CWBC: The Miracle of the Toads

Today I write as a contributor to the Christian Writers Blog Chain. Our theme this month—Memory.  

This story comes from my childhood, spent in the backwoods of the Northern Florida Panhandle. Some names have been changed to protect the, ahem, not-so-innocent.

; -) ; -) ; -)

The Miracle of the Toads

In my childhood my parents often gathered with friends, family, and an aging preacher named Andrew on Friday evenings for Bible-study and prayer. Living in the Sandhills of the Florida Panhandle, my cousin, my sister, and I entertained ourselves for the duration of the prayer meetings in characteristic country-kids fashion.

It was on a sultry night during one such prayer meeting, that we had an idea. You must understand, when we, ‘had an idea’, things rarely proved well for those involved.

On the Florida Panhandle Fowler's toads abound. Around April the toads emerge in seeming droves, launching their black-edged bodies through Wiregrass and over gopher tortoise hills. Their intent? An unequivocal attack. Striped like skunks and croaking in a throaty Mae West-like whurrrrrr, the toads assume center stage in a nocturnal feast of Pineywoods insects.

That night beneath the quiet rustle of pine, Fowler’s toads slurped the doomed insects and nighthawks, whom we referred to as bull bats, swooped on the evening breeze.

It was a typical warm-weather night.

It was a good night to catch Fowler’s toads.

And so we did.  

As we chased the toads in all directions, catching and counting them, we dropped them into a large trashcan. Surprise brightened our faces, when we saw how quickly the spotty amphibians covered the bottom of the trashcan. We thought, why not play a practical joke on the company. We had enough toads to use as the punch line, after all.

We hatched a plot.

Night veiled the sky but an increasing moon drove away the shadows, granting us a clear view of our target.

Preacher Andrew’s van.

A Volkswagen van.

It stood like an old soldier, rusted at the edges and battered in avocado green and white. No doubt Preacher Andrew felt much the same after a life dedicated to church folks.

Listening to the wind rattle the Blackjack oaks behind us, we huddled close together and crept near, ducking our mutinous heads beneath the glow cast by the sluggish security light and the occasional bull bat bent on testing us for food.

Arriving at the van, still casting furtive glances over our shoulders, we creaked open the sliding door. With the door yawning wide, we tipped the trashcan of toads into the van. Fowler’s toads tumbled across the floor. We slammed the door shut and let out a collective breath.

A poignant silence followed.

“Oh, blast,” Cousin James said, his tight dishwater blond curls dancing at his temples.

My sister, Debbie, swept her blue gaze over the van. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done that. The toads are gon’a peeeee everywhere!”

That particular scenario hadn’t entered my mind.

Standing on the tiptoes of my bare feet, I peered through the van’s sliding door window. A mass of leaping, no doubt peeing, toads met my eyes. My mind cried, we’ve desecrated Preacher Andrew’s van. We’re going to go to Hell!

I squatted low, and my accomplices followed suit. We stared at one another, wide-eyed and guilt-ridden.

“It was yer idea, buzzard neck,” James said with an accusatory glance narrowed on me.

My toes dug into the soft sand. I rubbed my un-buzzard like neck and looked away.

“We’ve gotta get ‘em out!” Debbie stood and peeked around the van toward the house’s sleepy front porch. “Before the prayer meetin’ ends.”

It was then the toads protested.

In deep nasally voices they shrieked as one voice, “Whur-r-r-ee-e-r!”

One singing toad is a fine sound; several toads’ voices an enjoyment. But when an entire Volkswagen van filled with insulted Fowler’s toads launches a protest the sound they generate reverberates into the heavens.

“Fine!” I leapt to my feet and clicked open the van’s sliding door. “Let’s get ‘em out.”

We crawled inside the van and collected as many of the toads as our little hands could manage. Hearing the prayer meeting come to a close at the house, we had no choice but to beat a hasty retreat to the backyard. Disappointment weighed us down as we freed the few toads we’d succeeded in recapturing. We listened to Preacher Andrew crank up and putter down the pig trail road. No screams of terror broke the night’s insect serenade. We assumed all was well.

To this day, I’m certain I heard a distinct, whur-r-r-ee-e-r come from an open window as that old Volkswagen trekked around a distant curve cut into the pig trail road.

The three of us decided it was best to keep the Fowler’s toad incident to ourselves.

Years later, as a young adult, when I heard Preacher Andrew tell the story about the mysterious and rather miraculous appearance of toads in his Volkswagen van, I nodded and listened intently.

“God is sovereign,” Preacher Andrew said, settling a deliberate look on me.

“Amen.” I smiled.

~~~Some things you just have to laugh about. The Fowler Toad Incident is one of those things in my life.

After all, the Bible tells us that

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones. (Proverbs 17:22, KJV)

Stephanie Boles

Author of the Called to His Purpose series
Writing is my ministry, not my job

Want to hear the call of the Fowler’s Toad? Follow this link. It sounds like home to me.

http://www.herpsofnc.org/herps_of_NC/anurans/Buffow/Buf_fow.html

If you would like to have a toad as a pet, I’ve added a link to an article detailing how to catch and keep toads. They make excellent pets. I love toads!

Catching and Keeping Toads http://therealowner.com/reptiles-amphibians/catching-and-keeping-toads/

August’s blog chain theme at ChristianWriter’s.com is—Memory. Click on the appropriate date and read what my friends have to say about ‘Memory.’

Christian Writers Monthly Blog Chain List: August

8/1:
8/2:
8/3: Bill Jones, I Was Thinking the Other Day
8/4: Chris Stachura, Recovery Along Route 66
8/5: Christine Henderson, http://thewritechris.blogspot.com/
8/6:
8/7: Tracy Krauss, Expression Express
8/8: Carol Peterson, From Carol's Quill
8/9:
8/10:
8/11: Deborah K. Anderson, Faith, Fiction, & Unvarnished Truth
8/12: Lynn Mosher, Heading Home
8/13: Nona King, Spirit Driven Fiction
8/14: Chris Vonada, I'm Just Thinkin'
8/15: Terrie Thorpe,Light for the Journey
8/16: Kristena Tunstall, Mommy’s Angel In Heaven
8/17: Joseph Lalonde, J.M. Lalonde
8/18: Keith Wallis, wordsculptures
8/19:
8/20:
8/21: SandiGrace, Heart Gazer
8/22: Victor Travison, Lightwalker's View
8/23:
8/24:
8/25: Traci Bonney, Tracings
8/26:
8/27: Nona King, Word Obsession
8/28: Chris Stachura, Recovery Along Route 66
8/29: Carol Peterson, From Carol's Quill
8/30: Heather C. King, Room to Breathe
8/31: Jacky Brown, JayBees Blog