or
Feared
Creatures
Up
the Lake was situated deep in the mountainous woods of NY, allowing many local
beasts to leave eternal impressions on those of us who resided there.
Classic
human trauma is usually associated with spiders and snakes. Naturally, these were frequently encountered.
Spiders tended to have time shares in all of the living quarters, and a snake
once had a regular enough pattern in its life to earn the nickname "Five
O'clock Charlie" for its daily aquatic crossings of the swimming area.
The
classics were only just the tip of the iceberg, though.
The
small rodent, which holds the title of the other most common panic inducing
creature in humans, also taught us several lessons:
My
Grandfather learned he was incorrect in telling someone that mice cannot climb,
as one ran across the top beam in the kitchen as he finished his declaration.
My
Dad learned that no matter how much you plug up the little holes, the mice can
still get in if the floor has pulled away from the back wall by more than three
inches.
Nick
learned to look inside barbecues and umbrellas before opening them for the
first time in the summer. Not performing
this pre check allowed the former mousey residents to run down his arm, and
allowed a delightful series of noises and unprintable words to run out of Nick.
Finally,
I learned that the sticky traps are not more humane, because they leave you the
choice of throwing the cute little animal off the mountain to starve, or
whacking it with a shovel.
This
makes a loud, messy, staccato "eep!"
Um…so
I’ve heard.
The
magic of up the Lake however, has caused almost every person to develop a
unique relationship with one odd animal or another.
Out
of fairness, or narrative clarity, or self humiliation, I suppose I should
start with myself.
Apparently,
as a child, my mom had enough frogs thrown at her to prevent any happy bonding
from occurring. This manifested itself
in subtle ways, such as causing her to perform an Olympic level leap…
while
pregnant…
over
my aunt,
when
presented with one of the emerald beauties.
Enter
me, a confused two year old standing nearby as my mother, poised to bequeath me
her psychosis, knocked over a tree stump behind the bedroom. Although other, so called “witnesses” claim
an average sized frog hopped out which caused my mother to give a startled yell
and jump back, this is not the way my two year old mind was permanently
impacted by the events.
An
amphibian clearly large enough to star in its own Toho blockbuster leaped
forth, causing my mother to run screaming all the way to the far side of
Jupiter, abandoning me to be stared down by the horrid beast. This conveniently scarred my young mind, way
down deep in that primal, hunger, instinct, watch football part.
Therefore,
while the thinking cortex of my brain identified a harmless aquatic tetrapod,
my subconscious fired off enough adrenalin to jump start a narcoleptic's
convention.
The
only good side effect was being able to use myself as a reference in several papers
for advanced level Psychology classes.
It also still leads to the occasional humorous moment.
However,
I have almost completely replaced my youthful fearful reactions with violent
ones (so don't get any smart ideas), and usually can direct my landing - after what
the uninitiated may interpret as a startled initial leap - to be fatal to the
little buggers. Also, the somewhat less
than macho yelp has been mostly eliminated.
Mom
has also learned to deal with her phobia through judicious use of a Thor like
slam of a long handled shovel, punctuated with a, “HA!” that echoes through the
night air.
Her
lethality became so well known that her sister attempted to save one from her
shovelly wrath by tossing it “to safety” off the path. The impact it made with a tree brought my
Aunt into the kitchen on the verge of tears for her good intentions.
One
interesting adult encounter featured me in the role of “less than ideal
protector.”
When
my cousin Lauren was a teenager, she mentioned being watched by a devil frog
around our campsite. We got used to going with the flow of statements like this
from anyone up there. Separation from
civilization does things to people.
She
wished to go retrieve some evening essentials from the cabin, and didn't want
to face the demon alone; she asked me, and her similarly teenaged friend Ashley
to return with her.
Having
established ourselves as the absolute worst possible entourage to meet a frog
from the pits of hell, we went on our way.
As
we reached the space in the old rock wall that served as one entrance to the
campsite, there sat a toad blocking the way - easily as big as my head.
It
was dark, OK?
Based
on its appearance at night, Lauren's original contention, and a recently aired
episode of South Park, we decided that it must be "the Nocturnal Mexican
Staring Frog of Southern Sri Lanka of Satan.”
We used this title as often as possible over the weekend, mostly to
annoy people.
As
usual with us, it was very effective.
Tossing
a couple poorly aimed rocks (due to the fact that I wasn't looking directly at
it) proved ineffective. My blind aim was
not aided by the fact that every time I threw one, the girls would scream and
attempt to jump on my shoulders. Its
immobility during this period of chaos and confusion led us to the realization
that it was a stubborn one.
It
should be noted that the last stubborn frog on record was down the Lake when
“Little Rich” was appropriately still little.
All the kids were throwing pebbles at it, but it refused to move until
Rich picked up one of the auxiliary blocks from Stonehenge. With a determined statement of, "I'll
make him jump," he encased the creature deeply enough in the mud to be toasty warm from the magma at the Earth's core.
Finally,
when we realized our warty friend wasn't leaving before dawn, and refusing to
give up the quest for flashlights, bug spray and sweatshirts, I started lobbing
boulders at it, like the Cyclops attacking Odysseus. (How’s that for a literate
analogy amidst this mass of stupidity?)
My
efficiency increased by using Ashley's brother Joe, attracted by the slightly
higher than normal levels of screaming, as an artillery spotter.
Finally,
one rock smacked into the stone the toad was on with a loud crack, placing el
frogo in a granite Panini. This brought much excitement to Joe, as he
chattered happily, something about twitching and eyeballs, I believe.
Hey,
you all hacked 'em up in biology class, so cut me some slack.
We
then safely entered the cabin, retrieved the Lake Evening Essentials Collection,
and walked back to Ashley and Joe's, making sure to take the long way around
the cabin, just in case.
The
next morning, armed with a shovel as close in length to the Union Pacific
railroad line as I could find, I lifted the new rock pile, intending to clean
up the probable mess. There was
absolutely no sign of the Nocturnal Mexican Staring Frog of Southern Sri Lanka
of Satan.
DUN
DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!
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