Tag Archives: Frogs


21 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites


In 1965, when Bill got a job at the Kennedy Space Center, we moved with our two children 2,564.5 miles from the Los Angeles area to Titusville, Florida. Fortunately, our few possessions went in a moving van paid for by Bill’s company. 

Florida was to become a whole new adventure for all of us. One of our first experiences occurred when we had not yet reached our destination. 

Most of the journey from Orlando to Titusville was on an uneven asphalt road through a Tarzan-like jungle.  What we didn’t know was that we’d soon be passing over a cement bridge that covered the expansive St John’s River marsh. Lightning crackled, and thunder shook our world.Our car’s headlights were the only bits of light in sight. We hadn’t seen where the bridge began, and once we were on it, we couldn’t see where it ended. To increase the sense of dread, frogs began to pop up all around our now creeping vehicle. We knew we were squashing them under our tires, but there was nothing we could do. Fortunately, the children didn’t wake up until the next morning at the motel. Bill reported to work at the space center the next day, and the children and I went out to explore.


Three weeks later, we found a fine new house and moved into it. Once again, we were inundated with frogs. This time they splacked themselves on our glass patio doors and got busy gorging on the moths and mosquitos that were attracted to the light inside the house. We had begun to look up things and talk to neighbors about the wild-life and found that these were Green Tree Frogs. We could see that they had gold stripes running along their sides. I fancied that it was real gold because God likes to make our world as beautiful and authentic as possible. 

The frogs didn’t bother us. We got used to their sounds. After a rain, we could hear them out in the woods singing. They had sopranos, tenors, and bass singers. It started like a concert and ended like one, too. 

One evening we had folks over for supper, and the gentleman of the pair wanted to go out the patio doors into the back yard to look around. We let him out, but when he returned and tried to slide the door open again, a good-sized frog plopped down onto his head. I imagine the frog was as startled as the man. But I was embarrassed! Anyway, he brushed the frog off, and it all became a funny memory. 

For a while, people who move to Florida are called transplants. People who have homes here and homes in other states get the name of snow-birds because they come here to stay warm.  If they enjoy Florida, they make friends with the “Crackers,” that are already hereReal crackers, though, are families who have have been here for at least five generations or longer. I love my native friends and feel many bonds with them after all these years. Thank you, Lord, for transplanting us.

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

To Kill or Not to Kill

25 Aug

My Take

DiVoran Lites


Author, Poet and ArtistWhile Jay, the owner of the pest control company (a sweet, older gentleman, who has been around for a long time) was here, we asked him if he’d consider taking away the Cuban tree frog that lives in our shedlette and dispose of it for us, but he said regretfully he couldn’t. I didn’t hear the reason, he was talking to Bill then. But later he wanted to talk to me about it. He had answers but none of them would suffice.

“Throw a towel over it, catch it, and let it loose in the woods.

“Can’t do that, it’s an exotic.”

“There’s lots of woods around here.”

“It will breed and take over more territory.”

“Oh in that case it will have to be …” I wish I could recall his euphemism for killed.”


We really shouldn’t let it live. Billy, my ecologist son, and I have been discussing for years what to do with it. Another man he knows has a system for getting rid of them. We discussed taking it to him, but my grandchildren begged us not to. We wouldn’t have anyway, that’s the big problem, really, we can’t kill things.

Known to take food and territory from native flora or fauna, an exotic is a plant or animal that came from somewhere else. Sometimes they prey on the natives which further diminishes their numbers. In this case, the Cuban tree frog is helping destroy our beautiful little green frogs with the gold racing stripes live here. When we moved to Florida in 1965 the green ones were all over our porch slab. They clung to the sliding glass patio doors like suction ornaments. People had to watch their heads when they stepped out because the frogs were known to drop unexpectedly. Now we rarely see one, it’s not all the Cuban tree frog’s fault, pollution has done its worst.

Because of the Endangered Species Act (ESA), The National Wildlife Federation has three categories for plants and animals, 1. Extinct, 2. Endangered, and 3. Threatened. There is also a designation called Critical Habitat. Without the proper places to live and eat, any animal can become f threatened.

I didn’t have to explain all of that to Jay. He knew what exotic meant. He knew about ecology. He said, “I see what you mean.” I’ll be interested to find out what you’ve decided to do.

We may leave the frog out there, he’s been out there since he was a quarter of the size he is now. The thing is, he keeps waking me up with his far-carrying wee-hours croaking. If it were steady I could probably ignore it, but it’s not. It’s a continual call that gets you fully awake and then it stops long enough for you to go back to sleep. Once you do that it starts again. I do have earplugs. And I do have a conscience about plotting murder in the night, so I end telling Jay I’ve decided the Cuban can stay. I wonder how long they live. He has every kind of protection in the shedlette — plenty of bugs to eat, and perhaps a green tree frog for dessert.




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