What's the whole deal with frogs?
It’s time to take reader questions! I’m pleased that since launching Frog’s Glen I’ve received several. The top question to date is:
Q. Why the frog theme? Is that the English translation of the valley you’re in?
Second part, first. It is not the name of this valley. Centuries ago this area was named much more auspiciously “Where the Gods congregate.” (Not bad!)
Frog’s Glen is the name we have given to the house we built here. Our first Spring spent in this valley compelled us to work something in about frogs.
When we purchased the land and all through the house’s build in late 2022, we had only visited during daytimes to do various checks and sign-offs. All we saw were grasses and bamboo and we heard no funny sounds. It was only after staying several nights in April this year that we realized that oh boy do we have company out here.
If you know anything about frogs, evenings are when these amphibians can’t shut up.
I started noticing a faint croaking in the dusks in the first week of April. Each day as the sky dimmed, there was a relaxing sound of “some frogs” speaking in the distance. By the middle of that month, however, it was a CACOPHONIC RACKET of frogs hopping, humping, and hatching everywhere.
“Where the Gods congregate” wasn’t a meeting place for holy spirits. Rather, it was teeming with howling frogs that had spawned in the rice paddies.
One day during frog-spawning season Toru and I were walking the dog through the paddies. We noticed sizable white foam balls floating in the water in each rice field. They were the size of softballs I’d say.
We asked Mr. Senno, the town’s farming equipment supplier, who happened to be working nearby. “Oh these?” he asked. “They’re frog eggs—each one contains hundreds of tadpoles!” He fished one out of the water and placed it on the road before us, then broke it open with a stick. Yup, tons of still-inert tadpoles waiting for their turns to swim away free.
Early frog life seems to happen in the paddies, at least for the first few weeks. By May, the frogs emerge from the water and begin hopping over the roads, crawling up walls, and taking up residence in people’s gardens. Our yard seems to be a particularly popular destination.
The frogs here are bright green. An overseas friend saw a picture and told me our guests were “tree frogs.” I think he’s technically right, but the Japanese people—for somewhat obvious reasons—say they are “rice field frogs.”
Both Toru and I see our green friends primarily as bug hunters—critical allies as we fashion a life in the sticks. “You go, kids,” I tell them, “feast on all these nasty flying things and please never stop.”
I currently count at least 40 living permanently in our garden as well as on our south-facing walls and window sashes. We have found them sunning in the car’s grillwork as well as along the top of the wisteria arbor.
The valley is of course a living ecosystem, so the frogs don’t have free run out there. Shirasagi (white egrets) regularly stalk the rice paddies lunching on frogs and tadpoles, and I believe the tombi (kites) also swoop in for meals. I love the birds but can’t help rooting for the frogs’ survival.
Just a quick note on the choice of the word glen. I’ve always loved the word “hollow,” like where Ichabod Crane lives. But I’ve actually never known what a glen or a hollow was nor if they were different from each other. Webster’s tells me a hollow is a small, narrow valley surrounded by mountains, while a glen is the same thing but surrounded by hills.
We are definitely a glen. And while I toyed with ignoring that pesky fact and force-naming the house Frog’s Hollow, I realized that Japanese would struggle. I would spend the next decade patiently explaining that our home is not Frog’s Hello.
Do you have a question for Frog’s Glen? Mail me here at japannews5@protonmail.com
A month long amphibian gang bang.