered by a loud noise
whenever he was outside after dark. (NOTE: he lives a
quarter of a mile down the gravel from us.) Finally he
could stand it no longer and he hopped in the car,
windows rolled down, on a quest to find the source of
the racket. When he hit our place he bingoed. It was
our frogs. I admit they are raucous. The peepers are
loud in themselves, but the bullfrogs are deafening.

The bullfrogs haven't gotten into their full swing yet. Last
night Kent, Ty, Hattie, and Jenn were outside playing 21 in
basketball. After they came in, Jenn said, "The frogs were
so loud we could hardly hear each other." The key word there
is "hardly", because after the bullfrogs get into full swing
you won't at all be able to hear each other. Then you just
sit in the yard and smile at one another and think deep
thought, or if you are Uncle Jim, murderous thoughts.

But, back to Cousin Bob's comments. He said, "I was just
wondering if there were any frogs left, because one year when
I was a kid and came to visit Grandpa, he put me to work shooting
frogs for a frog fry."

I said, "They're still there." I love my peepers, and I love my
bullfrogs, but I think a frog fry is on the agenda this July or
August. We must keep peace in the family, and Uncle Jim rates
even higher than the frogs.