The night I brought the tadpoles in and put them in deep cool rainwater from my rainbarrel, I slept better than I had in weeks. Who lies awake at night worrying about a couple hundred tadpoles? Me, apparently. I mean, that wasn't all I was worrying about. I've been worrying about what is going to happen if it never rains again this summer. Every single time a storm line would form, it would dry up and dissipate before it hit us. Every time. Week after week, the storms would form, they'd predict rain, and it would not happen. I realized that, with the land so parched and dry, there was no moisture to give any feedback to the clouds. So when a storm front hits this tinder-dry air, it simply dries up. Even Hurricane Debby split, and part swung west and north of us, and part swung east, and we got not a drop from her. Brother Bob, who'd been just as parched in Virginia, got five inches. I was glad for him.
It feels very strange to wish for another hurricane, as destructive as they are, but I find myself wishing for a hurricane.
The next morning I got up, looked in the pools, and there, like a benediction, were two froglets poised on the leaves of the floating heart I'd put in there, hoping. Hoping someone would emerge, someday. I couldn't believe my eyes. 16 August 2024:
They were too small and delicate to be gray tree frogs. My friend Laura helped me key them out--it seemed that most of the tadpoles I had were mountain chorus frogs! This is a regional specialty with a rasping, harsh comb-tooth call. For breeding, they zero in on the saddest, most ephemeral mudpuddles and ditches you could imagine. I don't understand how they even exist on this dry old ridge, but they're out there every spring, shouting from the mudpuddles.
Here is a mountain chorus frog tadpole. Note how the tail fin is the same size on either side, not high, wide or crested, and the tail is lightly marked.
I really studied these little things, trying to figure out what they were. The mottling on the back looks pretty random. They don't have a well-defined cross like Hyla crucifer, the spring peeper.
This one comes as close to showing a cross on its back as any, but it's not strong enough for me to say it's a spring peeper. So I'm settling on mountain chorus frog. I can tell you that after a tadpole crawls out and becomes a frog, it sits there for about 24 hours just absorbing its tail before it makes a move.
Three out of 170. I wondered how long this would take, or if any more would change into frogs.
19 August, and the tadpoles are happily eating Tetra pond stix. I'm doing daily water changes, still so leery of losing them to overcrowding and foul water. I watch them like a hawk.
The more I look at them, the more I notice differences. I think this one is a gray treefrog tadpole. Its tail fin is wide and has markings on it, and it also tapers to a pin-like point with no vane around it.
Laura helps me by sending photos from her reference book on frogs and tadpoles of Ohio.
Mountain chorus frog is D, with the even vanes on its tail.
Gray tree frog is E, with the needle-tipped tail and wide well-marked tail fins.
I wanted more information, so I went back into my archives from 2010 and 2011 and 2014, when I successfully raised gray tree frog tadpoles, to look at some of those photos. (They're on the blog, too!)
These are rock-solid gray tree frog tadpoles. Look at the topmost one, showing that well marked pin-tipped tail. I knew what they were because I raised them from a flat egg mat I had gotten out of my fishpond, knowing that the fish would eat the tadpoles as they emerged.
The top left tadpole shows the gray treefrog form well.
When they metamorphosed, they looked like tree frogs. Bulkier, bigger, with big feet and legs and toe pads.
Baby gray tree frogs are something really special.
I'd been pretty sure all along that the 2024 puddle hosted more than one species. It seemed the mountain chorus frogs were metamorphosing first, though.
Next: Where Will They Go?
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