That Weird Frog Guy

Animals have always played a vital role in the fabric of who I am.  I’ve written articles and waxed poetic on video for over two decades as an ambassador for all that creeps and crawls.  My earliest memories revolve around toads in Duke’s mayonnaise jars, box turtles kept in literal cardboard boxes, and fence lizards worn as spicy earrings.

Why do I care so much for wildlife, you may ask.  Why don’t you, I may rebut.  The sincere answer to that question is that I know no other way.  I am inextricably intertwined with fur, feathers, and scales.  I’ve often tried to be a voice for the writhing masses, carrying a burden for their wellbeing that few seemed to possess.  The short answer is simply that this is how God made me, and the longer one is, it’s likely a trauma response.  That’s a can of worms for another day.

We probably have little in common if you’ve never cried on the edge of a busy road after seeing a smashed turtle.  It’s okay that we all aren’t bleeding hearts.  I get it.  That’s not an indictment of the emotionalism regarding imperiled wildlife, just simply an illustration of a deep love that I can’t seem to shake.  I’ve roamed the Southeastern United States in search of claw and fang for the better part of my life.  I have had opportunities to encounter wildlife in the jungles of Central America, Mexico, and the deserts of the Middle East.  It’s just who I am.  I pray I never lose this childlike wonder to explore.

The irony to all of that is how little I’ve engaged with wildlife lately.  Something at the core of my identity can also be the last thing I want to do when I’m feeling low.  That seems oxymoronic but stay with me.  I wrote about hearing frogs calling recently and how the sound bolstered my weary soul.  That little “feel good” moment of hearing them calling can only go so far.  I’ve got to put action to the emotion.  That is where the magic happens.  I’m a child of the swamp.  I never want to grow out of it.

I can’t tell you who won the Super Bowl, but I can identify almost all North Carolina frogs by their calls.  I can’t name one single baseball player, but I know the Latin names of most of our native reptiles and amphibians.  Well, at least the old versions before overzealous taxonomists had to go and monkey with it.  It might not make my dad proud that I have no functional knowledge of sports, but he calls me when he finds a snake or needs a tree identified on his property.  I take immense pride when folks call or text me for animal or plant identification.  It means they trust me in all my weirdness.  There’s a value to that. 

I hope that, in some small way, I’ve been able to make a difference in people’s lives for the sake of conservation.  Given the sheer volume of children’s programs, videos, articles, and one-on-one moments with people, I know I’ve made a difference.  This matters more to me than most things.  It has always been my desire to illustrate wildlife in a good light.  One that is less sensational and more aligned with wonder.  My hope has always been to allow my passion to infect others.  You may not love snakes, but I bet you think twice before chopping one up now.  Many of you text me BEFORE you kill them now.  That means the world to me.

I guess I’m saying this to say keep doing the things that make you uniquely you. If you’re passionate about polka music, crank the accordions and tell a friend. Do you grow a garden? Tiptoe on the tulips with Tiny Tim. You get the idea. Do the thing that makes you who you are. Make no apologies. It’s time to double down. The world needs more of that and less homogeny. It's refreshing to see someone dancing to their own tune, even if it's off-key. That’s my two cents but consider the source. I’m just a weird dude who loves frogs way too much.

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Stay Weird.