Monday, 9 March 2015
...frogspawn. I get really excited if I manage to see any at this time of year, because it brings back so many memories.
As a country child, I had frogspawn. In jam jars, in tanks, wherever I could find to put it. I loved watching all those tiny full stops growing into commas, and then into minute frogs. If I missed the frogspawn, I would catch the read-made tadpoles with one of those white nets, taking them home in a jam jar with a string handle. Sometimes, the tadpole jar got knocked over, and believe me, trying to picky up slippery, wriggling tadpoles in time to save them is a tricky job. It's a real race against the clock.
My mother wasn't impressed. She also had to put up with newts, which escaped, and (when I was very small) snails, which I put in a bucket under my bed and which all got out in the night.
A local friend has just emailed to tell me the frogspawn has arrived in her pond, and I'm welcome to come and help myself. I probably won't, as I have no pond to release them into when they're bigger, but I have to admit that I'm sorely tempted.