A Naif in the Forest by Darrell Berger

Wing Tips to Hiking Boots: Musings of a New, Full-Time Poconos Resident

This is a Fowler’s Toad. We know it is a toad and not a frog, because it has short, thick legs that seem to squat, and warts, while frogs’ legs are longer, thinner and smooth. The name comes from Samuel Fowler, a Massachusetts naturalist who lived from 1800-1888. 

Having a toad, or any animal named after you, is quite an honor. There are strict rules about naming, among them that nothing rude or vulgar is allowed. Also, one may not name a plant or animal after one’s self, which is considered selfish and crude. 

Fowler’s toads are small, two or three inches long. Their call sounds something like the bleat of a sheep and lasts up to four seconds. After a rainy summer evening a female may lay as many as twenty-five thousand eggs at once. 

For several years I sprayed a concoction of 30% vinegar on the many invasive plants that constantly encroach my part of the forest. The thing I hated most about spraying is these frogs ran away, sometimes in pain, as they could not always avoid the spray. I tried not to think about this collateral damage and focused on the greater good of conquering the invasion of the stilt grass. 

It took a few years, but I finally got it. The spray wasn’t working. It killed the tops but not the roots. The plants kept coming. I had injured, perhaps killed, toads and other little creatures in the interest of my garden hegemony. 

No more. I will now pull the offending plants out by the roots, one by one, hour by hour. I will prevail. Maybe. 

What I will not do is hurt any more toads. I took this photo knowing the worst I was doing is disturbing a nap. I am happy they have no more reason to run from me, or be scared away by my approach. 

It is good to quit doing harm, especially when that harm is rationalized as necessary to maintain dominance. It is better to live with than to live over.