The Rare Mid-December Toad

The weather has been exceptionally mild in central Pennsylvania the past few days. Many years, we have snow on the ground by now, but so far, we've had a flurry or two here and there, but mostly just fog. This weekend, the weather was springlike - nay, almost summerlike - warm enough that it was tempting to go outdoors.

Saturday was the last day of hunting season for white-tailed deer, which meant that on Sunday, the woods belonged to ALL of us again, finally. And so my husband and I took the opportunity to enjoy the mild weather by going for a hike in Sproul State Forest, heading back to the Pine Glen campsite we have stayed at several times this year.

On our hike in, who did we encounter on the trail but this unexpected creature: a very large toad! My husband was walking in front of me, and I saw the leaves begin to roil behind him: something underneath was trying to get OUT! Much to my surprise and delight (for I am a lover of amphibians from way back when), it was a TOAD.

There was a muddy puddle not far away, and my husband suggested I pick up the toad and move it there. But - ahem! - we are talking toads here, not frogs. And my general practice is that I do not ever touch, handle, or move critters that I find in my travels unless they require some sort of assistance, or are in a precarious spot. So I did not touch the toad, though I admit I did wish for a tiny red ribbon to place on its head, in honor of the holiday season.

My husband and I spent several relaxing and peaceful hours at a favorite campsite in the deep woods. It was strange indeed to visit there without spending the night. And if rain hadn't been expected Monday, I fully believe my husband would have tried to talk me into spending Sunday night in the woods. But he didn't, and so we didn't.

Then on our hike back out to the car, I was petrified to step anywhere in the toad's section of the trail, lest I unknowingly squash the creature who had only recently become my friend. It must have been funny to watch my husband and myself, picking our way awkwardly along the trail, mincing our gait, lifting each foot up and carefully putting it down. (The ground is lava!)

But - AHA! - I was rewarded: for there was the toad again! This time, it was sitting undisturbed, looking quite peaceful and contemplative amid its little nest of leaves. I photographed it both times we saw it (the photo above is from our second visit) and then I bid it adieu.

Now, I'm sure the toad was confused by the peculiar, unseasonable warmth, as we all have been. It's supposed to be cold in December, and amphibians are supposed to be sleeping now, nestled in layers beneath the surface, dreaming sweet dreams.

So I apologize, dear toad, for disturbing you. But it was pleasant to visit with you, albeit at such an odd time of year. Hoppy holidays, my warty friend, and sweet dreams, when winter finally comes.

The tune to accompany this posting is one that celebrates the joys of summer, which it sort of - oddly - has felt like around here lately. The link is to a beautiful, acoustic rendition of the Don Henley song, Boys of Summer.