It was the Sunday of Columbus Day weekend, and I was out on the deck trying to get a few chores done before the rain arrived.
I cleaned the leaves out of the gutters by the front door, used a leaf blower to get the fallen leaves off the deck, and then I decided to finally bring my calla lilies into the house after their long summer outside.
They, too, were full of leaves that had fallen from the cottonwood tree, and I started the process of removing them.
I grabbed one handful of wet leaves after another, going about the whole business like a robot, when all of a sudden I noticed that one handful contained a soft, mushy blob that was moving. My mammalian brain instantly snapped back to life, and I let out a somewhat undignified, “yah-ha!”
What in the name of Darwin was that?
I placed the flowerpot down on the patio table and poked around for an answer. Eventually, I found what I was looking for, but even then I didn’t immediately recognize it for what it was. Only a second, closer look revealed it to be a little frog.
I actually laughed out loud at the fact that my emotions had changed so quickly from alarm to curiosity, amusement and finally, affection. I had found a gray treefrog (Hyla versicolor).
A well-known species of our northeastern woodlands, the gray treefrog is most often detected by its delightful song. My best description of this sound is as a high-pitched purring sound that you could imitate by saying the word “purr” while rolling the “r.” The resulting “purr-r-r-r-r-r” has the correct rhythm, but there is no human vocal chord I am familiar with that can match the amphibian’s actual tone.
The particular individual that I found was most likely a female. There is little dimorphism between the sexes, but male gray treefrogs are said to have a dark throat patch, and the frog in my flowerpot was certainly lacking this mark. Other than that, the sexes are very similar. About two inches in length and quite plump, the frog’s large eyes, bluntly rounded snout and broad mouth give if a wonderfully charming appearance.
That particular quality has not been overlooked by other people who have crossed paths with gray treefrogs.
In her wonderful book, “The Frog Book,” Mary Dickerson paints a picture of this frog with words of adoration. Instead of hiding by a window, the frog is “snuggling in the corner.” In her words, “his bright eyes, his confiding way, all his diminutive self, make a genuine appeal to our liking.” I was even surprised to read that she also heard the “purr” in the frog’s call. Dare I say that great minds think alike?
The frog’s skin is covered with blotches of light gray and darker gray that give it the appearance of lichen-covered tree bark. The only bright colors on this species are sunflower-yellow patches located on the inner surfaces of the legs. I managed to get my little friend to cooperate for a moment while I took a picture of this characteristic. Then, I placed her on the bark of a tree growing next to my garage and she almost disappeared.
I’ve only ever laid eyes on a gray treefrog four or five times in my life. The species is arboreal and rarely comes down to the ground. When I have managed to see one it has always been by accident — when I was working on some little chore or another and just happened to notice a small, motionless blob that didn’t quite fit in. How many, I wonder, have I overlooked?
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.