I used to help my dad, who was part of the Volunteer Fire department of Kirksville, Indiana. One of the people that were part of the department was a local farmer. He no longer farmed when I met him, he ran the nudist camp — the largest of such camps in Southern Indiana. One day we were putting up tables after a bake sale/food event. He told me the following story about a bullfrog. It is a story I remember to this day. It also fits, with the pictures today loosely. But mostly the story was sparked by Lado’s Green post of a green Frog! Let me set the stage, as I stated we were cleaning up tables. The person telling the story was the provider of a flatbed truck we stacked the tables on.
We were folding tables and putting them on the truck when the food crew came over with leftovers for us to have for lunch. We sat down on the benches at the edge of the gym. The old farmer, now Nudist Camp owner, began talking about when he was younger. By the time of the story, he was probably in his 70s. The last time I had hung out with that crew, he was the person that told me one of my all-time favorite lines. “When I started late, I got there late.” That line remains one that I have applied to my life but also have thought about and considered for many years. It is true after all when you start late you will always arrive late unless you find a way to save time!
Anyway, on this particular day, it was the story that riveted me. I will paraphrase the story, and it was more than a half-hour in its original format. I will use quotes to show the story, but it is not his words. Those are lost to history. “When I was young we had just built the old farmhouse. My dad and I spent the summer building the farmhouse. It was on the hill at the farm, at the bottom of the hill was a pond. My window, it was the summer, was open and faced the hill and the pond. Every night a bullfrog kept me awake. Finally, after what must have been two weeks of not being able to sleep, I decided to do something. That night as that bullfrog began to croak, I took my .22 out and mid crock, shot him dead.”
No thoughts on the veracity of the story, although knowing the person it probably wasn’t true and knowing the old farmhouse location and the pond in question that would have been a 500 yard shot in the dark with a .22. To say I doubt it is probably an understatement.