
We have every color of the rainbow in an exuberant display in our garden, and sprinkled throughout the flowers are numerous statues of irreverent frogs.
Joe’s heritage is French, and I always tease him that the frogs must have some sort of significance that way. Most of our frogs are characters we pick up at our local flea market, and several of them started out their lives as heavy iron banks: their mouths are really slots for coins.
I never think of myself as a “chatchky” type of person, but I have to admit I’ve come to be enamoured of our frogs. Joe has been the whimsical instigator of their proliferation around the yard. You’ll come around a corner of a garden bed and there they’ll be, peeking up at you. You can’t help but smile to see them.
Joe is 13 years older than I am, but I think the frogs speak volumes about his child-like nature. “What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails, and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of.” (author unknown)
RIBBET.
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