A Frog Pond Nighthawk

Vol. 90, March 5th, 2024 Published a day early online

Looking for Frogs

The barnboard clattered drearily down the hill. I’m saving it for woodworking projects, but as the evening drew on, it seemed symbolic of the worst parts of adulthood: clinging to moldy, nail-ridden stuff for eventual use, shuffling it around for better storage.

The tiny frogs tuned up and sang a deafening chorus in the pond thirty yards away, and finally caught my attention.

I stopped sorting, and went to the neighbors. Their little granddaughter was visiting. “Do y’all want to go look for frogs?” I asked. “They’re singing in the pond.”

Poor grandpop’s arm got twisted into joining the expedition, and soon we all crept along through the grass, trying to find the Spring Peepers. Gran saw the first one, small, brown, camouflaged. We gently passed him around, and let him go.

“You know, when I was about your age, mom took me looking for frogs on a rainy March evening” I told the little girl. “It was the best thing.” We continued our search, finding a big ol’ toad and a few more peepers as the pond rang with a spring symphony.

The first stars of the evening sparkled in a clear sky, and the world was real again. It was good to see it. It was good to be in it.

Chillin’ with my Peeps

The Spring Peeper is the official musician of spring ‘round here. The tiny frogs sing through the night to impress the ladies.

Happy Birthday, Steinway & Sons

Heinrich Steinweg (later Henry Steinway) founds his piano company in his NYC home on this day, 1853, creating a legend.

Song of the Week

“Appalachian Spring” (Aaron Copland) The 1944 ballet created for Martha Graham nabbed Copland the Pulitzer Prize for music, and was later arranged for the orchestra.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Carol Stuart sends us a word: “Ill”, mountain slang for grumpy. “Watch out, Sally is downright ill today, don’t ask to borrow anything.”

Quote of the Week

“It does not take a majority to prevail...but rather an irate, tireless minority, keen on on setting brushfires of freedom in the minds of men.” –Samuel Adams

(The Boston Massacre happened today, 1770)

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Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #176)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: Pieces of the Sun

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Man, I’ve been overcooking my brain. I read a book last week by Havel called The Power of the Powerless. He was former political prisoner under Communism and eventually became president of the Czech Republic. The book talks about what to do when facing a broken society with an overwhelming system. He wrote it under intense police state harassment, but it applies to all systems, democracy included. It seems to be exactly right about what’s happening today. Most of it went over my head, but one thing that stuck was this:

“His revolt is an attempt to live within the truth.”

The other night, after a rained-out astronomy club meeting, I headed home–and the skies cleared. (Of course.) The moon floated through the clouds, and lit my way over the mountains. It was a good time to think.

The world seems vast at night, and the road endless. I flew by sleeping houses with their porch lights burning, and the occasional streetlamp spilling a pool of orange light into the darkness. High above, the moon watched from the midnight sky, like a giant nightlight, or my conscience.

From what I gather, if a person realizes that they’re playing a stupid game, and stop, choosing instead to go look for how to live a good life, things change in ways we can’t understand.

According to Havel, the truth is the bedrock of this. (Not to be confused with the “brutally honest” crowd, which is, ironically, a polite, dishonest excuse for “rude.”)

I drove along, past more sleeping houses, racing the moon south. I always like seeing the lamps in the windows and the gas station signs keeping watch through the long night. They draw me like a moth, but I don’t know why.

Maybe they’re like the truth we tell during tough times, little bits of the sun keeping watch until the dawn breaks, guiding us home through the fog.

There’s something else about the porch lights and headlights: they show that darkness exists, that there’s the opposite of that, and that darkness can be driven away. When I was a teenager, I shared a room with my brother. He would get up early and do something productive with his day, while I preferred to sleep late. His good action would show me my laziness, shattering the illusion that what I was doing was okay–a lit sign in the night showing a choice.

I’ve been telling the truth more, and saying what I think. It feels like a small candle, but with each truth (often uncomfortable, and not “smart”), it gets a little brighter.

This seems quaint, a little cliché of “just be kind.” But it’s not. I spoke with an audience of my senior citizen friends yesterday. The conversation went sideways, landing in the weeds of the World. I told them exactly what I thought (and about this idea, too). We all sat there, staring at each other. Something had happened. Something had changed. And it wasn’t only me.

Keep shining.

Catch you on the flip side,

Josh