First WF, home

After a chilly start to the day, the temperatures inched up... and up... and up... and when all was said and done, it was in the 60s and feeling more like mid-April than early-March. In response, the Wood Frogs began to chorus with reckless abandon, filling the air with faux duck calls, and by late afternoon, the first bell-like calls of the Spring Peepers were evident. I headed down to the vernal pool just north of my house—the vernal I call "my" pond, but that's just because I've been monitoring it for the past three decades. I only "own" it in the sense that I know it so well, but it could probably be destroyed in a heartbeat, if it's legal owners, whoever they are, so desired (although I wouldn't let it go without a fight—there are wetlands-protection laws, after all). What I possess is an intimate knowledge, gained as a result of countless observations over the years, of its real owners: the plants and animals that call the vernal home. Here's one prominent resident, albeit a temporary one—a Wood Frog now casting about for rivals... and for a mate. Let the breeding sweepstakes begin!