The hot Folgers in my favorite blue mug is most welcome this morning. The temperature is nineteen degrees! No snow to mask the stark cold, just plain frigid, freeze your toenails weather! Not my favorite thing, but like a child with her security blanket, I light the fireplace, brew a pot of coffee, and turn on lights to push back the unsavory side of winter.
This is a season when nature rests; at least, part of it does. Those trees that look bleak and dead are only relaxing after a summer of supplying the world with oxygen, shade and beauty. Bears and groundhogs are hibernating. Shouldn’t we be doing the same? Oh, I don’t mean literally sleeping all winter, but perhaps enjoying the fruits of a hard-working spring, summer, and fall. Only thing is, society isn’t geared to resting much.
Speaking of animals hibernating reminds me of a toad that once lived in the terrarium in my kindergarten room. Someone found this particular toad one fall, captured the hapless little fellow and brought him to me. The children and I put dirt in a large glass container, stuck in a few sticks and grass and such to make him feel at home, a container of water, in case he got thirsty, put in a few tasty flies and small bits of hamburger, and enjoyed having an amphibian in our classroom. Sad to say, when I closed my doors for a two-week Christmas vacation, my thoughts were on many things but the toad was not among them. I forgot to leave out water and food. I forgot the toad. When classes resumed in January, I glanced around my room and saw the terrarium. Guilt hit me full-force. The toad! Oh, the poor little fellow, alone in the cold, empty room with no food or water for two whole weeks. Cautiously, I tiptoed to look into his glass prison. Only the top of his brown head protruded above the dirt. The rest of him was buried. Gently, I lifted him out. He had shrunk! He was gray and shriveled and wrinkled. He looked lifeless and his water dish was dry. Feeling remorseful, I poured water into the container, put the toad down beside it and wondered how I was going to break the news to my kindergarteners. Then, fickle person that I am, I got busy with the day and, once again, forgot the toad. A few hours later, I remembered and glanced over at the glass cage. There, sitting in his water dish, was Toad, nicely plumped out and seemingly quite pleased with life. It looked to me as if he had soaked up the water through his wrinkled skin and once again was the fat fellow I used to know. So, I suppose he had hibernated and hadn’t needed food or water for a couple of weeks. I don’t remember the toad’s fate after that but I hope he had a happy life. Toads, if they don’t meet with disaster, can live for many years. Is it possible that he is still hopping around in the summer, ridding the world of obnoxious insects and sleeping comfortably through these cold months? Does he gather his great-grandchildren around and tell them about his adventure in an Oklahoma kindergarten room? Could be.
I like stories with happy, surprise endings and the tale of the toad is one of them. He taught this teacher a lesson on amphibious habits and the correct way to handle less than ideal circumstances–just take a nap. Things will look a lot better when I wake up!
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