Man! I remember those days of waiting out in the car outside of a bar with my brother for what seemed like hours ( but no doubt were just minutes) while my parents drank. A different era, to be sure! Your love for your father - and your need to be loved back are evident in this story, Sharon. Daughters and fathers can be difficult relationships.
Absolutely different era! You’d be reported for that now. And rightfully so! But that bar was as much a part of my parents’ life, as the grocery store. It was not ideal, but not uncommon, in the 1960’s. 🤷🏻♀️
One two four many beers. Been there twice and then some. Lucky for me my daughter was tall, and wanted me to let her drive early in the day. Didn’t have her license almost hit a tree, but she drove me home after some Grizzly beers . Love daughter for being there in the Sierras for vacation days (daze).
Believe me. Remember them . 8 thousand feet elevated high gives you a buzz beyond belief. One you never forget. Even found a frog climbing up a mountain trying to reach the summit. No water around. Mystery. What is it doing there?
Frog legs and pizza are a strange combination, but probably delicious. We used to have to catch frogs for fog legs and actually named the frogs when we suffered in Wisconsin. I enjoyed this as a start of the day.
It has been a little while since I named those 'frogleg' frogs--like more or less 70 years!
BUT, that said, I do remember one particular frog. We couldn't believe how huge this guy was and so his legs didn't become a part of our dinner fare.
He was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, but my sister and I called him simply Wadsworth.
As a semi-pet, I kept Wadsworth in a huge washtub outside for several weeks.
Each day I caught several flies,m in a net and then (eeeuuu!) removed their wings, and let them loose with Wadworth.
They always disappeared within a few minutes.
He had a good two-foot-wide and six-inches deep water pond as well. Good care of animals has always been a priority for our family.
OK.
It's been 70 years. My memory of the way Wadsworth went to Frog Heaven is sketchy.
I cried and hours passed when I was unable to look at that huge washtub.
What is clear is a you-cannot-avoid-this statement from my father, "Wadsworth is no longer with us. His washtub is open. He could get eaten by an opossum or other animal. He might stink as he decays. This is YOUR choice. What would you like to do with him?"
I remember sniffling. Taking my time.
Mostly, I remember gathering my allowance pennies and nickels, giving my coins to my Dad and asking him to buy formaldehyde. He did. My mother supplie dthe 2-quart glass canning jar.
How the now-graying Wadsworth got funneled into that jar. Memory sags.
He remained for many summers, which in effect, meant many years in that jar.
Stored in the loft above the stove in the summer Wisconsin cabin.
I would show him off to friends. All of whom were aghast at this gray squished monster of a bullfrog, but nevertheless believed ANY tale I told of that magnitude forever after.
Man! I remember those days of waiting out in the car outside of a bar with my brother for what seemed like hours ( but no doubt were just minutes) while my parents drank. A different era, to be sure! Your love for your father - and your need to be loved back are evident in this story, Sharon. Daughters and fathers can be difficult relationships.
Absolutely different era! You’d be reported for that now. And rightfully so! But that bar was as much a part of my parents’ life, as the grocery store. It was not ideal, but not uncommon, in the 1960’s. 🤷🏻♀️
The local community center in those days ... Hurry Back Inn and Brady's! Oh, I remember...
One two four many beers. Been there twice and then some. Lucky for me my daughter was tall, and wanted me to let her drive early in the day. Didn’t have her license almost hit a tree, but she drove me home after some Grizzly beers . Love daughter for being there in the Sierras for vacation days (daze).
Believe me. Remember them . 8 thousand feet elevated high gives you a buzz beyond belief. One you never forget. Even found a frog climbing up a mountain trying to reach the summit. No water around. Mystery. What is it doing there?
Lucky for me, the bar was right around the corner. Yes, those were the daze, Richard.
Frog legs and pizza are a strange combination, but probably delicious. We used to have to catch frogs for fog legs and actually named the frogs when we suffered in Wisconsin. I enjoyed this as a start of the day.
Thanks, Jill. I'd love to know some of the names you gave those frogs! Glad you enjoyed my little story.
It has been a little while since I named those 'frogleg' frogs--like more or less 70 years!
BUT, that said, I do remember one particular frog. We couldn't believe how huge this guy was and so his legs didn't become a part of our dinner fare.
He was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, but my sister and I called him simply Wadsworth.
As a semi-pet, I kept Wadsworth in a huge washtub outside for several weeks.
Each day I caught several flies,m in a net and then (eeeuuu!) removed their wings, and let them loose with Wadworth.
They always disappeared within a few minutes.
He had a good two-foot-wide and six-inches deep water pond as well. Good care of animals has always been a priority for our family.
OK.
It's been 70 years. My memory of the way Wadsworth went to Frog Heaven is sketchy.
I cried and hours passed when I was unable to look at that huge washtub.
What is clear is a you-cannot-avoid-this statement from my father, "Wadsworth is no longer with us. His washtub is open. He could get eaten by an opossum or other animal. He might stink as he decays. This is YOUR choice. What would you like to do with him?"
I remember sniffling. Taking my time.
Mostly, I remember gathering my allowance pennies and nickels, giving my coins to my Dad and asking him to buy formaldehyde. He did. My mother supplie dthe 2-quart glass canning jar.
How the now-graying Wadsworth got funneled into that jar. Memory sags.
He remained for many summers, which in effect, meant many years in that jar.
Stored in the loft above the stove in the summer Wisconsin cabin.
I would show him off to friends. All of whom were aghast at this gray squished monster of a bullfrog, but nevertheless believed ANY tale I told of that magnitude forever after.
Still do.
Where might Wadsworth be now?
Aww. Poor Wadsworth. But, at least he got to be famous, in his own right, and not somebody’s pizza side dish….🙁
Loved your memory of Wadsworth in Wisconsin.