Toad Whisperer

I've been hanging out near my small pond lately -- it's not even as big as a VW Beetle. Right now, there are 10 are 12 of an unknown species of frog or toad hopping around in there, moving along the lily pads. They like basking in the sun, and just left tadpole stage in the last few weeks. They were very big tadpoles -- thought they might turn out to be bullfrogs. Got a close-up look this morning and could not identify them yet based on the info I had. They have an interesting streak of yellow and black splots under their chin.

Anyway, they got me thinking about the first pond I ever dug, at a different house: the old place in Hillcrest. If you don't know Little Rock, Hillcrest is an old, very woodsy neighborhood that is kind of overgrown, and, in places, there are some open ditches. For most people, open ditches are ugly. For toads, they are a 1970s water bed and a suitcase of Falstaff.

At our spot on G Street we could hear a lot of croaking at night, especially after heavy periods of rain. One spring, probably about 9-10 years ago, I decided to build a small pond in the backyard and create a stone patio around it. I was not prepared for how hard it would be to dig more than three feet down. It was a project. The process I used was about like what I did out here in my new digs at Kanis Village.

How to Dig a Pond
1. Dig a hole with stairsteps getting more shallow toward the edges.
2. Remove rocks, roots and other sharp things.
3. Put a layer of something over the soil to create a cushion between the rubber liner that was to come and the pebbles and stuff below it. I used newspaper circulars -- tons of them. Created many layers and then moistened them, creating a cushion that hugged the pond bottom.
4. Lay down a flexible pond liner from a home store over the pond hole and push it down as much as possible.
5. Do not trim the liner!!!! Instead, fill the thing with water. The water is so heavy it pushes the liner deeper into the hole and its ledges, until they are snug together. That uses up more of the liner.
6. Check to see if you need to bolster any low places in the pond edge.
7. Now, trim the liner to within about a foot or so of the pond edge.
8. Install rocks over the lip of the liner to disguise it and naturalize the project.
9. Put water plants down in the pond and rest them on the ledges, or down in the center deep section.
10. Finish up the liner trimming and make it look like the pond has always been there.
11. DO NOT PUT ANY FISH IN AT THIS POINT!
12. Purchase some floating plants -- I recommend water lettuce. Don't use water hyacinth. It is an invasive and I think it might actually be illegal.
13. When the floating plans begin to put on new growth, now you can probably put some goldfish -- something small and inexpensive -- down in the pond.

Ok, back to the point. I put this pond together on a warm April day or two. On the night I finished, I filled it with water and put a pond light down in the water (ground-fault interrupter circuit, please). I then heard, for the first time, toads croaking through the bedroom window, right out there near the pond. I looked out there and two toads were, um, conjoined, and hanging on for dear life to one of the plants. I could not believe it.

They knew the water was there and just went for it. They next day, there was a long, transparent tube of toad eggs wrapped around the plant in several circles. Soon there were tadpoles, and more toads, and more toads, and more.

Seriously, on any given night there could be 15 toads out there. And all of them would be singing at the same time. Later, after becoming an Arkansas Master Naturalist and nerding out on things like the Herps of Arkansas website, I figured out that they were Fowler's Toads. They make a sound like "Roaaaarrrrrrrrk!" They will call back and forth with that song, with slight variations in pitch and tone. I want you to hear this song right now. So click on http://www.herpsofarkansas.com/wiki/uploads/Frog/AnaxyrusFowleri/DS300037.mp3

Imagine 15 of those? This went on through all of the spring, and just about all of the summer. In summer, we were the only water in town. Every toad in a square-mile area seemed to know our place. In early to mid springs, I would see literally hundreds of small toads hopping around the yard. I could barely step without nudging one. On February when I started my gardening, I would dig one up -- alive.

This went on for years. I kept a nature journal of the Hillcrest home, and I recorded the first time I would hear a toad on the pond each year. About four years later, I noticed that the toads were late by about 10 days. I was...concerned? So, that night about 10 o'clock, I went out, and, to the best of my ability, did the toad mating call. I sort of surprised myself. "Damn, I'm good at this," I thought. "If this job doesn't work out I could always-"

No time for that nonsense. From 30 feet away, my plaintiff call was answered. "Roaaarrrrrrrk!" I called back, and my love song was reciprocated as the toad hopped a few feet closer. Again, with feeling, and now the toad was steadily moving in. And again. And again. And now another toad is coming, and now, they two of them are presumably forging a love connection. And here comes a third. It's an embarrassment of croaking riches.

Many nights, I would sit out and sing to the toads. I doubt the neighbors ever divined that one of the toads went about 190 pounds and six feet, wartless, clean-shaven and smelling of Safari and citronella.

A year or so later, we had a theater cast party themed completely around the toads. We made party posters with little toads. I highlighted my calling skills. Predictably and sadly, no one was impressed.

When I left that house, I left that little pond behind, but I knew there would be other toads, other ponds. When I built my new pond at Kanis Village, my ex-wife was kind enough to let me dig up some iris from the yard to use around my little body of water. She moved a couple of years later, and, in an act of treason, the people who bought the house filled in the pond.

***

Honestly, the old pond was kind of a pain. It had a waterfall and a pump, and a light under the water. The electrical stuff would short out during heavy rains somehow, and the pump would go out once a year. At the new house, I went simple: no pump, no light, no waterfall. This one would be a pure frog pond. A little algae, some lilly pads, some native plants, and the azaleas I transplanted from the front yard.

The simple approach has been marvelous. Last year, among other critters, I hosted a green frog -- a big green sucker with a call like a loose banjo string: http://www.herpsofarkansas.com/wiki/uploads/Frog/LithobatesClamitans/DS300036.mp3

This year, the so-far-unknown frog/toads are not yet telling me their calls.

A few nights ago, off in the distance, I heard the lonely call of the Fowler's Toad. Something stirred within me. I looked back at my family in the living room, and across the yard to my neighbor's deck. Ah, heck.  "Roaaarrrrrk!" I called back. "Roaaaaarrrrrrrrkkkkk!!"  Not this time. Too many trees between us. Safe travels, I thought. Perhaps another pond and time.