Thursday, September 24, 2009
As a 10 year old, our family spent our vacation in New Hampshire. We always stayed at my grandparent's home. Fourty five years later, it's still fresh in my mind. Digging for worms near the red chicken coup to go fishing the following day. How exciting to find the worms and to fill the green tin bait can. For surely if we have success finding worms, tomorrow will mean trout from the streams on our fishing poles.
My brother and I walked across the street to a steam to go fishing. While the fishing was fun, we had even more fun catching frogs with our bare hands. Lots of them. My Dad let us keep the frogs. Going back home, my Dad packed them on top of the car (in a big jar) with our other luggage. We transported those frogs hundreds of miles. When we got home, my brother and I walked to a creek to let the frogs go. Of course some were dead, but the rest, when released, jumped to freedom.
I know why my Dad let us bring the frogs. It was our vacation too, and he bent to my brother's and my wishes. But what was our motivation to bring the frogs home?