TRAVEL MEMOIR | POETRY

A Frog Called Freddo

Friend from the Road

Our little green mate We met on a dinner plate Not headed for our tummies Instead we became rather chummy

A love of music we share Yourself a croaking extraordinaire You used our van as a place to stay Dry season was still months away

Humidity making the air thick Spray bottles and a fan did the trick Giving us all some cooling relief Even if it was only extremely brief

Our time together phantasmagoric Historic yet still euphoric

A liminal being you were perhaps Although my knowledge of such things is lapse Or maybe as our spiritual guide As our lives took upon a new stride

Your webbed feet would be handy While I grasp my odd modus operandi For the mixing and fixing of never-ending prompts While imagining you happily stomping in swamps

Oh I miss you our little green mate I smile remembering our seasonal date

We met Freddo one night when he decided to join us for dinner while we were in Kununurra — top end of Western Australia. The wet season in full swing.

Floodwaters made being outside a battlefield of midgies so we sought refuge inside to eat.

As I took out a plate, Freddo introduced himself.. we assume he was a he.

He sat on Boj’s knee one night the whole time Boj was practising his guitar. Another night he jumped on Boj’s face as we were drifting off to sleep.

He was lucky Boj stayed calm. “Oh, Hi Freddo!” is all he said.

I don’t believe I would have handled the visit so gracefully had it been my face he landed on.

During the wet season, green tree frogs were everywhere, including the toilet bowls. Going for a visit would involve attempting to entice them out.

I would literally ask them if they could please leave. They rarely listened.

I was instructed to flush before going as it was believed they survived the pipes… this tamed my thoughts as I flushed… better than doing my ones or twos on them was the other.

Sometimes they hung on. Requiring several flushings… and waiting for the cistern to refill. These were the times when I was seriously busting.

Their presence also came with the potential visit from a snake seeking a snack. A massive python closing down the toilet blocks on more than one occasion.

Navigating flood water with the fear that a saltwater croc could be on the loose to the mix it’s a wonder how I survived taking a piss at all! That thought was thanks to a caravan neighbour telling us about the time floodwaters floated a saltwater croc into the local supermarket.

Trying to fall asleep at night was another challenge. The mating calls of our green friends overpowered even the sounds of the heavy rains some nights.

Loved it all. Smiling as I remember our time there.

I do wonder what became of our mate.

We had to forcefully remove him from his hidey-hole in our van’s tail light cavity the day we left.

He did not sound happy at all. A weird whining crrrrroooooaaak as we encouraged him to leave with a finger prod.

We couldn’t take him on the road with us. Crossing state borders with fruit, veg or honey is bad enough… a little frog on board would have been cause for investigation. Plus he belonged right where he was. That was his stomping ground.

I got a bit teary saying goodbye. I like to think his mating calls were answered and he got some tender loving froggy style to make up for his abrupt eviction!

Special thanks to

Holly Jahangiri for the prompt “humid” in her piece “dry season”… I couldn’t help add them both in, in some form

Neha Sandhir S for the prompt “favourite season” for which I can never pick. I truly love them all — summer, autumn, winter, spring, wet or dry.

Raffaella Ferretti with the word “phantasmagoria”. I have to admit, it was a challenge to use a word I have never used before!

Eli Snow with the word “liminal”. Another word I have never used before.

I know I have coloured outside the lines of both these words, fresh to my tongue and toolkit!

Martin Rushton for starting the never-ending poem. It really is living up to its name!

Had to add these articles I have recently read that link to travel in my mind-

Trista Ainsworth’s 100-day journey through the book “The Infinite Self” by Stuart Wilde.

Rasheed Hooda’s unfolding journey — sign up for the ride, or should I say walk?

R Tsambounieri Talarantas heartfelt walk through her neighbourhood

Thanks for reading

Thanks for being you