A wild encounter by the pool

When I installed a water garden in my backyard, I was expecting the presence of water to attract various forms of wildlife. I designed the pool with straight sides to keep raccoons from eating the snails and fish I planned to add. I constructed a waterfall with eddy pools of the optimum depth for the bathing birds I wanted to attract by the splashing of the falling water.

Frogs and dragonflies would find their way to the water with no help from me, though I dreaded the arrival of turtles, having read about the havoc turtles could wreak on waterlilies.

Once I finished constructing the pool, I anxiously awaited the arrival of wild visitors, especially the frogs. I started counting the frogs daily, inspecting the size and color of each new arrival, reporting the results of my observations to my mother in the mornings and to my husband at the end of each day. I became a miser, gleefully gloating over my wealth of frogs, fish and dragonflies.

An unexpected wild visitor appeared in my pool one Sunday morning. I was working on the patio adjacent to the pool, enjoying the sound of splashing water in the background, when suddenly the splashing stopped. I had visions of a clogged pump or thrown circuit breaker to explain the lack of water, but, as I studied the waterfall, I realized there was no mechanical problem.

Lying in a sensuous curve across the lip of the fall was a lovely brown garden snake. Its sleek body was acting as a dam, its narrow head spilling over the waterfall’s edge as it enjoyed the view. No one would believe this! I ran inside to get a camera, but when I returned to the pool, the snake had abandoned the area. Or so I thought.

Going back to work on the patio, I looked up from time to time, hoping to spy the snake returning for a photo-op. After a few minutes I noticed one of my frogs emerging from a small cavern beside the waterfall. This frog came out of the cavern very slowly, as though he had weights tied to each foot. First the head, then the right front foot, a few moments later, the left front foot. I waited for the rest of the frog to appear, but when it didn't, I went in for a closer look.

As I neared the frog, he seemed totally oblivious to my approach, and I realized that every muscle in his body was straining to pull his hind legs out of the hole. I reached down and gave him a tug. He didn't budge. The snake had him by a hind leg. I could just make out the edge of the snake's mouth in the shadows of the cave.

This was ridiculous! The frog was ten times the width of the snake's mouth; no way was this snake going to be able to swallow that frog.

I picked up a twig and tickled the snake's nose. The frog continued straining to escape. I tickled the snake some more. Finally it opened its mouth and the frog erupted as though shot from a cannon—out of the snake, out of the cave, and into the water. He appeared none the worse for his ordeal and settled down into the grasses growing on the bottom of the pool, out of harm's way.

The snake wasn't ready to call it a day, though. It slithered out of the cavern and onto the water. Six inches, eight inches, one foot of snake suspended on the surface of the pool, and still its tail was not in sight. It rested its head on a floating plant and waited for another chance at a meal

I felt guilty for disrupting the course of nature, and went back to work on the patio. When next I looked, my unexpected visitor had gone.

by Patti Kay Dulong, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener