If you were a frog or toad on Indigo Hill in southeast Ohio on April 4, 2024, the world was your oyster. Anything seemed possible.
It seemed like all the water you'd ever need had fallen from the skies.
This enormous puddle filled up with American toad eggs and tadpoles. When it dried up in early May, I saved several hundred tadpoles. I tried briefly to raise them in two containers, but the tubs were overcrowded and one morning the tadpoles began to die off. I loaded a couple hundred into a pail of fresh rainbarrel water, cared for them until they revived, and took them to a ditch down in Stark Hollow, where they successfully turned into toads. I'm happy about that.
But I was chastened by the die-off, and leery of trying to raise any more tadpoles.
By mid May, it was still raining from time to time, and another puddle formed. The frogs hurried to lay their eggs again. Oh man. Tadpoles again. I knew I didn't want to take them in and risk killing them. So I made a fateful decision to try to keep the puddle filled until they changed into frogs, and marked it with a pylon on May 21 so the delivery trucks wouldn't drive through it.
Crows keyed into the puddle and the family of five that nested in my north border came each morning to walk, hunt and stab. The tadpole numbers dwindled. I found the crow tracks and put two and two together.
Adapting as always, I improvised some tadpole shelters from a couple of wire baskets, weighted with bricks. The tadpoles took to them immediately. It was the only place they had to go where the crows couldn't get them. Tadpoles aren't dumb. See the wad of tadpoles in this one?
Still going strong on 11 June. Periodic rains got farther apart, but the puddle persisted. I was happy to give my driveway over to such a collection of tadpoles. All the delivery people knew about it, and nobody ever drove through it.
By 16 June, the periodic rains had stopped. Water hauling began. Here, we've just refilled the puddle with the help of Oscar, Phoebe and my brother Bob, visiting from Virginia.
We got a shower on 24 June, only a quarter inch, but it gave me a brief respite from water hauling.
A female box turtle took up residence in another small shaded puddle in the driveway, staying there continuously for almost a month. She was trying to stay hydrated, hoping to be able to lay her eggs. It would be the worst turtle nesting season in memory. The ground was hard as a rock, but the female turtles had to dig their nests anyway. Because there was no rain, I couldn't go out to look for the females when they'd normally be digging, right after a heavy rain. So I couldn't find their nests, to cage them against predators.
Every single nest laid was predated, probably by skunks and raccoons, as soon as it was dug.
The eggs would have cooked and dried up in this ghastly summer, anyway.
Driveway Turtle got her own pylon. Nobody ran over her. I couldn't believe some predator didn't pick her off; she was there day and night. Seemed perfectly healthy, bright eyed and heavy, but tied to her puddle. She finally left when the puddle dried up in July. Phoebe found her about a half mile away on August 4. It was so good to see her again! Correction: Phoebe informs me that CURTIS found Driveway Turtle. "He went sniffing around in the ditch and when I went to look at what he had there she was!"
My hunch that she had been healthy was vindicated. She was bright eyed and heavy when Phoebe found her in August. Box turtles often sit in water when they're ailing. But these are exceptional times, so I cut her some slack. She wasn't broke, so I didn't try to fix her.
This is a Rather Large story and a huuuge post, so I'm splitting it into several pieces for your reading enjoyment.
Next: The Heat Clamps Down
0 comments:
Post a Comment